the roommate's experiment

Chapter 1

A wave of heat plumes out of the oven as Diane takes her mittens to the edges of the baking sheet and pulls it out, a pan of large chocolate chunk cookies flattened on a crinkly cutout of tinged parchment paper. She allows those to cool on the sheet as they spread their aroma through the kitchen, the mixture of melted chocolate, vanilla, butter and sugar making your mouth water in delight, having perfected the recipe several iterations ago. She returns to a partially mixed sugar cookie batter which was abandoned to tend to the former batch, whisking it until it turns all white, then reaching for a flour concoction for the final mixture. The flour plops in as Diane carefully whisks carefully to keep the recipe inside the bowl. Scraping the sides and folding the batter on top of itself, the batter glistening in the kitchen light. She places the bowl down and takes the batter that had stuck to the whisk to her tongue, licking up the foundation of the wire to get a sample of what was to come. Sugary, with a hint of vanilla, the flour gives it a proper foundation that rests nicely on your taste buds. Now just to dish them up onto another baking sheet.

In the time it took Diane to ball her dough onto prepared sheets and put them away into the oven for their transformation, the chocolate chunk cookies, though not properly cooled, had stiffened enough to be held in your hand without folding in half. Still warm and slightly staining her hands, she brings a sample to her mouth and bites down. Chocolate floods her senses as the complementing dough sends a caloric payload into her stomach. Diane made sure to go extra hard with the butter and sugar, a form of experiment that you had wanting to try out recently. Finishing her sample and washing her chocolate-stained hands, Diane plates up the still-warm cookies and heads off to the living room.

“You came right in at the right time, just made up another batch of chocolate chips, some sugar on the way. You have room?”

Diane already had her arms stretched out for you to grab the plate before you could even think about denying her request through your brain fog. A night at the buffet had become a developed, and common, habit, every night going to pile on plates of rice, chicken, noodles, sprinkling on soy sauce and chowing down while the servers’ eyes took glances at their growing regular. Scooting out at a mysteriously shrinking table booth, coming back home breathing through your lips, you had stumbled upon your roommate baking with a greeting for you. Just before taking your place on the couch, you grabbed a spoon and a carton of ice cream for your dessert, which started at the buffet with just a small bowl of ice cream and some fried donuts. Turning on the TV and popping open the carton, you took the liberty of using the package as a personal bowl, an unconscious intention motivating you to finish it before falling asleep.

You rub your exposed distended stomach (poor thing struggling from a day of gorging) before a meek “Sure” escapes your lips as you pull on the plate with your fingertips and resting on your left, and ice cream on your right. She stares at you with a bit of eagerness.

“Did you — urp — phew. Did you do something to the cookies?”. The following thought about her reason for supervising you didn’t escape your lips, replaced with a small gasp.

“I…adjusted it a bit. Thought about putting a little more butter and sugar, some other things, thought it might make it *more* rich. Come on, come on, try it!”

At command, you crane your left arm to pick up a cookie and rest it in your mouth before biting down into the gooey chocolate, which ends up staining the edges of your lips. The succeeding sugar spike nearly sent you directly into a food coma, forcing shut your eyes as you growled in delight. Chewing slowly, trying to liquefy your bite to ease any burden off your stomach, small breaths to justify to your gut that you could fit a *little* more. A spare hand massages the apex of your tummy, feeling the mound of food that had accumulated swell with every slight inhale. Hopefully kneading your belly like dough would free up some space, you still had a carton to finish for the night. Prying your eyes open, you say:

“Yeah…yeah. That’s pretty good, yeah, t-thanks.” As you place the cookie back in your mouth for another bite.

“Can’t be that bad if you’re going for a second bite. Seems like you haven’t eaten that much after all,” proclaiming while seemingly ignoring the melting carton of cream to your left. Diane takes a sharp finger right to one of your bloated mounds, stifling a groan and small burp from inside. A breath of fresh relief, followed by another decadent bite into your maw.

“But anyways, don’t eat all of them, I still want you to try the sugar cookies, I wanted to alter them as well, so you have to be honest with me, okay?”

“Uh-huh…urp….”, followed by finishing up the palm-sized cookie, stuffing your cheeks full with a renewed confidence in your capacity.

Diane returned to the kitchen and returned to work, rotating the baking sheet in the oven around for an even bake. She glances at you, currently watching the television, eyes glazed over, an “bra-sized” shirt pulled up over the summit of your stomach and comfortable shorts stretched out from your thighs. You lifted a cookie in your palm and placed a spoonful of ice cream on top, watching it as the scoop slowly pools out from the warmth, trails of cream falling into the pits and crevices and flowing towards the edge. You hastily bring it to your mouth to finish it in two, but not before a couple of droplets dropped down onto your chest, which you handle responsibly, taking your finger and wiping it up, placing it in your mouth so no calorie is wasted.

Diane wondered how far she could take it. You weren’t always like this, perhaps a little chubby when you both moved in together, but something about your stay at home job, the snacks provided which were meant to last a couple of weeks…. It seemed to you as an instinct to slowly eat just a little more every day. Diane thought about the first few times she offered you her baked treats, you would politely decline after a couple of morsels, but she would then catch you up sneaking off with more behind your back or in the middle of the night after a few baking sessions; what you left in the cookie jar were crumbs from your midnight excursions. More free time meant more baking, and it seemed that protests that had occurred before simply stopped now, even when you were in such a bloated state, pregnant from food from eating plates of Chinese food. Since you didn’t mind, why not encourage it, see how far you can go? Diane was confident in your agency.

The sugar cookies had finished, Diane replaced the baked pan with a fresh one with more sugar cookie dough, and waited at the same time for them to cool off. Plating them up, you make the journey once again back to the living room. Your stretch marked gut was fully exposed now, your pants tucked away to let it hang out heavily, your shirt bundled up against your breasts, and you leaned back into the couch barely able to stay awake as you lazily scraped at the remnants of ice cream you were polishing off. There were two cookies left on the last plate. Diane presented her current plate.

“I’m sure you still have more room right?”

You stared, almost angrily, but you easily capitulated.

“Hmm…. Yeah — urp. S-sure.”

Diane held the plate far enough away so that you would have to lean up to grab it, causing a groan as you strained against the weight sitting on your lap. She pulled away the empty carton for her dear friend as it was replaced with the plate, then bent over a little to size up your gut. Firm, but a little feeling with her fingers revealed a jiggly portion of your belly near the edges.

“I know I said that you shouldn’t eat all the cookies before,” Diane started, rubbing the sides of your girth before giving you a painful pat, “but…you know you can have the rest, of course.”

“Mmm-hmm, o-okay — huh”, you replied, and you took a sugar cookie to your mouth for a taste test.

“Well, how does it taste?”

You paused as a burp escaped from your lips….

“Delicious as always.”
1 chapter, created 7 months , updated 7 months
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Fanedfox 7 months
Well written, I like Diane as a character. Her gainer appears as either sex, though I think it is a “he”.
I just wish my BBW wife would feed me like Diane does. Great job!
Nalim Kerut 7 months
Excelent. Continue please.
User14244360 7 months
Amazing story! You’re a great writer!