Chapter 4 - The Beginning

(This chapter is still in progress, so I might change something here or there when further parts are added).

The next day, Rana awoke as if emerging from a coma, her body heavy from the immense quantity of food she had consumed the night before. Her hair was a tangled mess, the result of restless sleep and the turbulent dreams. She blinked her eyes open, and memories of the night before hit her like a freight train.

“Oh no, not again… What the fuck did I do?” she groaned, letting her head sink into the pillow. Every day the same. She was out of control. She felt drowsy. Some water would help. Wearily, she wanted to get up, to freshen herself, get some clarity into her head. She huffed as she attempted to sit up in bed. But her belly, still larger than usual, felt too heavy and stretched. It seemed to protest the indulgence of the previous night, a reminder of the obscene amount of food she had consumed. Sitting up was too hard in her groggy state, so after a futile attempt to sit up, she let herself fall back heavily into the mattress.

Bad idea! Her massive breasts swayed as if they had a life of their own, almost slapping her in the face, and her belly, well... let’s just say it didn’t appreciate the abrupt movement either. It jiggled and swayed, the onslaught of calories from the previous night having left her feeling bloated and heavy. But strangely, it was moments like this that made her feel alive, a moist heat radiating from her pussy. She reached down, her fingertips grazing the soft expanse of her belly. Her fat upper pussy and love handles itched a bit, and she knew all too well what that meant – new stretch marks were in the making. “Oh god, I’m getting so fat” she mumbled to herself, as she squeezed her belly, dreadfully aware that she probably hadn’t even digested all the food yet.

Lying there, nailed down from her own weight, it occurred to her how easy getting up had been just a year ago. In comparison with how fat she felt today, back then she had felt light as a feather. Getting up had been effortless, and she had never given this fact any thought. It had felt normal, and “normal” was also void of any emotions. She knew that, objectively speaking, she had looked very cute - often enough she caught guys looking at her in awe - but it had never translated into herself feeling sexy or sensual about herself.

Instead, there had always been something amiss.

There had always been a longing within her, a strange desire to feel full, and plush, and cushiony. As a child, she had often put a pillow under her shirt, pretending to be fat. Growing up, she had not given this any thought anymore, because the women in the media were all thin. And thin = beautiful. Everyone had told her so, and she had lived a life that had not felt like her own. Only after she had come to the US to study, and her buttocks had started to develop their own life when walking, she had felt increasingly sensual. And boy, the first time she had really felt her butt cheeks bounce while walking, she had gotten so wet that she had thought she had gotten her period.

She had hurried to the toilet, to put a tampon - instead discovering she had gotten wet from feeling her butt cheeks bounce. This moment was edged into her brain now and it had been dictating her life ever since.




Interludes

The brisk walk to the bathroom had felt like an eternity, every step accentuating the strange, wet sensation between her thighs. All the way, she had felt her buttocks jiggle independently of her, as if they had developed a rhythm of their own, synchronized to her hurried steps. That day she had worn leggings, because her favorite jeans were feeling a bit snuck. They did not hold her butt in a firm grip like the jeans did, instead letting it bounce freely from its own weight.

She remembered that she had locked herself into a bathroom stall to check for blood from her period. Instead, she had felt an intense heat rush into her face, a feverish sort of realization seeping in as her fingertips had brushed against the moisture in her panties. Her heart had started to beat like tribal drums in her ears. A certain guilt had washed over her, telling her that this was not something to be excited about, and yet... she felt the undeniable flush of heat through her body, like the rush of a forbidden thrill. This was not the body she'd arrived with in the U.S., fed on a diet of rice and traditional cuisine. She was thin, little cute Rana. She didn't have have a boyish figure, and yes she had curves. She had a cute ass. She could have been proud of it. But it Had. Never. Jiggled. Like this.

The sensory impressions from her hurried walk to the bathroom replayed in her mind—each step had been accompanied by the soft, bouncy jiggle of her butt cheeks. It had never bounced so much. “Damn, am I really getting off on this?” she thought. It made her swallow hard, realizing that the canteen's rich food—the burgers, the fries, the large meals, the soda—it had all accumulated in ways she had not payed attention to. Since she had arrived, the new routine had overtaken her life. She had stopped her usual morning run. And she had enjoyed the food ...a lot. And the very thought of the result of it filled her with a horniness that was intoxicating. It was an epiphany that seemed to throb in her very core, making her almost feverish with arousal. It wasn't the food; it was what the food had done to her, how it had turned her cute little buttocks into two sexy melons that jiggled with each step.

Rana had ended up not being able to think straight anymore. Her hand had instinctively moved between her legs, her fingers tracing the contours of her newfound moisture. It was an act of surrender, an acknowledgment of the sheer arousal catalyzed by imagining what a fat ass she had become. The pleasure that shot through her was like an electric charge, as potent as it was forbidden.

As her fingers worked in tandem with her surging emotions, leading her to a shuddering climax right there in the bathroom stall, Rana felt both an overwhelming guilt and a liberating ecstasy.

She had come after only a minute, given how horny she was. The orgasm had been the strongest one she had ever had. She had just fingering herself to the thought of becoming fat.

