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Kinktober '25 - Volume 1
🕑 Added 2025-10-15 13:00:15 +0000 UTC
Disclaimer: These stories contain adult themes. They are not suitable for minors or the easily offended.
https://linktr.ee/spartacuswrites
This is a collection of flash fiction based on daily prompts.
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Kinktober '25 - Volume 1
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Kinktober 1 - List
Contains: Breast Expansion
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Lydia tugged at the waistband of her jeans, grunting as she tried to yank the denim upward and over her hips. Lying on the bed, every scrap of air forced out of her chest, she pulled. The pants wouldn’t budge, and Lydia exhaled. Below the lumps of her modest, barely-a-handful breasts, her pudgy, pale stomach rose into view. She’d never have gotten the button closed over that thing, anyway. Lydia peeled the jeans off her legs, chucking them into the corner to land atop a pile of outgrown garments.
It had started during the pandemic, when she and her partner were stuck inside, subsisting off beans and rice and Darcy’s gradually-improving sourdough loaves. Lydia’s blonde, statuesque partner declared that once things were back to normal, they’d visit every restaurant in the city. She even made a list. A goddess damned spreadsheet.
Lydia slid on a pair of fishnet tights, stretchy enough to cover her ass, even if the expanse of diamond-shaped flesh bulging out made her scowl. A black skirt with an elastic waist made her bottom half decent, at least.
Things never quite returned to normal, but Darcy could not be dissuaded from her goal. They were on their third straight year of eating out six nights a week, and Lydia was in a constant battle with her all-black wardrobe.
“Hey, Babe, you almost ready?”
Darcy’s heels clacked on the bathroom tile as she appeared in the doorway. Nearly six feet tall in her pink pumps, Darcy wore a pencil skirt that hugged her still-flawless hips and ass deliciously. Lydia felt an undeniable urge to rip that skirt off and bury her face between Darcy’s freckled thighs, but a rumbling in her bloated middle signalled a more pressing need.
“Five minutes,” Lydia said, pulling a black tank top over her belly. “Where are we going again?”
In the full-length mirror hanging on the bathroom door, Darcy checked her reflection, adjusting herself in a truly enormous bra. A loyal consumer of Madsgenix products, Lydia’s partner only gained weight in one place. As the couple had patronized Indian restaurants, kebab shops, brewery burgers, and Italian eateries, Lydia had outgrown her jeans, while Darcy ate her way through bra, after bra, after bra.
“Sal’s Pizzaria,” Darcy said, seeming content with the wobbling cleavage bursting from her pink sweater top.
Lydia penciled cat points into her eyeliner. “I’ve never heard of that one.”
“It’s over on seventeenth, across from Chipotle.”
“I thought that was that tapas place.”
“It used to be.”
This was Lydia’s true fear. The foodservice industry was so volatile, even more than the rest of this dumpster-fire economy. Restaurants were constantly going under with new ones popping up in their place. Darcy had already scratched dozens of places off her list because they hadn’t managed to eat at them before they closed down. In a city this size, she was starting to think they’d never finish Darcy’s list.
Darcy strode up behind her, hugging Lydia from behind and pressing those glorious tits against the back of her head. In the reflection of her own mirror, Lydia estimated that Darcy’s breasts, which had grown bigger than her head long ago, were a cheeseburger away from being twice that size.
“Why so glum, sugar plum?”
Despite her emo-goth aesthetic, Lydia was not a downer kind of person. But Darcy’s little project was starting to get to her.
“I’m getting fat,” Lydia scowled.
Darcy pressed her elegant, short-nailed fingers into Lydia’s belly. “Aww, I like your cute little tum-tum.”
When Lydia’s frown didn’t fade as she reapplied black lipstick, Darcy went on, “My doctor could always get you a prescription, if you want…”
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Kinktober 2 - Tall
Contains: Breast Expansion
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Margot checked her makeup in her phone camera before entering the restaurant. Her eyeliner was a little smudged from the humid city air, but she didn’t have time to fix it now; she was almost fifteen minutes late. Diana was the first OTP match she’d felt a connection with in months, and she was already fucking it up. Margot’s friends all thought it was hilarious that she always went after “basic bitch,” Starbucks girls, but every goth or emo she’d tried dating had been such downers.
Diana had a face like a model and the rack of a pornstar. She was so gorgeous that after a few days of messaging back and forth on the app, Margot asked for more pics just to prove to herself that the woman wasn’t using all the filters. She was definitely real. And she thought Margot was funny.
Margot (7:44 p.m.): I’m sure you get asked this all the time…
Diana (7:45 p.m.): Yes.
Margot (7:45 p.m.): Yes what?
Diana (7:46 p.m.): Yes, they’re real.
Margot (7:47 p.m.): 😳
Diana (7:48 p.m.): Are you going to ask how?
