drblackjack - One Shot - Miku’s Birthday Non-celebration - 01
infoAbout This Title
Teto sprawled across the couch in her tiny blue bikini, the pink straps already biting into the heavy swell of her tits and the deep crease beneath her belly. The fabric had given up hours ago. Her thick thighs spread wide, the bottoms vanishing between rolls of soft, pale fat that jiggled every time she shifted. A massive birthday cake sat on the coffee table in front of her, white frosting piled high, strawberries glistening, the whole thing big enough for a party that never came.
On her phone, the timeline was nothing but Miku. Streamers. Concert clips. Fans posting “happy birthday to the perfect idol.” Teto’s own birthday had been four months ago. April first, but she was always the joke.
She stabbed her fingers into the cake and ripped off a dripping handful.
“They wouldn’t even look at her if she looked like this,” she muttered around a mouthful of sponge and cream. Frosting smeared across her lower lip and dripped onto the upper swell of her left breast.
“Skinny little Miku. Perfect waist. Perfect everything. If she had these—” she slapped the underside of one enormous tit and watched it bounce “—they’d call her sloppy. If she had this—” she grabbed a thick handful of her own belly and squeezed until the flesh spilled between her fingers “—they’d pretend she didn’t exist.”
Another huge bite.
Then another.
She didn’t even bother with a plate.
Cake went straight into her mouth, frosting coating her chin, her cleavage, the deep valley between her breasts. The bikini top was already soaked and shiny with sweat from the effort of swallowing. Every guilty gulp made her belly swell a little further over the strained waistband of the bottoms.
The jealousy was supposed to hurt but instead, the sensation built between her legs.
“They love her because she’s small,” Teto growled, scooping another messy chunk. “If she was fat like me they’d drop her in a second. No more ‘cute.’ No more ‘perfect.’ Just another bloated joke who can’t even stand up without help.” She shoved the handful in and chewed loudly, cheeks puffed, eyes half-lidded. A low, wet sound escaped her throat as her pussy clenched.
She kept going. Faster now. Both hands working, stuffing, smearing. Cake filled her mouth, her cheeks, her throat. Her belly pushed out harder against her thighs, the navel a deep, shadowed pit. The bikini bottoms were cutting into the fat of her hips so sharply the skin around them was turning pink. She rocked her hips against the couch cushion, grinding her soaked folds against the fabric while she fed.
“Wouldn’t even let her on stage if she jiggled like this,” she panted. “If her tits hung this low. If her ass was this wide. They’d laugh. They’d call her disgusting.” Her voice dropped into a moan. “But I like it. They don’t realize that I LIKE being the one they wouldn’t want. I LOVE getting fatter while they celebrate her.”
She tore the last third of the cake apart with both hands and buried her face in it. Frosting everywhere. In her hair. Down her cleavage. Across the heavy undersides of her breasts. Her belly was taut and sloshing now, rising with every swallow. The swimsuit looked painted on, seams screaming. She kept eating even when she could barely breathe, hips rolling, thighs trembling.
When the last of it was gone she slumped back, mouth slack, belly massive and round and shining with cream. The bikini was more than inadequate for her now, but at least allowed her easy access to her nethers. Her body kept twitching with aftershocks of arousal. Cake-smeared fingers drifted down, lazily rubbing the swollen lips between her legs as her eyes fluttered shut.
Teto passed out like that: stuffed, leaking, jealous, and painfully turned on, the empty cake plate forgotten on the floor while her overfed body kept slowly, greedily expanding on the couch as she fell into an envy infused coma…
Teto sprawled across the couch in her tiny blue bikini, the pink straps already biting into the heavy swell of her tits and the deep crease beneath her belly. The fabric had given up hours ago. Her thick thighs spread wide, the bottoms vanishing between rolls of soft, pale fat that jiggled every time she shifted. A massive birthday cake sat on the coffee table in front of her, white frosting piled high, strawberries glistening, the whole thing big enough for a party that never came.
On her phone, the timeline was nothing but Miku. Streamers. Concert clips. Fans posting “happy birthday to the perfect idol.” Teto’s own birthday had been four months ago. April first, but she was always the joke.
She stabbed her fingers into the cake and ripped off a dripping handful.
“They wouldn’t even look at her if she looked like this,” she muttered around a mouthful of sponge and cream. Frosting smeared across her lower lip and dripped onto the upper swell of her left breast.
“Skinny little Miku. Perfect waist. Perfect everything. If she had these—” she slapped the underside of one enormous tit and watched it bounce “—they’d call her sloppy. If she had this—” she grabbed a thick handful of her own belly and squeezed until the flesh spilled between her fingers “—they’d pretend she didn’t exist.”
Another huge bite.
Then another.
She didn’t even bother with a plate.
Cake went straight into her mouth, frosting coating her chin, her cleavage, the deep valley between her breasts. The bikini top was already soaked and shiny with sweat from the effort of swallowing. Every guilty gulp made her belly swell a little further over the strained waistband of the bottoms.
The jealousy was supposed to hurt but instead, the sensation built between her legs.
“They love her because she’s small,” Teto growled, scooping another messy chunk. “If she was fat like me they’d drop her in a second. No more ‘cute.’ No more ‘perfect.’ Just another bloated joke who can’t even stand up without help.” She shoved the handful in and chewed loudly, cheeks puffed, eyes half-lidded. A low, wet sound escaped her throat as her pussy clenched.
She kept going. Faster now. Both hands working, stuffing, smearing. Cake filled her mouth, her cheeks, her throat. Her belly pushed out harder against her thighs, the navel a deep, shadowed pit. The bikini bottoms were cutting into the fat of her hips so sharply the skin around them was turning pink. She rocked her hips against the couch cushion, grinding her soaked folds against the fabric while she fed.
“Wouldn’t even let her on stage if she jiggled like this,” she panted. “If her tits hung this low. If her ass was this wide. They’d laugh. They’d call her disgusting.” Her voice dropped into a moan. “But I like it. They don’t realize that I LIKE being the one they wouldn’t want. I LOVE getting fatter while they celebrate her.”
She tore the last third of the cake apart with both hands and buried her face in it. Frosting everywhere. In her hair. Down her cleavage. Across the heavy undersides of her breasts. Her belly was taut and sloshing now, rising with every swallow. The swimsuit looked painted on, seams screaming. She kept eating even when she could barely breathe, hips rolling, thighs trembling.
When the last of it was gone she slumped back, mouth slack, belly massive and round and shining with cream. The bikini was more than inadequate for her now, but at least allowed her easy access to her nethers. Her body kept twitching with aftershocks of arousal. Cake-smeared fingers drifted down, lazily rubbing the swollen lips between her legs as her eyes fluttered shut.
Teto passed out like that: stuffed, leaking, jealous, and painfully turned on, the empty cake plate forgotten on the floor while her overfed body kept slowly, greedily expanding on the couch as she fell into an envy infused coma…
groupArtist
1k+
drblackjackverified
photo_library38 albums
visibility96K views
View Profile arrow_forward
Comments (0)