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15 minutes later, Rana had slipped into class with a sense of surreality hanging over her. “God, I can’t believe I did that... right there in the university bathroom,” she had thought, a mix of shame and exhilaration brewing within her, as she had quietly settled into her seat. She had looked around the room, scanning the faces of her classmates, wondering if any of them had noticed that her ass had grown. Across the room, Sarah, a lanky girl who always seemed to be on some sort of diet, had eyed her for a moment too long. Rana had felt a flush crawl up her cheeks. Was Sarah judging her? She had quickly turned her attention to the front, where Professor Miller was about to start the lecture on market psychology.
“We often think that market trends are solely about numbers and patterns,” Professor Martin had begun, “but they’re also deeply tied to human emotions—greed, fear, and yes, even lust.”
Lust. The word had echoed in Rana’s ears, reigniting the flame that she had been trying so hard to quench. As the professor had continued talking about the role of emotional biases in trading behavior, her mind had started to drift. She had glanced around, studying her classmates. Everyone had seemed so damn engrossed in the lecture. “Do they also have these insane, intoxicating moments of horniness? Or is it just me turning into a freak?”
What if, she had fantasized, she were to embrace this new found thrill that she got from the sudden awareness of her growing butt? It had always been there, deep down she realized. What would happen if she stopped fighting it? She had pictured herself walking into this very classroom, her butt twice its current size, each cheek fat and luscious. How would that feel, she had wondered, the heavy jiggle of each cheek, as it bounced from its weight. At this thought, a rush of arousal so potent had washed over her that she had almost gasped out loud.
“Miss Sharma, any thoughts on how emotional impulsiveness can affect market stability?” The professor’s voice had cut through her reverie like a hot knife through butter.
Caught off guard, she had stuttered, “Uh, yes, Professor. Emotional impulsiveness can lead to, um, volatile markets. People might make irrational decisions based on how they feel rather than logical analysis, which can have unpredictable consequences.”
“Aptly put,” he had nodded, not noticing how Rana’s hands had clenched into fists below her desk to steady herself.
Her words, although referring to the stock market, had felt like a reflection of her own inner turmoil. She had realized then that her emotional impulsiveness—her secret, guilty fantasies—could indeed have “unpredictable consequences.” But unlike the market, there was no going back, no external force to stabilize her fluctuating desires.
She had never felt turned on like this. She had thought there was nothing more than a shallow sense of attraction to this or that guy. What she felt now was new, it overshadowed any crush on a guy she had had in the past. Just the thought of herself in a fat body turned her on to no extent.
She was beautiful, by all standards. She would have looked like an Iranian poster girl if religion had not forbidden such things in her home country. Her parents were proud of her beauty, and guys looked at her in awe, falling in love with her stunning looks. She was used to these admiring looks, it was nothing new. But it did not satisfy her. A part of her, a part that had been silenced all her life was screaming at her. "Ruin this body, ruin yourself Rana! How they would shame you!" She imagined her belly hanging over her waistband. The thought made her pussy tingle.

And what of the other thing? The elephant in the room? She had kept her virginity all these years. She had told herself it was because of good virtues. What about her virtues now? She had fingered herself in the bathroom of the university, overcome by such a heat that she had not been able to resist. She felt naughty, she felt hot between her legs. It felt like a seal inside her had broken, a door had opened. A door that seemed to have unlocked her pussy too. It felt like she had lived her life the wrong way all this time.

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The semester had barreled on like a runaway train, and Rana had found herself unable to steer it back onto the tracks. The irony hadn’t been lost on her: she was taking a course in market psychology, analyzing what drives consumer behavior, even as she had grappled with her own impulses, which had seemed increasingly beyond her control. In class, Professor Martin had droned on about “the paradox of choice,” exploring how more options could lead to decision paralysis and irrational behavior. The concept had echoed in her mind.

Rana’s days had started to take on an uncanny rhythm, marked by cycles of self-indulgence and bouts of guilt. More and more often, she would sit at her desk, surrounded by textbooks and notes, resolved to catch up on her lagging coursework. Yet, every time she had tried to focus, her thoughts had drifted, her eyes would wander from the pages in front of her to her midsection, her hand invariably reaching down to knead her little tummy, almost as if guided by a force outside of her control. That first touch had always been like flipping a switch. “I should be studying,” she’d think, but another, more insistent voice would override that thought.

“What would people think if I really let myself go?” She’d fantasize about walking into class one day, transformed beyond recognition. She’d imagine the stares, the whispered judgments, the barely disguised gasps as people took in her expanded figure. And what would happen, she had thought, if she walked back into her home country, unrecognizable, her body having surrendered to an onslaught of calories? She would envision the disgust, the disbelief, the scandalized whispers among relatives and family friends.

It should have felt wrong, and yet the taboo of these outrageous fantasies turned into a perverse allure. And then, with her resolve eroding bit by bit, she’d find herself abandoning her textbooks for a quick trip to the nearby grocery store.
Returning with bags of chips, soda cans, and an assortment of candies, she’d tell herself that she would only have a little—a couple of bites, nothing more. But as the first bite would settle in her mouth, setting off fireworks of pleasure, she’d lose all pretense of control. She’d eat, and eat, and then drink soda to make room for more eating, until her tummy rounded out like a balloon stretched to its limit.

The aftermath was often the same—a sense of bloated lethargy, a mind fogged by overindulgence and horniness. Every time she had found herself in this post-indulgent haze, a small voice within her would chide her. "You're ruining your life," it would say, but that voice had gotten softer and softer as the weeks passed, slowly drowned out by the symphony of her cravings.

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