The 19-year-old Virgin Ch. 13

As I brushed my teeth she moved behind me, her hands slowly moving down my belly to where I was soft.

"Well, damn," she said, "breakfast first I guess."

She left me to finish. So I brushed, used my WaterPik, ran a brush through my hair, and padded naked to find my new favorite blonde.

She was sitting on the couch, a phone to her ear. She crooked her finger, beckoning me, and I went to the couch.

She moved the phone away from her ear and asked, "what's the address here?"

I rattled it off.

"Yes doll," she said into the phone, "the 'Valerie Morning After Special' too," and she gave the address.

A pause.

"Yeah, Margie," another pause, "Yeah. You're a lifesaver. Who's delivering today?" Another pause. "Well tell Ron there's an extra ten bucks if he gets here before I starve to death." Pause and giggle. "You guys are the best, thanks," she finished and touched the screen on her phone ending the call.

"Now, my no-longer-virgin," she said, standing and taking my hand, "prepare for one of life's little pleasures, Morning After Breakfast," and the way she said it made it clear that for her it was a proper noun.

She led me back to the bedroom. The air was redolent with the scents of last night. I felt a stirring in my groin, a combination of those scents and the pill she had given me I suppose. She started moving around the room, almost brusque, and directed me as we pulled sheets taut and fluffed pillows. She arranged the pillows into a sort of backrest and then climbed up on the bed.

"Davey, there will be a delivery in a few minutes. Make sure a tray is included. Then you, my new love, are going to get to feed me breakfast, one of my guilty little pleasures," she said, smiling at me.

I started to respond but she went on then. "Take a ten-dollar bill out of my purse and give it to the delivery guy. Don't worry about paying, I run a tab. That's just his tip for being prompt."

So I pulled on my jeans, went into the front room, found her purse, got out the money, and waited. The guy was prompt and my wait was only about five minutes although it seemed a lot longer. Try it sometime, just wait for five minutes and see how long that feels. Anyway, the guy showed up and I was surprised that I recognized him. We had been in the same class, Human Growth and Development if you care.

"Dave?" he asked as I opened the door.

I grinned and said, "in the flesh."

He grinned back and said, "you fucking DOG!"

I laughed with him, took the amazingly heavy paper bag, along with the tray he offered, and handed him the ten-dollar bill.

"Thanks, man," he said and then added, "have a VERY nice day."

I laughed again and said, "I intend to."

It seemed, well, natural, to go ahead and take off my jeans before going into the kitchen and getting breakfast ready.

Jesus. There were three of those styrofoam clamshell boxes, and each one was heavy. I got down the two mismatched plates that Carla had left and started loading them up. The first clamshell had scrambled eggs and hashbrown potatoes. It looked like a half-dozen eggs and a couple of good-sized potatoes had gone into making it. The second contained two oversize biscuits and thick white gravy still so hot it was steaming. The third had a selection of breakfast meats, a thick slice of ham, a half dozen link sausages, and a half dozen sausage patties.

I transferred the contents of the clamshells onto the plates. Eggs and hashbrowns on one, completely filling it. Biscuits and gravy on the other. The meats distributed between the two plates. I got out the orange juice, about the only healthy thing in the refrigerator, and poured a glass.

She was reclined on the pillows looking like a Roman princess.

"Feed me, baby," she said, "before I die of starvation."

I sat the tray on the bed, being careful not to spill the orange juice, had a thought, and rushed back to the kitchen where I pulled a couple of paper towels off of the roll, the universal college student's napkin.

Back on the bed, she was reclined, her eyes closed, the picture of complete relaxation.

I moved onto the bed, placed the orange juice on the nightstand, arranged the tray so it was convenient, and just looked for a moment. Christ, she was big. Those stretch marks covering her belly were beautiful, I thought, and the way her belly made an apron giving her natural modesty made me understand, at levels I hadn't before, the true beauty of a fat girl.

I used the fork to cut off an oversized bite of the biscuit, dipped it into the gravy, and brushed it across her lips. She opened her mouth, but not her eyes, and I understood what she meant when she said "intimacy." This was beyond sex and I knew, right then, that I was addicted to fat girls. The look of pure pleasure, of delight, as her lips closed over the fork when I pulled it out, and she started chewing made my dick hard.

I chuckled and she said, softly, not opening her eyes, "what?"

And in that simple movement, opening her mouth to ask the question, the chewed food showing, I understood something about her too. The feeding was an important part of foreplay for her, maybe even more important than the sex that followed.

"It's just," I said, using the napkin to wipe her lips, "that I now know what the phrase 'spring erect' means."

She giggled at that, small particles of chewed biscuits and gravy landing on her chin and her boobs.

I didn't use the napkin. I found them, well, interesting.

As the feeding went on, it got messier and I knew we were both enjoying it that way. I would load the fork with a big bite of egg or hashbrown or sausage or biscuit and gravy and touch her lips. She would open her mouth, showing that she hadn't swallowed yet, and I would fill it even more.

"So now you know," she said, her eyes still closed, chewed food spilling down her chin, adding to the mess on her tits.

"Know what?" I asked, adding half of a sausage patty to her mouth.

"That I'm a sitophile and a glutton," she said and I loved watching her mouth overflow.