Margot (7:50 p.m.): No, no. That’s not a pre-date question. It’s like a third date question. Maybe fourth…
Diana (7:51 p.m.): 😂
Diana (7:51 p.m.): The boring answer is… genetics.
Margot (7:52 p.m.): I thought you were gonna say “everything’s bigger in Texas”
Diana (7:53 p.m.): 🤣🤣🤣
The only thing that worried Margot about Diana’s profile was her height. She’d put 7’5, but Margot had been too afraid to ask. It had to be a typo. Surely she meant five-seven. The tallest girl Margot knew was her younger cousin, who was six-two and on her college’s basketball team. Five-seven was taller than Margot, but at four-eleven, the only people who weren’t taller than Margot were children… or little people. Just thinking about climbing that five-seven goddess with tits bigger than her head like a tree was making Margot’s panties damp under her heavy black skirt. She shook herself to push the horniness down. Cool, she had to be cool.
Inside the restaurant, she immediately felt out of place, underdressed. The way the raven-haired, tight-bunned hostess’s eyes darted disdainfully down and back up her all-black fit confirmed it.
“Reservation?”
Reservations about this restaurant? Yes. Reservations about getting her face between Diana’s thighs? Not a chance.
“I’m… meeting someone.”
Ignoring the hostess’s raised eyebrow, Margot passed into the dining room. She scanned the room. Every blonde she saw was either too old or sitting with someone. Her gaze traveled right past an absurdly large figure and then snapped back.
It was her.
It was Diana.
It wasn’t a typo.
The gigantic blonde gave her a timid wave, and Margot’s legs propelled her forward. As she neared the table, Diana stood. Margot’s eyes bulged and her body went numb as blood rushed between her legs. She watched as Diana’s face rose up, and up, and up.
Diana offered her a polite hug, bending down to lightly touch Margot’s shoulders. Jesus… I could step right under those things and use them for shade…
As they sat, Margot tried desperately to get her racing heart under control. Clad in a pale blue boatneck sweater, Diana’s tits stared at her across the table.
“I didn’t realize this place was so fancy,” Diana said.
“It’s fine. Though you should have seen the look the hostess gave me.”
Diana chuckled softly, pulling Margot’s gaze to her quaking tits like magnets. Then she saw the basket of rolls in Diana’s shadow. There was only one roll left, and the scoop of whipped butter was almost gone.
Following her gaze, Diana’s cheeks flushed the prettiest pink Margot had ever seen.
“Sorry, I got a bit of a head start. I get really hungry.”
Margot’s brows rose as she met Diana’s ocean-blue eyes. Diana laid a hand lightly on her chest, her elegant, short-nailed fingers making Margot’s mouth go dry.
“I’m… still growing.”
Margot clenched her thighs, willing herself not to come.
She failed.
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Kinktober 3 - Embers
Contains: Breast Expansion
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(11:53 p.m.): hey… are you up?
(11:58 p.m.): No
(11:58 p.m.): liar 😝
(12:01 a.m.): What do you want?
(12:02 a.m.): i just wondred how your doing
(12:05 a.m.): Are you drunk?
(12:06 a.m.): noooooo
(12:07 a.m.): …
(12:08 a.m.): ok fine, i might have opened that tequila you left in our freezer
(12:14 a.m.): It’s not our freezer, it’s your freezer.
(12:15 a.m.): dont be like that
(12:16 a.m.): I wondered what happened to that Patrón.
(12:16 a.m.): its all gone now sorryyyyyy
(12:18 a.m.): 😑
(12:20 a.m.): sooooo you wanna come over?
(12:22 a.m.): It’s the middle of the night.
(12:23 a.m.): ill make it worth your wileeee
(12:25 a.m.): While. And you’d be passed out by the time I got there. And we’ve been broken up since May.
(12:27 a.m.): but i miss you 🥺
(12:33 a.m.): Maybe you should ask my sister.
(12:34 a.m.): come onnnnn it was one time!
(12:42 a.m.): I’m not rehashing this with you. Especially not at this hour.
(12:43 a.m.): pouting selfie
(12:45 a.m.): Not happening. Go to sleep.
(12:46 a.m.): 😭
***
(10:17 a.m.): hey, so… sorry about last night
(10:20 a.m.): This morning, technically.
(10:21 a.m.): 😅 senor patron and me are no longer friends
(10:23 a.m.): And I.
(10:24 a.m.): huh?
(10:27 a.m.): Señor Patrón and I.
(10:28 a.m.): 😝
(10:30 a.m.): It’s fine. Maybe hide your phone next time you’re horny-drunk on a Thursday night.
(10:31 a.m.): 💖
***
(3:17 p.m.): hey, so… can we talk?
(3:20 p.m.): I’m working.
(3:21 p.m.): pleaseeeeee 🙏
(3:25 p.m.): Don’t make me block you.
(3:26 p.m.): come on…
(3:35 p.m.): What’s there to talk about?
(3:36 p.m.): 🍒
(3:37 p.m.): What?
