Chapter 2: The Discovery
The air conditioner rattled like a dying animal, fighting a losing battle against the late September humidity. Becca tugged nervously at the hem of her oversized hoodie, even though sweat prickled along her hairline. Baggy clothes were her uniform now. Loose tees, hoodies even in this heat, sweatpants instead of jeans. Anything to hide the insistent swell beneath her waistband.
Across their cramped dorm room, Trixie pirouetted in front of their shared full-length mirror, wearing nothing but Brad’s football jersey. The dark fabric hung loose on her shoulders but strained dramatically across her chest and hips, barely skimming the tops of her thick thighs. "Does this say ‘just got laid by the starting linebacker’ or what?" she asked, striking a pose, her hands smoothing the jersey over the pronounced curve of her belly. She’d been eating more, indulging in late-night pizza runs with Brad, and the weight seemed to settle instantly onto her breasts, belly, and ass, filling her out with astonishing speed. She looked… lush. Vibrant. Unapologetic.
"Uh, yeah. Definitely says that," Becca mumbled, forcing her eyes back to her biology textbook. The words swam on the page. All she could see was the outline of Trixie’s nipple pressing against the thin fabric, the way the jersey hem rode up, revealing the soft swell just above her hip bone. Her own cock twitched in response, a familiar, unwelcome pressure against the confines of her thin cotton shorts.
"You okay?" Trixie flopped onto her messy bed, the mattress groaning. "You've been kinda quiet. And sweaty. Seriously, ditch the hoodie."
"Just tired. Studying." Becca pulled the hoodie tighter. Beneath it, trapped against her thigh, her cock felt like a lead weight. Six inches now, at least. Maybe pushing seven. Thick. Impossible to ignore. Getting dressed was a daily ordeal of careful tucking and praying the fabric didn't cling. Sitting in lectures was agony, shifting constantly to relieve the pressure. The frantic, secret sessions in the steamy bathroom weren't just about release anymore; they were feeding this monstrous growth, and the fear of discovery was a constant, cold knot in her stomach. Trixie’s presence, her casual sensuality, was gasoline on the fire.
Brad started taking up more of Trixie’s time. Loud phone calls filled the room, Trixie’s laughter echoing off the cinderblock walls. "He took me to that burger place off-campus? The one with the milkshakes?" Trixie recounted one evening, rubbing her slightly rounded belly with satisfaction as she kicked off her shoes. "I ate, like, everything. He kept saying how hot it was, watching me enjoy it." A slow, pleased smile spread across her face. "I kinda liked it too. Letting go, you know? Feels powerful." Her hand lingered on her stomach, a thoughtful expression replacing the usual bright confidence for a fleeting second.
Becca just nodded, burying her face deeper in her book. The thought of Trixie enjoying Brad’s attention, Brad watching her eat, Brad touching her… it sent a fresh wave of heat through Becca. Jealousy and arousal twisted together. Alone in the room later, listening to the distant thump of a party Trixie had gone to with Brad, Becca locked the bathroom door. The image of Trixie’s satisfied smile, her hand on her belly, flashed behind Becca’s closed eyelids. Her hand moved with desperate urgency, gripping her thick, heavy cock. It felt huge in her grasp now, demanding. When she came, gasping against the tiles, the thick ropes splattered high on the shower wall, more voluminous than ever. Shivering afterwards, slick and spent, she stared down at it. It looked heavier. Swollen. Unmistakably, terrifyingly bigger. Seven inches, thick as her wrist. Hiding it felt less like a strategy and more like a sick joke.
The nights Trixie stayed over at Brad’s were worse. The silence in the dorm was oppressive. Becca would lie in her narrow bunk, the absence of Trixie’s breathing, her scent, her presence, a physical ache. Her hand would drift under the sheets, finding the hard, insistent length. Fantasies weren't vague anymore; they were specific. Trixie laughing, her breasts jiggling. Trixie stretching, the band of her shorts digging into the soft flesh of her belly. Trixie’s throaty moan, imagined during one of those phone calls. Each solo session fueled the growth, leaving Becca feeling more monstrous, more trapped. The bulge in her pajama pants was obscene. Impossible to miss if anyone looked.
Then, one rainy Thursday night, the dorm room door slammed open. Becca jumped, nearly knocking her laptop off her knees. Trixie stood in the doorway, soaked, Brad’s oversized jersey plastered to her body. Rain dripped from her hair. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her usual glow extinguished. She looked… deflated.
"He dumped me," Trixie announced, her voice thick. She didn’t move from the doorway, water pooling on the cheap linoleum floor at her feet.
Becca scrambled off her bed. "Oh god, Trix, what happened? Are you okay?"
Trixie shook her head, raindrops flying. "Said I was getting ‘too fluffy’." She spat the word like it was poison. "That it was ‘cute at first’ but now?" A bitter laugh escaped her. She strode into the room, past Becca, and yanked the wet jersey over her head in one furious motion. Underneath, she wore only a tiny, strained lace bralette and low-rise panties that disappeared into the soft, generous curves of her hips and belly. Her skin was flushed, her breasts heaving with angry breaths. She threw the jersey into a damp heap on the floor. "Asshole."
Becca stood frozen, her gaze involuntarily drawn to Trixie’s body. The softness of her belly, the lush swell of her hips, the way the wet lace clung obscenely to her full breasts. It was raw, vulnerable, and devastatingly beautiful. The sight, coupled with Trixie’s obvious hurt and anger, hit Becca like a physical blow. Arousal, sharp and immediate, surged through her, completely disregarding the situation. Her cock, already a constant, heavy presence, hardened instantly, violently, trapped within her thin gray sweatpants.
