Stacked Like Pancakes

By Treble Clef

Note: This is an old story from my deviantart gallery.

A homemade pancake breakfast is an odd occasion for catching up with an old friend, but would I refuse Brandi's invitation? I wasn't dieting, vegan or lactose intolerant, and besides, I missed Brandi.

We'd been out of touch for close to a year since Xavier landed his job at the company and we moved to our place on the Upper East Side. The move was my idea. I didn't want Xav fighting through city traffic on his way to work, and as for me, a freelance web designer's work goes where her laptop goes.

Anyway, just past 10AM, I knocked on Brandi and Jared's door. A beaming, grinning twenty-something answered. "Hey Alyssa. Long time no see. I've missed you!"

It couldn't have been Brandi. Brandi was a 5'2 pixie. I could carry her. This woman had boobs the size of honeydew melons and hips half a meter wide!

But...she had the same dark brown pixie cut, the same five feet and two inches... Her face was familiar too; same pasty cheeks, same bubblegum-pink, pouty lips, same cute little button nose...

I was dazedly trying to remember if Brandi had a near-identical cousin from a super-curvy, super-stacked side of the family as the voluptuous little woman in the doorway drew me into a super-squishy-soft embrace. I was blushing.

Of course it was Brandi, how rude of me to gawk just because she'd gained...eighty-something pounds. All in her chest and lower body...

I confess to thinking: no fair! I'm supposed to be the curvy one! I have D cups and hips and ass...Brandi's supposed to compliment me by contrast, just like I compliment her. She's not supposed to best me!

I guess there's no counting on a friend. But, gosh her boobs were huge and soft! Brandi's loose-collared gray sweater was a little drapey around her midsection and was obviously designed to be drapier still, if those massive cans had not filled out the bulk of it. Yes, coffee cans were a good size comparison. Brandi's boobs were about that circumference and had just a teensy bit of natural hang. As she hugged me, I could feel warm flesh surging around me, straight through sweater fuzz and undergarment lace.

"C'mon in and take off your shoes!" she said, releasing me at last from fuzzy, squishy oblivion.

I got another heart-plunging surprise as Brandi turned in the hall and I saw damn near the fullest ass ever to adorn a 5'2 frame. Brandi's black yoga pants were stretched tight. All that bubbly booty waggled with every step. Her thighs had plumped up too; filling out to support those steeply curved cheeks.

Gosh...didn't Brandi used to have a thigh gap?

And yet, Brandi gave off an impression of lightness and buoyancy. She practically skipped down the hallway, accentuating the bobbly eagerness of her rump like she was made of foam and springs. Her waist was still narrow, her arms and neck still elegant and svelte. Gosh, did Brandi seem chipper. She used to be mellow.

We came out to the living room/kitchen. Brandi had always been a tidy person, but her place now looked like a foldout from an IKEA catalog. The lime green sofa in the living room was so pristine, I doubted anyone had ever sat in it. The big white hutch where the TV stood smelled of fresh paint, as did the sky-blue walls. "Wow!" I said. "Did you guys redecorate recently?"

"Yep! And I did some painting, too. Can I get you something to drink, Alyssa? I've got orange juice, water, wine, beer, milk..."

"Water?"

"You betcha." She went into the kitchen, which was enclosed by three counters, two of which were set into the walls, spaced out by fridge, dishwasher, stove. The third counter was a freestanding partition, separating kitchen from living room.

The burners had been removed from the stove, replaced by a cast iron griddle. And there were two more griddles--portable, steel, countertop units, sitting on opposite corners of the kitchen, plugged in and ready to go. Mixers were partnered with each griddle, two of which had bowls dribbling over with creamy, yellow batter. The counter was scattered with bowls, stirring spoons, packages of flour, baking powder, salt containers, measuring cups... The kitchen had evidently been set up for three chefs today.

In the middle of the kitchen was an island, intended for dining, not food preparation. It was here that we were--or, as I discovered, I alone was--to eat. The varnished wood countertop of the island extended past the side over two stools. A place was set: a wicker placemat with a little, yellow napkin and a fork and knife. There was also a stick of butter, a ceramic dish of powdered sugar and a big jug full of maple syrup. Brandi bid me to sit down and I did.

I couldn't help watching Brandi's bountiful tail swing as she filled a glass with tap water. I wondered how a cute pixie body suddenly burst out with such crazily gigantic T&A.

