out of curiosity Daphne, I know you once wrote a story with the same name and basic plot... (Although there wasn't the best friend involved if i remeber correctly)... do you still have that one posted somewhere?
I don't remember where I found it, but here it is. Apologies for the formatting.
Guest Story: Pumpkins by DaphnePumpkins
copyright © 1998, q
daphne avakian
So, there I was, after a really, really huge Thanksgiving dinner, sitting on the
couch groaning,and my lover
starts making out with me, and this strange idea flits through my pie-addled
brain. And here it is. (This story
never appeared on the Erotic Mind Control Stories Archive, so have fun with it.)
If you like this story, make
you drop by my own website for more stories!!!
"No, really. I can't eat another bite."
Diane looked at the pumpkin pie with undisguised horror, as if it were some kind
of slimy alien parasite
reaching out tentacles in order to colonize her stomach. Mike laughed.
"It's just pumpkin pie. It won't kill you."
"Yes, it will. I'll swell up and pop like a balloon. bang," she said, waving her
hands for emphasis. "I'll put on two
hundred pounds."
"This can't weigh more than 6 ounces!"
"Pie has evil properties far beyond the ken of mortal man. Better women than I
have been done in my its
loathsome temptations. Worse yet, it is garnished," she continued, her voice
dropping down to the registers of
a horror film announcer, "with whipped cream, the Devil's own work." She studied
it again; it did look awfully
good. "Put it in the 'fridge, I'll eat it later."
Mike pouted. He had been gifted from birth with an exceptionally good pout,
which he had diligently perfected to
razor sharpness. His pout could deftly extract a refund out of a New York
taxicab driver; in the course of their
three-year relationship, it had deftly removed her panties multiple times. But
the charm had faded some months
ago. "But I made it just for you. You love pumpkin pie."
"I love you, and I love pumpkin pie, and I love your pumpkin pie, and I don't
love retching. Thus, we arrive at the
logical conclusion: pie, yes; now, no."
"You're too thin, anyway."
"Michael, I've put on ten pounds this holiday season already. I hate this time
of year. One celebration after
another, carefully constructed to expand my thighs to elephant proportions. If
it's holiday season, what's my bag
limit?" She rolled onto her side, facing away from him, her ribs clearly visible
paralleling the line of her white
sports bra. She wrapped her arms protectively around her midriff.
Mike smiled, and put the plate down on the coffee table. A moment later, she
could hear water running, and
Mike singing as he did the dishes. She rolled over, and stared at the pumpkin
pie. The precise arrangement of
whipped cream made it appear to have a small face, sort of like the eyestalks on
a snail; she was certain it was
regarding her back. She sighed, and sat up. Clearly, she was going to have no
peace until it was dealt with.
Pushing her red hair out of her eyes, she picked up the plate.
She forked a bite into her mouth. "Twfh gwrthw... whwwht wfsin it?" she called
out to Mike. His head appeared
around the door, smiling. "Yes, darling?"
Swallowing, she managed to get out, "This is great... what's in it?"
He grinned even more broadly. "Pumpkin. The rest's a secret. Clean your plate!"
His head disappeared back
into the kitchen, and dish-washing noises resumed apace.
The pie sent to its final reward, she collapsed back. That, she thought, was a
mistake. The lassitude that a large
dinner always produced was intensified; she stared up at the ceiling,
unblinking. I'll never move again, she
thought; I'll just lie here and digest like a snake for a few months, then I'll
awake from torpor just in time to not be
able to fit into any swimsuits.
She could hear Mike come into the room, but she didn't bother raising her head,
or even looking at him. The
ceiling was fascinating; she hadn't realized quite how much that spray-on goop
looked like cottage cheese.
Which is what I'm going to be eating for the rest of my life, she thought; I'm
never going to eat anything else
again.
"Diane?" Mike's voice. Fine, let him talk, she thought sourly, her thoughts
fuzzy around the edges. I'm dead; his
loathsome, parasitic pumpkin pie has killed me. An entire huge fanged pumpkin,
like a Jack O'Lantern, will
erupt from my stomach later, like in Alien. Then he'll be sorry.
"Yes?" she managed to reply.
The sound of the chair next to the couch being sat it. She could imagine the
scene; her lying on her back staring
at the ceiling, him sitting near the head of the couch like a shrink. She
giggled, very slightly. Zo, Ms Yolland, she
thought to herself, how long haf you been hafing theese deluzions of being
sexually raveeshed by a large orange
gourd?
"Can you hear me?"
Oh, right, back to reality, she thought. Enough about pumpkin-fucking. Can I
hear him? Sure.
"Yes, I can hear you."
"That's good, Diane. It's very good you can hear me."
"Yes." That felt good. It's nice when he says that. He has a nice voice, she
thought happily.
"There wasn't just pumpkin in that pie, you know."
"Of course... uh... not?" What's in pumpkin pie, anyway? Pumpkin, condensed
milk, flour? Was there flour in
pumpkin pie?
"There was a drug. But don't worry, it won't do anything bad to you."
"A ... drug? Oh..." That's OK, she thought. It made it taste great.
"But don't worry about it," he continued, his voice still soft and friendly. OK,
she thought. No worries from me,
nope. That big ol' pumpkin can do whatever it wants to me.
"So, Diane, tell me about having sex with me."
"Uh... it's, uh, nice, I guess."
