The Backward Leggings Girl

Chapter 1 - Temptations

The August sun filtered lazily through the windows of the *Dolce Riflesso* patisserie, casting golden reflections across the white marble tabletops and lacquered wooden chairs. The air was thick with the scent of cotton candy, melted chocolate, and vanilla, an irresistible lure for anyone passing by. It was one of those summer afternoons that begged you to duck into a cool corner with an iced drink or, better yet, a dessert that melted on your tongue and washed away every trace of thirst.

Elena and Matteo sat at a corner table, their knees brushing just barely under the surface, a casual touch crackling with electricity. They’d met a few weeks earlier on a dating app, a chance swipe that had sparked an instant connection, as if their bodies and minds had synced up without needing words. At twenty-three, Elena was a vision, her hourglass figure honed by years of gym sessions and iron discipline. Her light cotton dress clung to the generous curves of her toned ass and her “tits”, as she called them with a wicked little smirk whenever she wanted to tease Matteo. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a high ponytail that swayed when she laughed, and her green eyes sparkled with lively curiosity, the mark of a brilliant mind buried in molecular biology textbooks at the university. She was gorgeous, sharp, the kind of girl everyone wanted to date.

Matteo, by contrast, was more… ordinary. Not unattractive, far from it, but his charm lay in his easy smile and smooth talk rather than a chiseled physique. His light brown hair was a bit messy, and the blue T-shirt he wore was slightly rumpled, like he hadn’t bothered ironing it before heading out. Still, something about him clicked with Elena: a relaxed confidence, a chemistry that made them laugh and crave each other all at once. She could’ve demanded, and gotten, someone who checked every box on the hotness scale, but Elena didn’t care about that. She just wanted someone she clicked with.

That afternoon, as they sipped an iced cappuccino (hers) and a craft beer (his), their eyes locked often, punctuated by light banter and laughs that warmed the air. But a sudden move from Elena broke the rhythm. She leaned toward Matteo, a sly grin on her lips, and tilted her head toward a nearby table.

“Look over there,” she whispered, amused but with a hint of judgment. “Isn’t she… a little *out of place*?”

Matteo followed her gaze and found himself staring at a girl a few tables away. She was impossible to miss. Barely into her twenties, she looked like an amplified version of Elena, as if someone had taken Elena’s hourglass silhouette and stuffed it with fat until it resembled an overpacked grocery bag. Her body was a riot of soft, abundant curves: wide hips spilling out of black leggings worn backward, a detail that added a disarming nonchalance to her look. Her belly, full and round, pooched just above the waistband, a plush roll of flesh that defied any notion of containment. Maybe that belly overhang was why she hadn’t noticed her leggings were on inside out. Yet there was undeniable beauty in her, a raw, wild allure that demanded attention. Her curves were proportionate, almost hypnotic, and the way she moved, relaxed, completely at ease with every inch of herself, radiated brazen sensuality, as if she knew exactly the effect she had. A glance at her face made it clear she had no clue what she stirred in others. She was getting laid despite it all; plenty at nearby tables stole quick glances at the generous curves she didn’t bother hiding. Maybe that was the thing, she served them up to anyone watching, like she wasn’t used to having them. Looking at her, you’d think those pounds had piled on recently, maybe even fast.

Elena snickered, covering her mouth with one hand. “I mean, look at her. How do you let yourself go *that* much? It’s like… a version of me that quit the gym and went nuts on sweets. But, you know, she’s not even ugly…” Elena trailed off, watching Matteo’s reaction to the girl and her words. They hadn’t been together long, and though he’d already passed her tests with flying colors and earned her trust, she was still studying him.

Matteo raised an eyebrow, his eyes still glued to the girl, who was just being served a massive sundae. The waitress set down a masterpiece of whipped cream, melted chocolate, and hazelnut crunch, a dessert that seemed destined for a belly like hers. The girl smiled innocently, her eyes lighting up with almost childlike joy, and dug her spoon into the mountain of cream, savoring it slowly, her facial expressions turning the act downright erotic.

“Wow,” Matteo murmured, unable to look away. She ate with gusto, each spoonful a mini performance: her lips closing around the spoon, whipped cream leaving a glossy trail on her mouth, her body seeming to hum with pleasure at every bite. When she finished a few minutes later, she leaned back in her chair, one hand sliding lazily over her round belly, giving it a dull pat and massaging it with slow, satisfied strokes. That intimate, uninhibited gesture sent a shiver down Matteo’s spine, and Elena’s too. They couldn’t resume normal conversation while they had this perfect view, seated behind her, watching unnoticed. Half the café would’ve killed to be at their table for that sight, alone to stare without rush. She wasn’t a fat chick; she was a sexy girl with exaggerated curves in all the right places. She looked like an Amazon, except you couldn’t spot a hint of muscle. Just plushness, though muscles underneath held it all together. The muscle didn’t matter; what was hot was the extreme femininity of those perfect fat forms and how the stranger wore them with zero self-esteem issues, even though most girls in her position would’ve hidden it or at least put the leggings on the right way.

Elena leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Damn, how do you scarf down *that* with a gut like hers? Doesn’t she think about going on a diet? That’s the kind of ice cream a fit person like me can indulge in once in a while.”

Her tone was playful, but there was an odd note in her voice, a mix of curiosity and… something else. Matteo glanced at her, noticing how her eyes gleamed, like she was trying to decode something about herself in the scene. He felt strange too, his heart beating faster, heat rising to his face. That girl, with her over-the-top body and shameless pleasure, radiated an energy that hit them both deep.

“Probably,” Matteo said, his voice a little rough, “she doesn’t even think about it. She looks… happy like that, doesn’t she?”

Elena laughed, but it carried a nervous edge. “Happy? Maybe. But seriously, how long does it take to get like that? I mean, look at her. She didn’t wake up one morning and *bam*, gut and huge ass. It takes dedication to reach that point. You could stop sooner, right?”

Matteo tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Less time than you think, probably.”

Elena stared, surprised. “What? For real? How long do you think?”

He leaned across the table, their faces now dangerously close. “Depends. With the right… incentives, you could end up like that in, say, a year.”

Elena’s eyes widened, and for a moment her smile faltered, replaced by a look blending disbelief and curiosity about how fast Matteo thought such a transformation could happen. “A year? You’re saying *I* could look like that by next summer? Come on, no way… That’s ridiculous. I’ve never even had a hint of a belly, you know… I don’t think it’s possible.” They both kept staring at the plump muse fueling their hidden fantasies, fantasies they didn’t even know they had yet, but they were already there.

Matteo didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted back to the girl, now maniacally licking the last smear of cream from the spoon as if sucking every bit of nourishment from the oversized portion, her body pulsing with raw sensuality, primal femininity. Then he looked at Elena, and something new sparked in his eyes, nothing like the lightness from before. “With the right incentives,” he repeated, voice low, almost a whisper. “A year might be enough.”

Elena said nothing, but her breathing quickened. The air between them thickened, charged with a tension neither could name. They weren’t a feeder and a feedee; they’d never even considered such a thing existed. Words just organize the mind sometimes, you don’t need a label for the brain to process the data. In this scene, the girl with her ice cream, her abundant body, her shameless pleasure, a seed had slipped into their thoughts, ready to sprout.

As they left the patisserie, the sun low on the horizon, neither mentioned the girl with the backward leggings. But in the days that followed, that conversation would resurface, along with a new, unspoken desire for both of them that could change everything.