The bowl of pasta in front of her looked absurd, a bucket of spaghetti and a gallon of sauce mixed together. She had never finished it, not even half before. Ordering it meant lunch and dinner for tomorrow. But as she stared lovingly at the bowl, she wondered whether it was too early to get another order.
She twirled her fork against the side of the bowl, compacting it into a neat, bite-sized ball, and brought it to her mouth. It tasted better than she had imagined, better than she remembered anything ever tasting before. She chewed slowly, and warmth emanated from the tip of her tongue through the rest of her body.
The next bite, bigger and sloppier than the last. Flecks of sauce dotted the thin white sweater as she slurped up the trailing noodles. Her breaths grew deeper as waves of pleasure rolled over her. Every part of it--the chewing, the tasting, the swallowing--it shook her brain with ecstasy. She scooped up more.
Sauce ringed her lips. A piece had slithered its way out and trailed down her front, sliding back into the bowl. A slight flush crept up her cheeks, and she began to feel something else, something more than her hunger and her delight from eating. She had no idea why, nor any great concern, but she felt a strange sexual desire flicker and glow. Her breasts, A-cups optimistically packed into a B-cup bra, buzzed with anticipation, and her sex dampened between her thighs. A soft moan went unnoticed by the other diners.
More. A couple of people at other tables glanced over as Julie smacked her lips, and Julie gave the room a small, red-lined smile. Didn't they understand how good it was, how good it felt? She shifted in her seat, a little embarrassed, but a little excited, too. Maybe it was a trick of the lighting, or maybe the cut of the stained sweater, but her breasts looked really good tonight. They felt good, too, and her firm nipples rubbed against the over-sized bra she wore.
Her waiter stopped by the table, catching her in mid-bite as she stabbed more pasta. "Good, is it? Can I get you anything else?" he asked.
She nodded. "One more, please."
"One more drink?"
She blushed. "No, no. I'm good on that. Could I, er, get another bowl of pasta?"
His eyes narrowed. "You want another order?"
She nodded, then hesitated. "And a--, a salad."
"Do you want those to go?"
"Here is fine. I'm really hungry, is all."
He cracked a smile. "Yes, I can see. All right, a side salad and a marinara. It'll be a couple of minutes."
When he left, Julie took a smaller bite. Pasta meant carbs, and that would ultimately mean poundage. Was she going overboard tonight? But the bowl looked smaller than usual, and she was still terribly hungry.
She twirled her fork against the side of the bowl, compacting it into a neat, bite-sized ball, and brought it to her mouth. It tasted better than she had imagined, better than she remembered anything ever tasting before. She chewed slowly, and warmth emanated from the tip of her tongue through the rest of her body.
The next bite, bigger and sloppier than the last. Flecks of sauce dotted the thin white sweater as she slurped up the trailing noodles. Her breaths grew deeper as waves of pleasure rolled over her. Every part of it--the chewing, the tasting, the swallowing--it shook her brain with ecstasy. She scooped up more.
Sauce ringed her lips. A piece had slithered its way out and trailed down her front, sliding back into the bowl. A slight flush crept up her cheeks, and she began to feel something else, something more than her hunger and her delight from eating. She had no idea why, nor any great concern, but she felt a strange sexual desire flicker and glow. Her breasts, A-cups optimistically packed into a B-cup bra, buzzed with anticipation, and her sex dampened between her thighs. A soft moan went unnoticed by the other diners.
More. A couple of people at other tables glanced over as Julie smacked her lips, and Julie gave the room a small, red-lined smile. Didn't they understand how good it was, how good it felt? She shifted in her seat, a little embarrassed, but a little excited, too. Maybe it was a trick of the lighting, or maybe the cut of the stained sweater, but her breasts looked really good tonight. They felt good, too, and her firm nipples rubbed against the over-sized bra she wore.
Her waiter stopped by the table, catching her in mid-bite as she stabbed more pasta. "Good, is it? Can I get you anything else?" he asked.
She nodded. "One more, please."
"One more drink?"
She blushed. "No, no. I'm good on that. Could I, er, get another bowl of pasta?"
His eyes narrowed. "You want another order?"
She nodded, then hesitated. "And a--, a salad."
"Do you want those to go?"
"Here is fine. I'm really hungry, is all."
He cracked a smile. "Yes, I can see. All right, a side salad and a marinara. It'll be a couple of minutes."
When he left, Julie took a smaller bite. Pasta meant carbs, and that would ultimately mean poundage. Was she going overboard tonight? But the bowl looked smaller than usual, and she was still terribly hungry.
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June 9, 2023
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