"Just nice?"
"You want it an awful lot." He did, too, morning, noon and night. Once a week,
twice maybe was fine, but c'mon.
"Is that bad?"
"I don't want it that much."
"I want you to just relax. Just drift. Feel yourself drift."
She melted into the couch. It felt so good to just drift, just let herself go.
Like a balloon, floating away.
"You know, you don't have to put on weight anywhere."
"I... I don't?"
"Nope. You won't gain much weight at all. There are special things in the pie
that prevent that."
"Ohhh..." How nice.
"Just certain places."
"Certain... places?"
"Yes. But don't think about that. Don't think about anything."
She felt her mind slowly close, like a flower at the end of the day. I'm not
thinking at all, she mused to herself;
Mike just says things, and the pour into me. Like the condensed milk into the
pie. Just for a moment, the image
flitted through her head again, of a huge orange pumpkin between her legs,
pumping away, filling her up.
Turning her into a pumpkin, too, big and round and full and firm. She felt her
pussy start to get wet.
"Now, Diane, I want you to think about having sex with me. Really good sex." She
gave a soft moan as her vulva
moistened, wetter and wetter. "That's good. It's getting better and better. You
love it." She gave another groan,
her legs parting slightly.
"How do you feel?"
"Horny..." She did, too. If she just wasn't so full, she'd hop into bed with him
right now.
"That's right. And you're getting hornier."
Wetness. Spreading. Her cunt felt like it was made out of liquid fire.
"Hornier."
The feeling was spreading. Down her legs, up her stomach. It was like all the
food was turning into... into sex,
into raw liquid sex, filling her up.
"Do you want to fuck?"
"oooh... yes... please... now... fuck me..."
"You love to fuck, don't you?"
"I love to fuck... please... I'm so... so ready..."
"We'll fuck soon, but you can use your fingers until then."
Her fingers found the zipper on her shorts, and slid in, making circles around
her clit. "Oh. Oh. OHHH," she said,
an orgasm spreading over her.
"That's great, Diane. Now, you're so horny that you'll do anything, right?"
"Anything..." Oh, god, she thought; anything, anything, anything, just do me
fuck me take me...
"That's great, Diane. Now, I'm going to tell you some more things. Just
masturbate while you listen to me."
She did. It felt so wonderful. She didn't feel full at all anymore.
"Haven't we finished this thing yet?"
"Last piece. It's yours."
She pushed the plate away. "Uh, no. I'm full. And now I really need to lose some
weight."
Mike looked up, a bit surprised. "Why?"
"My bras don't fit anymore. I'm up to a C-cup. This is absurd."
"You look great."
"I... I do?" She stopped, staring at him, feeling confused. Do I really look
great, she thought; really?
"Yes, you look wonderful. You look really good with a little more up top."
"I... I dunno. I always thought big tits were kind of sloppy and ugly."
Mike stared at her tits; she could feel the nipples get hard, like they did
anytime he stared at her boobs. "Are
you gaining anywhere else?"
"Uh, no. But still. I've always been very small. Flat as a board. If I was going
to grow breasts, you'd think it would
have been at 15, not 30."
Mike shrugged. "Whatever. I think you look great."
She straightened; she could feel her breasts (so strange to feel actual weight
there) up against the front of her
blouse. "Well, uh, thanks."
"I think you should finish the pie."
"No... really. I'm full."
"Finish it, please, Diane."
She stared at the plate, and mechanically pulled it towards her. She took a
bite, then another, then another. In
moments, it was gone. She pushed it back, staring at him. She felt so strange,
everything seemed so fuzzy.
"Now, it's time to fuck," he said, standing up, smiling.
White-hot fire spread through her crotch. She looked at him, feeling her face
relax, her eyes glaze slightly. "Yes,
Mike. It's time to fuck. Please fuck me," she said, her voice dropping into a
slutty whisper. She stood, carefully
pushing plates out of the way. In an instant, she was up on the table, legs
spread wide. Good thing I forgot my
panties, she thought to herself, as she watched Mike unzip; you know, I always
forget them these days.
In a moment, he was inside of her, and she forgot everything, except how good
his cock felt.
Diane carefully adjusted the top of the teddy, looking at herself in the mirror.
Her breasts jutted out obscenely,
her cleavage full and deep. She pulled and tugged, but the fabric just wouldn't
fall right. She sighed, heavily,
cheered by the effect this had on her chest. I just bought this three weeks ago,
she thought, and it's already too
small. She shrugged, and giving a last tug, strutted into the living room.
She glanced through the blinds, and saw Mike's car pull into the driveway. She
felt a wave of pleasure flow
through her; she loved surprising him when he got home, and he knew that he
loved a welcome-home blow job.
And he didn't seem to mind her boobs being so big, so she shouldn't either, she
chided herself.
She walked to the entry way, and dropped to her knees, mouth open, eyes
half-lidded, hands holding up her tits.
While she waited for him to open the door, her mind drifted. How big are they
going to get? she thought. She
laughed. And I was worried about my stomach getting big from eating so much pie,
she thought. I wonder if I
could really get tits as big as pumpkins?
Then the door opened, and she didn't think about anything else at all.
The End
What did you think? If you enjoy (or even if you hate) it, I'd love to hear
from you! You can contact me at
qda@mindless.com ... and thank you for reading!