(3:37 p.m.): they miss you…
(3:40 p.m.): Are you serious right now?
(3:41 p.m.): look, i know i fucked up. you deserved way better and you were right to leave. but we were so good together. all im asking is one chance to see if its really over
(3:53 p.m.): I don’t know.
(3:54 p.m.): just one coffee thats all. no promises, no garantees
(3:59 p.m.): I get off at six. I’ll be at Bean Machine by ten after.
(4:00 p.m.): 🥰
(4:01 p.m.): Just coffee. Don’t make me regret this.
(4:02 p.m.): 🫡
***
“Hey…”
“Hi—Holy shit!”
“Shh, people are staring.”
“Nobody here is staring at me.”
“Heh. Mind if I sit?”
“Jesus, yes. How can you even stand?”
“Yeah… I sort of… Went through a lot of ice cream, after you left.”
“How, um, I mean…”
“How big are they?”
“Yeah…”
“My seamstress says I’m all out of letters.”
“Wow.”
“So… You wanna get out of here?”
“God yes—Wait, no. I’m still mad at you.”
“What if I do… this?”
“Stop that! Are you trying to get arrested?”
“Alright, look. If you give us another chance, I promise to be good. I swear it. I won’t even look at another woman. These will be alllll for you.”
“Gods damnit…”
“Sooooo…”
“I hate myself so much for this, but yes. Gods, yes.”
“Yay!”
“Let’s go home.”
“Can we stop for ice cream on the way?”
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Kinktober 4 - Chained
Contains: Weight Gain, Stuffing, Feedism, Bondage
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Rose reclined on the bed, panting softly. The mass of food already inside her body was like a boulder pressing her into the mattress. Her stomach was so full she imagined it taking up space for her lungs, making her breath shallow and panic-laced.
“You’d better still be awake in there, your next little snack is almost done!”
Daisy’s sing-song voice echoed down the short hallway from their kitchen. Rose didn’t know what her partner was cooking, but it was probably carbs. Splayed out to her sides, Rose tugged her heavy arms against the cuffs to remind herself they were still there. Her ankles, similarly cuffed, were connected to the bed’s wrought-iron endboard, but with all that food weighing her down, the most she could move her legs was to wiggle her toes.
Rose wasn’t uncomfortable by any means. The mattress was soft, even compressed down to the box springs by her rump. A mountain of pillows was stacked behind her back, so she could lie down while still being upright enough to eat easily. And eat she had. Rose lost count of how many plates and pans and boxes, both styrofoam and cardboard, Daisy had emptied into her mouth. Bite by bite, dish by dish, the only part of Rose that hurt was her overpacked stomach.
Daisy floated back into the bedroom, steam rising from a glass casserole dish she held with a kitchen towel. Her blonde curls bounced almost as much as her G-cup tits as Daisy came around to the side of the bed. That gorgeous hair and those perfect tits were what initially drew Rose to Daisy. She hadn’t learned about Daisy’s… proclivities until they’d been together for over two years. By then, it was too late; she’d gotten too chubby to go back to the dating game, even if she’d wanted to.
Now, she felt too heavy to even move—the handcuffs weren’t technically necessary.
Daisy wafted the glass dish under Rose’s face, the haze of buttery garlic and the sizzle of bubbling cheese sending sparks of reckless need through Rose’s senses. After everything she’d already consumed, Rose’s partner had made her an entire lasagna.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?” Daisy teased. “I bet you want this whole thing, don’t you, you greedy thing?”
Rose shook her head even as her stomach roared with want. The mattress shifted as Daisy crawled onto the bed to press her tiny waist into Rose’s love handles. Daisy forked a large bite of pasta and meat drenched in cheese, rolling it to catch the stretchy strands. Pulling blonde curls from her face, she blew on the bite until it stopped steaming.
Daisy pressed the fingers of her free hand into Rose’s middle, the digits sinking a worryingly short distance before finding her taut stomach. “Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve still got room in here…”
If Rose had learned anything from being with Daisy, it was the battle between sense and sensation. The dichotomy of reason and emotion was a reductive model of the human psyche, but Rose had grown to love the inner battle. She knew she wasn’t in danger, but feeling those chains keeping her on that bed filled her with nervous delight. She knew Daisy wouldn’t feed her more than she could handle, but imagining her belly swelling so full that she popped made her pinned thighs tremble.
Chew and swallow, chew and swallow, no part of Rose moved except her mouth. Daisy rested the cooling pan on the peak of Rose’s tummy, and she worked her slit with one hand while feeding Rose with the other.
When the bites stopped coming, Rose watched Daisy stiffen and shudder with the force of her climax. She broke character for half a second to gaze lovingly at Rose.
Rose tried to speak, but her head was still a haze of gluttony.
Daisy’s fork hovered above the pan. “What was that?”
“Coconut,” Rose whispered.