"So, Alyssa," Brandi said, as she offered the glass. "I have to confess, I haven't been entirely forthcoming about what I'm up to today."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm doing sort of a competition. Do you remember my friend, Lainey? She was here back when we did our house-warming party."

"Brunette?"

"Yep! We did this at her place a month ago--pancake breakfast. Alyssa, I tell you, Lainey's pancakes were delicious! And she made so many that day; we kept track, too--sixty-six total."

"That's a lot of pancakes."

"I absolutely stuffed myself! Anyway, I swore that I would best her record. By a mile. And Lainey's holding me to it. So, I'm going to be baking a lot today. But, I wanted you to keep me company, not just because someone needs to eat these pancakes but also because I had such a great time that day...it sounds silly, I know, but it was so nice. I want to do the same with you."

"So, you're doing three griddles?"

"Yep! Lainey did two, simultaneously. I can do three. I hope you don't mind, Alyssa, I thought it was a chance for us to hang out."

"That's fine with me, Brandi, I can cheer you on. Just don't expect me to eat sixty-six pancakes."

Brandi laughed. "Of course I don't, Alyssa! Eat whatever you're hungry for. Everything else I can save for Jared and his office.

I liked the idea. If Brandi spent the better part of the late morning to afternoon baking, then the two of us wouldn't be stuck at a table, awkwardly grasping for things to say, not having seen each other for ten months. I also wouldn't have to spend the whole time face-to-face with Brandi, trying not to gawk at her supernormally huge boobs.

fffffsssssssssht...

Brandi coating the first two griddles with a cloud of sweet, buttery, cooking spray. It smelled nice! I was hungry.

"Last batch, then I'm ready to bake!" Brandi said. With a swish of her huge, juicy butt, she went to the fridge. Inside were a dozen or so egg cartons on a shelf and three tall, plastic juice jugs full of milk. Brandi drew out a carton and a jug and brought them over to the unused mixer.

She measured baking powder, salt and flour into the mixing bowl.

"So, how's Jared?" I tried, hoping to get my mind off the crazily curvy...uh, elephant in the room.

"We're great. We've never been better," said Brandi, cracking an egg and emptying the yoke into the bowl with impressive dexterity. She mixed in the egg and continued; "we've made some changes recently. Some of which you can see."

I stared at her blankly.

Is she talking about her curves? Is Brandi about to tell me that she met a very talented plastic surgeon and that she and Jared dumped all their savings on...

"The couch! And the walls, the hutch! And all the painting I did!" she said.

"Oh, of course! It's so pretty in here!" I was blushing again.

Alyssa, you idiot.

"And, Jared's stopped pulling late hours at work. I see him every night now. It's like when we were in college."

"That's so nice!"

"And, I'm just keeping myself busier these days. I'm cooking and baking and keeping the place clean. I just have so much energy." She was stirring the bowl with a big spoon. "And, I've resolved to spend more time with my friends, like you and Lainey."

"How's Lainey doing?"

"She left her job not too long ago after she caught a virus."

"Oh no!"

"Don't worry, she's doing good."

Our conversation was cut short with a rwerrrrrrrrrrrr...

Brandi was mixing the ingredients. Thick, yellow batter dripped over the edge of the bowl.

fsssssssssht. Another cloud of yummy cooking spray. Brandi poured out her batter on the griddle, making remarkably precise, CD-sized disks on the surface.

As soon as her batter was bubbling, she brought her used measuring cup, spoon, beater and mixing bowl to the sink and washed them, stopping briefly to flip her pancakes.

"First stack's done!" she said, a couple minutes later.

After tallying her pancake-count on a dry erase board on the fridge, Brandi flipped the pancakes off with a steel spatula, stacking them up on a big plate. She set down the plate before me. "I can tell you're hungry Alyssa. Don't be shy," she teased.

I forked a pancake over to my plate, added a heavy dribbling of syrup and a slice of butter. With a sip of water, I gathered knife and fork in hand. And...

Ohmygod. Amazing.

They were spongy, sweet and packed with savor. Even without syrup, they were moist, coated with cooking spray, which left a hint of vanilla on my tongue.

"Mmmm. Delicious, Brandi!"

Brandi giggled. She was mixing another batch. Another stack was baking.

I was spoiled. I relished every bite, letting it sit in my mouth for a second before I sank in my teeth. Butter and syrup coated my tongue.

I ate four pancakes, virtually without pause. I was going to pay for this indulgence tomorrow when I set foot on the scale and saw how many starchy, buttery carbs had gone to my ass. Alas, I was thinking of asking Brandi if I could wrap a stack in plastic and take it home with me.

