Angela's stomach clenched and gurgled, causing her to double over in pain. Even though she was terrified of what was happening to her, she knew that her hunger was winning out.
"Have--to get--out!"
She staggered down the hall in too-tight clothing. She had to make it out the door! But as she passed the kitchen on the way to her living room, she could smell it.
She could smell the food still in there: in the freezer, in the pantry, even in the canned goods. It was like a sixth sense.
She tore open the freezer door and, without a second thought, tore at the packages: frozen dinners, frozen meat, unthawed chicken nuggets, a frost-burned pint of ice cream. Her jaw ached and she felt as though her teeth would shatter on the frozen food, but it didn't. The ice-cold bites sent shivers throughout her body and sharp stabbing pains through her head, but she couldn't stop herself.
And with each bite, she could feel her body growing. Her breasts were swelling disproportionately to the rest of her, and it looked like she had undergone a boob job in just a few short minutes. Her B-cup bra didn't stand a chance as her mammaries grew rounder and heavier, overwhelming the modest cups and snapping the band in the back. The shockwave finally snapped the top button on her blouse, too, and a cascade of cleavage surged forward and bumped against the fridge.
Not to be outdone, Angela's ass also ballooned outward to keep pace. Her crack became visible as her butt-cheeks got fatter and plumper. Feeling the strain of her increasing mass, her leg muscles grew stronger to support her weight. Her thighs thickened inside her pant legs until her slacks, too, began to rip apart. And as her legs grew longer, Angela grew taller, too. She was looking down into the freezer now, finding it even easier to grab more and more food.
By the time she finished everything in the freezer, she was extraordinarily tall for a woman, at least six-foot-six, and almost completely naked. Her underwear snapped at the waistband as she stomped to the pantry to finish what remained in the kitchen, and some deep, dark, hidden part of her psyche found the loud thuds of her overgrown footsteps satisfying, a physical sign of the fruits of her labor.
Those thoughts quickly left her as the hunger took over again. Now she was down to things that were barely food by themselves: raw flour, dried beans, a canister of breadcrumbs. All of it poured down her gullet and into her seemingly bottomless stomach. Scoops of shortening were chased down with bottles of oil, and her stomach churned happily for all those extra calories. Although she knew that what she was eating should have tasted horrible, it was quite the opposite. All of it tasted like the best steak, the best cake, the best everything she had ever had. In fact, the food was giving more than just flavor; it actually felt pleasurable going down.