A flash of disappointment flickered across Daisy’s face, and she looked at the pan, which still held a quarter of the lasagna. For two heartbeats, genuine fear gripped Rose, but then Daisy set the pan aside. She walked around the bed, undoing the cuffs and massaging Rose’s wrists and ankles before cuddling up beside her to sweep firm, gentle strokes down her overtaxed belly.
“Love you…” Rose breathed.
Daisy gazed at her with so much warmth that Rose thought her heart might swell and burst. “I love you too, Rosey. You did so well…”
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Kinktober 5 - Chest
Contains: Breast Expansion, Weight Gain, Polycule
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Sam rolled a handful of d20s behind his GM screen, consulting his loot tables before rattling off a list to his partners slash players.
“A goblin scimitar, two goblin shortbows, four packs of rations, and seventeen gold for the shared pool.”
Beside him, Mandy nodded, scribbling on her character sheet with one hand and taking a bite from a pizza slice in the other. The official “note-taker” of the party, the black-haired girl wore an “I ❤️ Shadowheart” T-shirt that stretched snugly across her breasts and belly, cutting into the soft squish of her upper arms.
“Alright, continue forward?” Sam asked.
Sasha and Anna nodded with full mouths. A few seconds later, Mandy’s pencil stopped scratching, and her head bobbed.
“You make your way down the musty corridor, dodging cobwebs. Auralia detects no traps, and the hallway ends in a massive wooden door. A pair of tarnished silver sconces decorates each side of the frame, glowing with a flameless violet light.”
“‘Mage lights,’” Sasha said in her Tavara voice. The blonde bumped her beer with her left breast as she reached for another slice of pizza.
“In an alcove beside the grand door, you see a wooden chest banded in rusty iron.”
“Mmpf!” With a mouthful of pizza, Anna was unintelligible.
“I open the chest,” Mandy said before the brunette could finish chewing.
“As Camilla lifts the lid of the chest, a large tongue darts out, wrapping around her waist and yanking her inside.”
“It was obviously a mimic!” Anna said.
Sam grinned. “Roll initiative.”
The three women tossed d20s on the table, reading off the results. Sasha asked, “Why would you do that?”
Mandy shrugged. “I just asked myself, What would Frieren-sama do?”
Anna pursed her lips in a perfect Fern impression. “Wait, Sam. Can Camilla even fit inside a mimic?”
Sam’s smug expression fell, and he consulted his notes. In addition to gradually growing heavier and curvier since he’d met them, his partner’s D&D characters all had particular ways of growing more busty over the course of a campaign. With Mandy’s help, he’d added several pages of homebrew rules to manage things like encumbrance, agility, and space considerations. While the girls always played Camilla, Tavara, and Auralia, Sam made them start over at level one—and “normal” bust size—with each new campaign. During his last campaign, the adventuring party had been functionally immobile before they hit level twelve.
To Sam’s dismay, Anna was right. Camilla’s plate-clad boobs were too big for a mimic to swallow. It had a bite attack, but Mandy’s character had a high armor class. Sam rolled the attack anyway, but it failed. He looked around the table at three sets of eyes. As if his partners could read his thoughts, their eager expressions bored into him as they reached for more pizza while hands slid below the table and between thighs.
He narrated. “The mimic’s tongue wraps around Camilla’s narrow waist, trying to pull you into its maw. Her head and shoulders disappear into the viscous, dripping mouth. But as quickly as you’re yanked forward, Camilla stops. Her enormous breasts, overflowing her breastplate with the abundance of her goddess’s blessing, fill the opening of the false chest. The mimic groans in frustration, chomping its teeth-lined lid around you. But with so much plate-clad flesh filling its mouth, the muscled jaws can’t penetrate your armor. The mimic spits you out—roll a constitution save.”
A chorus of whimpers and moans sounded around the game table. Mandy rolled her die with her left hand, her right still hidden below the tabletop.
“Camilla lands on her feet.” Mandy’s eyes somehow widened even further as she stared at Sam. “…And your breastplate creaks as it struggles to contain your enormous bosom.”
Mandy gripped Sam’s forearm with her free hand. On his other side, Anna stroked a finger along his shoulder. From across the table, a foot that could only be Sasha’s slid slowly up his leg.
Sam’s voice took on a stern tone, one he knew at least two of his partners enjoyed. “We have to finish this combat first.”
The girls stopped touching him, but didn’t stop touching themselves.
Sam’s mouth quirked into a grin. “Even if you can’t fit in its mouth, the mimic still has several… tongue attacks.”
Mandy, Sasha, and Anna all gasped and groaned. Sam was pretty sure one of his partners had come, but couldn’t tell which one.
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Kinktober 6 - Friends
Contains: Breast Expansion
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Courtney held the door for her friend as they walked into Joe’s sports bar. The hostess was a seriously stacked brunette who kept Courtney from watching Rachel’s ass as the girl led them to a vacant booth. She shouldn’t be staring at either woman, but Courtney’s eyes weren’t obeying her commands.