Somehow, however, I wasn't stuffed yet. And there were two uneaten pancakes still stacked there in front of me.

"Don't worry Alyssa, eat as much as you like!" said Brandi, reading my mind.

She came around as I was most of the way through pancake number six, carrying another half dozen, all perfect, fluffy, circular, browned...

God, I can't help myself!

Minutes passed. Was I on my eighth or ninth now? Brandi was clearly up to speed on her baking. Another six fresh pancakes were already piled before me. I guiltily forked another to my plate.

Halfway through stack number two, another six pancakes were set before me. Brandi was like a machine. For every set of dishes she washed, she had a stack bubbling on a griddle. For every bowl of batter she mixed, she had a baked stack ready to serve. Her timing was precise. Even when she was a little off, she caught herself. Invariably, she was always by the griddle at just the right time, flipping pancakes before they charred.

Brandi came around and piled another half dozen before me. I'd lost count on how many I'd eaten.

Are you there, stomach? It's me, Alyssa. You're supposed to give me the signal that it's time to stop now...that I need to leave those extra stacks alone.

I'd quit adding syrup and butter to my pancakes but it didn't make a difference. They were just as delicious, just as moist and fluffy, plain.

Still I ate...

Alyssa to stomach...how about a growl or a churn or a twinge of I'm-so-stuffed-I-can-barely-move, now? Tell me to put my fork down, maybe?

No use. I didn't feel a bit full. My stomach was begging for more. I jabbed another pancake with my fork, sliding it to my plate.

God, what will Xav think when he has to roll my fat ass out of bed tomorrow?

Not that it would be the end of the world if I put on a little extra curve. But, even if I was cool with that, it's not supposed to happen in one day! God, I was going to be sick...

But, I didn't feel sick. Aside from being scared by my insatiable and inexplicable appetite for pancakes, I felt fine.

"I'm very embarrassed, Brandi, I'm eating all of your pancakes," I said, as she came around with another stack. "I don't know what's wrong with me. They're just so...good."

"Oh, don't be embarrassed Alyssa! I was the same way when Lainey made them for me. You're doing great!" She set another big plate on the counter to make room for more stacks, and...

Hey, did she just pat me on the bottom?

I watched her go back to the sink. She toweled off a mixing bowl and returned it to its place where she measured flour for the next batch.

Brandi was different from how I remembered her, in ways besides her hypervoluptuous body. There was something coy about her. Something...naughty.

Don't be ridiculous, Alyssa. Brandi's just playing around.

I shifted in my seat and was alarmed by the tightness of my jeans. The short circuit in my brain that had been blocking signals from my belly was taking its inevitable toll on my figure as I was obviously bloating into my Levis.

But...on inspection, that didn't seem to be the case. My belly was not bloating into my jeans. If anything, my pants were pulling into my belly. The source of tension was at my seat, not my stomach.

I tried wriggling my bottom to get some slack into my jeans but there wasn't any. My jeans were huggy to begin with, but I didn't remember them feeling so tight around my butt. Could it be...

But that couldn't be happening right now. Pancakes don't travel that quickly!

And yet...I could feel the pant seams pressing into my butt cheeks, the deep groin creases sinking into my pelvis. It was unmistakable. These pancakes were literally going straight to my ass.

I had to stop eating.

It took a conscious mental effort to pause my fork. I studied the cut up semi-circles of pancake on my plate and wondered if I could stop. I opened my mouth to say, thank you so much for breakfast, Brandi. I don't think I can have another bite.

But, the smell of butter and vanilla filled my nostrils as Brandi unleashed another cloud of cooking spray. A wave of desire hit me. It was as if I'd barely eaten a thing all day.

Eat now, scold yourself later, I thought.

I devoured another stack or so.

"How many so far?" I said. I was almost too afraid to ask.

She finished pouring out her batter, waltzed up to the dry erase board and counted tallies. "Forty-two and counting!"

Forty-two...minus...twenty-seven...holy cow. I was on my twenty-first pancake.

My fork was in perpetual motion. So was Brandi, who flipped, mixed, poured, washed, and served as she sashayed round and round the kitchen. Were her unnaturally huge boobs a little fuller, a little plumper now than an hour ago when I first saw her? Right now, they seemed very nearly the size of her head.

My body was cramping up from being hunched over the counter. I took a spare second to arch my back and felt something. My bra. The cup seams were digging into my boobs.