It was too much. The fabric offered no disguise against such an intense, sudden erection. The outline was stark, unmistakable – a thick, rigid tent pressing against the soft cotton, pointing almost directly at Trixie. Becca instinctively crossed her arms low over her lap, face burning crimson. She sat on the couch, shoving her thick cock down between her thighs before Trixie saw.
Trixie didn't seem to notice Becca's frantic adjustment. She paced the small room, raindrops still tracing paths down her arms. "Too fluffy!" she repeated, the words sharp and brittle. "Like I'm a damn golden retriever puppy!" She stopped near the cluttered desk, picking up a half-eaten bag of chips and staring at it with venom. "He loved feeding me those stupid milkshakes last week. Said it was sexy."
Becca forced her arms to uncross slightly, keeping her legs clamped tight. The trapped heat between her thighs was immense, a thick, demanding presence. She kept her gaze fixed on the damp jersey on the floor. "He's an idiot, Trix. Total jerk." Her voice came out strained.
Trixie crumpled the chip bag shut and threw it aside. "I know! But..." Her anger visibly deflated, shoulders slumping. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking small despite her curves in the clinging, wet lingerie. "It kinda hurt, Becks." Her voice cracked. "Liking the eating... liking him liking it... then that."
She turned, her eyes glistening. Before Becca could formulate a response, Trixie marched over and plopped down hard on the futon beside her. The cushion dipped dramatically. "I'm freezing," Trixie declared, shivering exaggeratedly. "And you're wearing a hoodie in a sauna. Off." She reached over, fingers hooking under the neckline of Becca's sweatshirt.
Panic flared. "Trix, no, really, I'm—" But Trixie was already yanking the hoodie up and over Becca's head with surprising strength. Cool air hit Becca's bare arms and the thin cotton of her t-shirt. Worse, the sudden removal released the pressure on her trapped cock. It sprang back against the inside of her thigh, rigid and thick beneath her sweatpants. Becca gasped, frantically grabbing a throw pillow and shoving it onto her lap.
"See? Better!" Trixie said, oblivious. She then snatched the fleece blanket draped over the back of the futon, pulling it up and over both their legs. "Now, chips. Where are the chips?" She nudged the forgotten bag near Becca’s feet with her bare toe. "Feed me. I need junk food stat. Comfort me." She snuggled deeper into the futon, pressing her side firmly against Becca’s, her damp skin radiating warmth through her tiny bralette. Her hip pressed against Becca’s thigh, perilously close to the pillow-covered bulge.
Becca’s mind screamed. The direct contact, the scent of rain and Trixie’s vanilla lotion mingling, the sight of her soft belly rising and falling inches away – it was sensory overload. Her cock throbbed violently beneath the pillow, trapped and desperate. She fumbled for the chip bag with trembling hands. "Here," she managed, pulling out a chip and holding it near Trixie’s mouth, her arm brushing against the soft swell of Trixie’s breast.
Trixie opened her mouth automatically, crunching down. "He actually said," she mumbled around the mouthful, leaning her head against Becca's shoulder, "that I should maybe 'hit the gym' with him. Like my favorite hobby wasn't inhaling fries with him last weekend!" She shifted, nestling closer. The curve of her belly pressed into Becca’s side, warm and heavy. "And you know what? I liked it. The eating. The... the gaining. Feeling fuller." She sounded surprised, almost defiant. "He made it feel dirty at the end."
Becca fed her another chip. Her own breath hitched as Trixie’s lips brushed her fingertips again. That simple touch sent electric shocks straight to her core. The pressure beneath the pillow was becoming unbearable, a hot, aching pulse demanding release. Sweat beaded on her upper lip despite the room's chill. She focused on Trixie’s voice, the rise and fall of her breath, the impossible softness pressed against her, anything but the agonizing need between her own legs. The forgotten TV show flickered silently, casting shifting light across their tangled forms under the blanket.
Hours bled together in a haze of salt, vinegar, and Trixie’s venting. The chip bag emptied, replaced by cookies Trixie unearthed from her chaotic desk drawer. Becca fed her mechanically, her arm numb, her entire world narrowed to the torturous friction of her trapped cock rubbing against her sweatpants with every tiny shift Trixie made. Each giggle, each sigh, each press of Trixie’s soft flesh against her was exquisite agony. She was wound impossibly tight, a live wire sparking against damp tinder. Her control was fraying, seconds from snapping.
Trixie stretched languidly, arching her back. The movement made her ample breasts strain against the delicate lace of her bralette. "Ugh, this thing is digging in," she complained, shifting again. She pressed back against Becca, settling deeper, her full hip grinding unintentionally against the lump under Becca’s pillow. It was the final straw. A ragged gasp tore from Becca’s throat.
Suddenly, a sharp, distinct SNAP cut through the room. Trixie froze mid-sentence. Her eyes widened. She looked down at her chest just as the strained lace band of her bralette gave up entirely, the flimsy clasp bursting open. The fabric fell away. Trixie stared at her huge, heavy breasts for far longer than necessary, Becca doing the same. Trixie then slowly came up to meet Becca's gaze, holding it for a moment before snuggling back down into Beccas lap, her swollen tits naked against Becca's leg.