From almost the age when she became aware of the physical differences between boys and girls, Courtney had been fascinated by the feminine form. Her YouTube and TikTok feeds were almost entirely makeup tutorials, OOTDs, and try-on hauls. There was so much beauty in the variety; long legs, thick thighs, asses of every shape and size. Six packs and belly rolls, the popularity of crop tops drove her to distraction. And don’t even mention tank tops; arms and shoulders and bare backs and cleavage. Cute little tits and big whopping yabbos, it had taken Courtney an embarrassingly long time—she was almost twenty-two for fuck’s sake—to figure out that appreciating feminine beauty was not a truth universally acknowledged.
Now she sat across a dinette table from one of her oldest friends. Her gorgeous oldest friend. Her black-dyed, smoky-eyed, bold-lipped bestie. It turned out that Courtney had been into girls since before she knew what a crush was, and had been “just” friends with the only openly gay girl at their school for almost as long. But Rachel wasn’t just a friend, she was Courtney’s rock. Inseparable in high school and messaging almost daily during all four years of college, they’d laughed and cried and been together through the highs and lows of this thing called life. Only, without being together together.
The only thing they hadn’t talked about was Courtney’s sexuality. It didn’t seem like an “over text” conversation. And even then, it took until their food arrived for Courtney to work up the nerve to broach the topic.
Rachel huffed an almost-laugh while biting into her massive bacon cheeseburger. Courtney paused with a forkful of romaine halfway to her mouth. Her “freshman fifteen” and its subsequent cousins may have sent Courtney’s old bras to the donation bin, but she was determined to keep her favorite jeans, not to mention her very expensive bra collection.
“What?”
“I’m proud of you, Babe,” Rachel said. “Really, I am. I’m just surprised it took you so long to figure it out.”
“You knew!?”
Rachel’s dark-ringed eyes gave her a flat stare. “You had Charlie’s Angels posters in your dorm. The Naomi Scott version and the Lucy Liu one.”
Rachel stabbed her loaded tots with her fork and said, “Plus, I’ve seen you check out that hostess’s rack at least three times.”
At the word “rack,” Courtney thought she saw Rachel’s eyes dart to her own chest. The fall chill had set in, so she was more covered up than her friend in a fuzzy cerulean sweater, but she knew she’d gotten too busty to hide, short of wearing a parka.
Courtney bit back a retort because the only excuse she had for checking out the stacked brunette was that it distracted her from staring at Rachel. Her friend had shed her black jacket when they sat down, leaving her tatted arms and a ridiculous amount of cleavage to pull at Courtney’s eyes like gravity wells.
While Courtney had only gotten a little bustier over the past four years, she’d watched Rachel fill up like a very slow water balloon. If a water balloon had round tits and plush arms and a cute little belly and an ass that didn’t quit and thighs stretching her net stockings to their limit and, fuck, was Rachel going to town on that massive burger, filling that body even more, growing those curves even bigger… She wanted that body pressed against her body so bad it ached and—
Courtney grabbed her Long Island and took a long pull, trying to calm herself down. She would not ruin years of friendship because she couldn’t keep it in her pants. Rachel meant too much to her to take that risk.
Only…
Rachel had checked out her tits again. Courtney wasn’t imagining it.
Her friend’s eyes met hers again, and spots of pink formed on Rachel’s cheeks. She waved her fork briefly in the direction of Courtney’s sweater. “So… what size are those now?”
Courtney felt heat rise from her nape to her ears. They never talked about each other’s bodies. It hadn’t felt fair to her back when she thought she was straight, knowing her friend wasn’t. Courtney scanned the restaurant for listening ears. “Thirty-four F.”
Rachel’s pupils blew wide, and the way she was looking at Courtney was not friendly.
It was so much more than friendly.
When she spoke again, Rachel’s voice was low and husky. “You busy tonight? Want to see my new apartment?”
Mouth dry, Courtney nodded.
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Kinktober 7 - Sleep
Contains: Breast Expansion
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Hope had stayed over three and a half times before Grace’s curiosity got the better of her. A line of sunlight through a crack in the curtains and the redheaded radiator in bed beside her woke Grace earlier than usual. When she snaked an arm around Hope’s waist, she stirred with a groan that quickly morphed into a pleased moan. Grace’s fingers traced up Hope’s ribs, tracing the crease at the bottom of her left breast before slowly exploring up the soft mound.
“I’ve got to ask,” Grace said. “What’s the deal with these?”
“Hmm?”
“Not for nothing, but they’re gorgeous, you’re gorgeous.” Grace leaned into Hope’s chest, shifting her hand to the right while her tongue took over on the left. “But I feel like they’re a different size every time I see them.”
Hope mewled and whined, her hips twisting toward Grace.