I looked down at myself. My turquoise, skin-tight t-shirt and tank top couldn't obscure it; I was bubbling over my cups. Flesh bulged toward my chin and armpits. I was bulging out under my bra too; the elastic band no longer encircled my ribs but pressed into the flesh below my nipples.

If anything though, my jeans were giving me worse discomfort. The denim bit into my groins and my thighs felt absolutely packed into the pant legs. My hips yanked the material from either side, pulling at the buttons down the center.

Okay, Alyssa, you've had your fun. But now, NOW would be a very good time to stop.

Oh, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. My fork traveled from plate to mouth. Brandi, what are you doing to me?

Even in considerable discomfort and increasing fear, it was hard to think about much besides warm, moist, fluffy pancake between my cheeks. Every bite was as great as the first. I couldn't stop the motion of my fork or still the eagerness of my tongue. It made no sense; they were pancakes, not crack.

Meanwhile, my clothes got tighter. Holy god, it was uncomfortable. My boobs were starting to slip out of my cups, forcing me to readjust with my free hand. I could feel every stitch in the back of my jeans sinking into me. Would I be able to get out of these pants without a pair of scissors when I got home?

Brandi came around again. Another plate. Another stack. A Great Wall of Pancakes was erecting before my eyes, promising heaven to my tongue and hell to my ill-fitting clothes. I cleaned my plate and forked over two more pancakes. The act was as involuntary as scratching a bug bite.

My mind was fogging up. It was getting hard to tell how much time had gone by or to keep tabs on Brandi's progress. Brandi was evidently too occupied with her endless series of tasks to do much talking. And I was secretly grateful for it because I was more interested in eating Brandi's pancakes than talking to her. I'm a horrible friend, I know.

"Woo hoo!" said Brandi, leaping into the air, spatula in hand like a cheerleader's baton. Her twin volleyball boobs bounced in her sweater, crowding her face in mid-air, jingling like bells as she hit the floor. "Sixty-six! Tied with Lainey and more to go!"

"Great job," I said, distracted. The tightness of my clothes was approaching unbearable. I had to focus hard to ignore the feeling and keep my mind on delicious pancakes.

I was a creampuff rising inside a medicine jar. I'm not sure I could have walked a straight line in these jeans now. A part of me wanted to take them off right there in Brandi's kitchen so I could eat unencumbered. But that would take too long. And...be inappropriate.

Relief was on the way, though. As I cleaned my plate once more, and leaned in across the counter to snatch another three pancakes, something happened.

thk-thk-thk-thk-thk...

Oh. Shit.

tktktktktktk!

That would be the butt seam in my jeans, popping apart, stitch by miserable stitch.

thhhhk!

...until the tear split a huge hole across my bottom.

"Ahh!" I cried, involuntarily.

"Alyssa, are you alright?"

Shit. I could feel cool air against my underwear. Alyssa, you stupid, stupid, stupid...

Brandi came around the counter. I was blushing again. Maybe Brandi wouldn't see...

She glanced down. Dammit.

"Oh," she said.

"Oh my god, Brandi, I'm--

"It's alright, Alyssa! Don't be embarrassed. Seriously, I can drive you home. You don't have to take the subway."

"Thanks..." I mumbled, my face red. "I-I have to stop eating...I really don't know what's wrong with me..."

"That's perfectly okay, Alyssa," she said, returning to her mixing bowl. "You can stop whenever you want to."

But, I didn't want to stop. And now that I had ripped a huge hole in my jeans...well...they weren't as tight now. Which would make eating easer...

"Seriously Alyssa, it's okay" said Brandi, mixing another batch as she talked. "I recently had to buy a whole new set of pants and skirts. I couldn't get my old ones on past my knees. It was ridiculous!"

I was barely listening. I clenched my teeth between bites as my bra dug into me, sinking into my tender boob flesh. The pain was building quickly.

My butt filled up the extra space in my jeans, billowing out of the widening tear.

Holy shit, Alyssa. Your butt is huge. You've already torn your jeans and your boobs are getting bigger by the minute. If you keep eating, you're going to explode out of all your clothes. You'll embarrass yourself worse than you already have. STOP. NOW.

...nope. Not stopping. Still gobbling up pancake. Still forking new pancakes over to my plate. Still filling up my jeans, still testing my bra. Still growing and growing...

With every swallow, I practically felt the warm, spongy pancake going down to my stomach and then leave my stomach for other parts, north and south. While my boobs and butt blew up to clothes-splitting sizes, my tummy remained trim. It was as though my midsection was the last place the pancakes wanted to be.