“When we were just dating, I figured it was the usual tricks: padded bras, underwire, sports bras… I’m chronically online enough to know that there are a million ways to make them seem bigger or smaller than they are…”
Grace paused every few words to kiss Hope’s breast, flicking the stiffening nub with her tongue and pinching it gently between her teeth. Hope’s responses were all nonverbal.
“Like I said, they’re still perfect. They’re so cute and small right now, I could fit half of one in my mouth.” She tested her theory, sucking Hope’s flesh into her mouth like a soft-boiled egg the size of an apple. Hope’s moans turned plaintive, her hips bucking to reach Grace.
“But they were definitely bigger last night. Not like, ‘a little bloated’ bigger, but like, I needed both hands bigger.”
“Grace…” It was the first word to escape Hope’s lips since Grace woke her.
“Oh, sorry.” Hope drew back, propping herself on an elbow.
Grace gasped in frustration as the touches stopped. Her hazy expression cleared, then a flush bloomed in her cheeks.
“It’s… kind of weird…”
***
“No. Freakin. Way.”
“I know it sounds stupid…” Hope said, staring at the blanket covering them.
“I mean, I guess I wouldn’t believe it… If I didn’t see the proof with my own… mouth.”
Hope’s flush spread down her throat and up her jaw.
“So they get bigger when you get horny?”
Hope nodded. “Only while I’m sleeping, though.”
Grace ran a finger from the soft spot behind Hope’s ear, tracing the edge of that blush. “Have you been dreaming about me, Hope?” She could almost feel Hope’s skin getting warmer under her touch.
“Obviously,” Hope muttered.
Grace withdrew her hand. “So… why are they smaller now?”
Hope’s sigh was wistful. “I didn’t dream at all last night. I guess I didn’t need to after…”
“Well, I’m not complaining,” Grace declared, rolling forward to continue what she’d started. “Variety is the spice of life, and all that…”
***
Grace woke to the gentle buzzing of her smart watch. The device’s alarm was perfect for waking just her. The sky outside was still dark, and she let her eyes adjust as she watched the deep, rhythmic rise and fall of Hope’s chest under the covers.
Waking up every two hours was wreaking havoc on Grace’s sleep schedule, but she couldn’t help herself. Moving slowly, carefully, making sure the bed didn’t shift too much, she put her mouth next to Hope’s ear and softly exhaled. She traced a finger, feather light, along the seam of Hope’s breast from her sternum all the way to her armpit. This might be a new record. They were almost volleyball-sized already.
Hope moaned, her body shifting in the bed, so Grace drew her hand back and froze. Hope whispered, “Grace…”
The breathy need in Hope’s voice made Grace shiver. She lay softly back on her pillow, listening to the gentle gurgle of her partner’s breasts, wondering what kinds of fantasies Hope was having. Falling back asleep was the hardest part of this little game.
***
“Graaaace!”
Grace bolted awake at Hope’s wail.
“Again!? Look at me; none of my shirts are going to fit!”
Grace kneaded Hope’s beachball-sized left, peppering the massive mound with wet kisses. “I have no problem with that, it’s Saturday…”
Through whimpering gasps, Hope said, “I was supposed to meet my mother for brunch!”
“Well, you’ll just have to cancel. We’ll tell her you’re sick, like Ferris Bueller. I’ll say I’m taking real good care of you.”
“Grace…” Hope’s wails had morphed into need.
“You’ll have to stay in bed allll day…”
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Kinktober 8 - Rear
Contains: Ass Expansion
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It took some time for Claire to warm to the idea of dating an older man. But Thomas—never Tom or Tommy—turned out to be sweet and kind. One of those rare trust fund kids who doesn’t grow up to be a sociopath. A unicorn. Besides, at thirty-two, he was barely seven years older than Clarie. Sure, he had a weird fetish, but nearly everyone who spent more than a few minutes with Claire either had a weird fetish or got freaked out and ran.
Thomas showered Claire with gifts—a new car, outfits by the dozen, and the best food she’d ever tasted. So sure, she was using him for his money. But in return, he got something his money couldn’t buy—Claire’s big, juicy ass. Specifically, what happened to that ass when Thomas filled Claire with gourmet food.
The driver picked Claire up at her apartment. Thomas wanted her to move into a house on his estate, but as luxurious as the place was, she wasn’t quite ready to take this thing that far. The jet black and chrome towncar rolled to a stop in front of the mansion where Thomas waited in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit. He helped her out of the car, pecking a chaste kiss to her knuckles.
“Lovely to see you, my dear.”
Everything Thomas did was chaste. He never touched her without permission, never cajoled or manipulated her; he was the quintessential gentleman. With her fingers hooked over his cupped hand, Thomas led Claire into the dining room, where their rendezvous always began. A servant pulled out a dining chair for Claire, and she sat, her bottom fitting easily between the carved chair arms, for now.
Aside from the driver, Claire had seen a butler, a personal chef, and two maids. All of them women, and all of them caked up. Claire already had a fuller caboose than any of Thomas’s employees, and he wasn’t the type to even consider doing anything untoward with the staff.
The table was already set with two place settings, with real silver and crystal glasses. Thomas poured wine that Claire couldn’t pronounce and took his seat across from her. The servants carried dishes from the sideboard to the table, filling their plates.
Thomas ate with slow consideration, savoring each bite. Claire knew he didn’t expect the same behavior from her—quite the contrary—so she tucked into her plate like she hadn’t eaten all day. Which she hadn’t—he liked her to start their dates as small as possible. By the time Thomas had finished his sensible portions, Claire had put away almost three times as much food.
The servants brought more dishes from the kitchen, refilling Claire’s plate again and again. Thomas watched her eat with a polite smile, but every time Claire looked across the table, his eyes were wider, his pupils dilating until the irises nearly disappeared.
As Claire gorged, her ass grew. Some quirk of genetics made her body store everything there, even bloating while she ate. She felt her ass bump into the chair arms, spindly wood pressing into her as she gulped down steak and seafood and vegetables just short of being too spicy.
The first time Claire broke one of Thomas’s chairs, she’d apologized profusely. The second time, she suggested he get her a bench, or even just a chair without arms.
“What would be the fun in that?”
And so, when the wooden arms started to creak, audible even over the steady stream of Claire’s chewing, Thomas’s lips quirked into a gentle but lascivious smile.
His excitement fed Claire’s ego, and she fed her growing derrière with even more abandon. The table seemed to drift downward as Claire’s ass lifted her higher. She loved giving him a show, watching him struggle to keep his shit together in front of the staff.
She didn’t stop when the arms snapped off her chair. She didn’t stop when she had more cheek hanging off the seat than on it. When the chair legs snapped, Claire’s bottom was so fat she could still reach the table, so she finished off one last plate.
Thomas couldn’t even wait long enough to get Claire up the wide staircase to his suite, sending the servants away as he led her to a guest room on the main floor. Claire knelt face-down on the mattress, her ass thrust into the air like a pair of yoga balls while Thomas slid himself between her cheeks.
***
Claire bolted awake in a cold sweat. She jumped out of bed and ran to her mirror, beachball-sized breasts caroming wildly in her sports bra. She twisted and turned, running her hands down her hips and rear as she watched her reflection. Her ass looked the same as it always had—maybe a touch fuller, but her sleep shorts were still loose.
A gurgling twinge rippled through Claire’s breasts, and she patted them fondly. She made her way to the kitchen. She could give them a midnight snack before going back to bed.
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Kinktober 9 - Numbers
Contains: Breast Expansion
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Amy Jackson skipped down the hall of her dorm building at Ample Springs Academy. She cradled a gallon jug of spring water in one arm as she headed back to the Resident Director suite she shared with her partner, Marie. Their third, Hunter, was coming over for “movie and pizzas” night, and Amy was going to help Marie feed every last slice to their growing sophomore.
As Amy rounded the corner down the hall to the lounge space adjacent to her room, a glint of gold caught her eye. Resting on the dark trim running along the top of the wainscotting was a gold coin. Amy picked it up. It was heavier than she expected, though no bigger than a silver dollar. Tiny embossed letters ran along its rim, and she squinted to read them.
“Perfectus In Mundo?”
Amy had almost failed Latin—there’d been a very pretty senior in the mostly-freshmen class—but she was able to piece this one out. In a Perfect World. Maybe it was a prop from someone’s D&D game. More than a few girls in this dorm played… With plenty of snacks during their sessions.
Amy turned the coin over in her fingers, and, out of some lizard-brain instinct, rolled it onto her thumb and flicked it into the air.
When the coin landed in her palm, Amy wasn’t in the hallway anymore. She stood in a large, dark room. As her eyes adjust, she recognizes it as the Headmistress’s office. She and Marie had been called in more than once for being… overzealous in the dining hall. Except, she didn’t think the office had so many screens on the wall.
Amy’s eyes jumped from screen to screen. She saw corridors, stairways, and many, many angles of the dining hall. There were just a few students already seated at tables. The rest were going through the buffet line or queuing up at the entrance. Amy’s eyes darted around at the monitors, pupils dilating and her body growing warm.
There was a Junior loading her plate up with cheesy potatoes, her uniform shirt already stretching at the buttons. And there, a Sophomore, undoing the clasp on her skirt as she slid her tray closer. Her mouth went dry as she watched a Senior slowly waddling toward the tables with a tray in each hand, leaning back to balance her massive breasts.
What really caught Amy’s eye were the screens without video. Tables of numbers and names, graphs of bra sizes over time. Amy’s never seen anything so erotic.
A pair of hands snake their way around Amy’s body, and she recognizes the scent of Marie’s bougie body wash.
“You were so right, you know?”
Amy’s brain isn’t working. “I—I was?”
Marie’s breath puffs a laugh over her ear. “Of course! ‘It’s all about the numbers,’ you said. By doubling the food service budget and hiring table servers, the weekly growth rate has almost doubled!”
Before she could ask what all that meant, Amy scanned the monitors again. All around the dining hall, women in staff uniforms carried trays of milkshakes or pushed dessert carts, pausing to offer more to the young ladies as they gorged.
Marie’s hands drifted to Amy’s chest and down her thighs. “There’s almost two tons of total boob in this school, and it’s going up by over two hundred pounds a week!”
Between the graphs and Marie’s fingers, Amy was getting worked up enough to soak all the way through her uniform skirt. Then, the absurdity of it all came crashing down. Sure, numbers were great. She’d once thought numbers were everything. After she found Marie, they found girl after girl who let them feed her out of bra after blouse, until they inevitably left. Because they always left.
Until one.
Amy didn’t need an entire school full of growing girls, because she had the only growing girl she needed. The only one she could handle, really, and she needed Marie’s help even with that. What would Amy even do with over twelve hundred girls?
She flipped the coin again, setting it back where she found it.
In the RD suite, the TV was already blaring the opening scenes of Mean Girls. Hunter sat in the middle of the couch with her feet propped up, her lap filled by her overfed breasts. Marie cuddled beside her, holding a slice of pizza over Hunter’s open mouth.
Amy huffed. “You guys started without me?”
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Kinktober 10 - Poker
Contains: Breast Expansion
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Autumn and Summer sat across the square table from each other. Their friends, May in particular, insisted that if they let the couple sit together, they would cheat. June was certain that none of them were good enough at cards to cheat, but she’d learn to pick her battles with her roommate slash FWB.
On the table were the Jack, King, and five of Diamonds, and the Jack of Spades. Autumn, a tall, tanned blonde sporting G-cups, counted chips and slid a short stack forward.
“Forty.”
May, a freckled redhead with F-cups, tossed four chips of her own.
“Call.”
Autumn’s partner, wearing all black and barely five feet tall, stared from the cards in her hand to the ones on the table and back. April resisted the urge to shake her head when Summer called, leaving only twenty-five points’ worth of chips in front of her.
“Same.”
April’s hole cards were the Queen of Clubs and Ace of Spades. But with all of her friends still in the hand, she didn’t like her odds of getting a ten on the River, even if none of them actually had the flush. She still had forty points in chips, enough for one more hand, or to keep her at an H-cup for the week.
“I fold.”
Earlier in the evening, this play might have been met with teasing jibes. But the other girls knew the end was in sight. Three sets of eyes turned to Autumn.
Without lifting her hole cards from the felt table, Autumn counted chips and slid them forward.
“Twenty-five.”
April saw heat flash in Summer’s eyes. How May ever thought these two would help each other cheat was beyond her.
May called. April counted no more than thirty in front of her roommate, wondering if she’d get her Benefits with an I-cup May or a much larger version.
Autumn murmured a stubborn growl. She really was terrible at this.
“I’m all in.”
“Alright,” May said. “Let’s see it.”
April turned the fifth card—an Ace of Hearts.
Silence hung in the room.
Summer showed her cards—Queen of Spades and Ten of Hearts. “Ha! Ace-high straight.”
“Shit.” May dropped her cards face down on the table. April would have to tease her for chasing the flush later.
“Sorry, babes,” Autumn grinned. Her cards were Jack-King Clubs. “Jacks full of Kings.”
“Damn it!” Summer pushed back in her chair. “That was the best hand I’ve had all night!”
“That’s the game, Sum-sum,” May said wryly.
“Let me buy in again.”
“Summer,” April said. “You already bought in once.”
“So?”
April pointed at the D-cups sitting loose in Summer’s black corset top. “You’ve got like forty points left at most—you really want to be flat until next week?”
“Come on, babe, let’s just call it,” Autumn added.
Summer pouted. “Fine.”
Autumn scooped the pot of chips toward herself, where they faded into mist. Three sets of eyes watched as the tall blonde chewed her lower lip. Her breasts pulsed, humming softly as they filled. H, I, J, all the way back to the L-cups she’d had before they started playing.
May and April cashed in their remaining stacks as well. Watching the winner was even better if you got to feel a quiet echo of the sensation at the same time.
Autumn’s breasts blew past their original size. O-cup, R-cup, T-cup, lapping the alphabet, and stretching her bright pink tank top to its limit. A low moan formed in her throat, but she bit it back. They’d sworn off post-game orgies after the New Year’s Eve Incident.
April locked eyes with I-cup May, taking a deep breath to give her H-cups a boost. Summer was still a D-cup, and April saw arousal and frustration warring in her eyes. Autum hefted her breasts with both arms. April’s eye got less accurate the bigger one of them got, but Autumn was at least a (z)H. Larger than actual watermelons. Her eyes were locked on Summer.
“Don’t pout, babe. How ‘bout I make it up to you? When we get home, you can do whatever you want with my winnings.”
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