"I get glutton," I said, another big bite of egg and hashbrown disappearing into her maw, "but what's a sitophile?"

She giggled, this time spewing food down her belly and onto her thighs.

"Someone who associates food with sex," she said and I wondered if she was deliberately pushing the food out to fall on her chin and belly now.

I was sneaking about one bite for every six of hers and I was already full but the plates were still almost a third full.

Her belly was distended with all she had eaten.

"Are you full?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Yes," she said softly.

"Shall I quit then?" I asked.

"No," she said.

I noticed that she had still not opened her eyes.

So I stuffed her mouth. A forkful of eggs, half of a sausage patty, another forkful of biscuits and gravy, and a sausage link just as fast as I could. Her cheeks were bulging and the smell of her arousal was thick in the air. Her nose was running too, clear mucus running across her lips, adding to the image of pure, distilled lust.

It seemed natural to bend and lick the residue from her chin as she chewed, and then from her breasts. The humming sound deep in her throat made it clear she was enjoying what I was doing.

I saw her cheeks go down, and saw her swallow a little, so I refilled her mouth with hash browns.

She gasped a quick intake of breath and I realized she had cum when the scent in the air got even heavier with the womanscent of her womanneed.

Apparently, that little gasp had gone down wrong because she coughed, spewing chewed food down her belly and legs.

I damn near came just looking.

Her mouth was open again and I filled it. Stuffed it really, watching, enchanted, as she chewed, her mouth open now, no longer eating, now fully engaged in a sexual activity. I added sausage and eggs and hashbrowns and biscuits and gravy until her mouth overflowed.

Her mouth was wide open, her face a rictus of pleasure, of pure ecstasy, as another orgasm took her.

I was lost in the moment. I deliberately smeared her face with gravy, pressed the biscuit into it, and began licking.

I would lick and stuff some more of the breakfast into her mouth and lick some more.

I could tell she was cumming in waves now, but her mouth never stopped chewing.

Eventually, the plates were empty.

I watched as she chewed and swallowed and chewed and swallowed until her mouth was finally empty.

"Thank you, baby," she breathed in a very low voice.

"My pleasure," I said, licking the last of the gravy from her face before moving down to start on her chin, "literally my pleasure."

She giggled and finally opened her eyes.

"Here's some dessert," she said, smiling at me and then squirming around, surprising me with her quickness, and taking me into her mouth.

I don't know if it was the Viagra or her that had me hard, but I'm pretty sure it was the Viagra that made it last so well. It was like she had me close, right on the verge of my release, in just a few seconds. But that's where I stayed. As hard as I strained, as much as I wanted to finish, I couldn't. My balls were swollen. Hell, I think my prostate was swollen. My cock was so damn hard that it ached. And Valerie, my dear sweet sitophile/glutton Valerie, was VERY good with her mouth.

She was working hard, panting and grunting. I watched as she sucked my cock, her face getting redder and redder with her effort. She was slobbering on it, visibly, thick drool handing in strings from her mouth. I thought it was the sexiest thing I had ever seen and that's what finally took me over the top.

She pulled off at the instant of my ejaculation, accepting it on her face and in her hair. And I came hard. She looked up at me, meeting my eyes, as hot thick semen drew a line from her forehead across her left eye, making it red suddenly, watery tears streaming, but she didn't close it. A second pump hit her nose and mouth, and a third, weaker, didn't reach her face but landed on her breast. The final drops were taken on her tongue, sticking out of her mouth and greedily accepting them.

Bits of breakfast and semen covered her mouth, the thick line of semen across her eye was sexy, and her smile was absolutely beatific. She looked like a religious fanatic who had seen nirvana or heaven or the Elysium Fields or whatever paradise she would find.

She looked happy.

I could feel memories of Carla fading as she squirmed around again and kissed me.

"Thank you, baby," she said, snuggling against me.

And oddly, I could feel those bits of egg and biscuit and hash browns on her skin and I was suddenly hard again.

"Is it wrong that I want to feed you already?" I asked.

She giggled at that.

"Let me rest a bit, honey," she said.

"Please," I said, trying for the little bit of pleading that I had learned Carla liked.

"There's a McDonald's right down the street," I said, shooting for that same tone Luke Skywalker had used when he told Han Solo, "she's rich."

"Oh God," she sort of moaned, but I knew I had won.

I rolled out of bed, kissed her, and said, "back in ten minutes."

At McDonald's, I ordered two Big Macs, large fries, and after a second's thought, a large vanilla milkshake.

Back at the apartment I found her in the same position and wondered if she had moved at all while I was gone.

God, she was a mess but my cock liked what it saw. Anyway, it got hard immediately. But I left my clothes on, thinking of it as a dominance thing, me clothed, her naked.

I'm not sure how to describe what we did for the rest of that beautiful Saturday. It wasn't making love. I was over the automatic association with love and sex since Carla had left and I survived. But it wasn't just fucking either. That always has the connotation of impersonal, you know. "Fucking" is something you do in an upstairs bedroom with someone at a party when names aren't even exchanged. I guess "good sex" is the best way to describe it.

I undressed after I had the first Big Mac in her, and she was struggling to get it down. I think the word "codependence" might fit. It was like her jaws had gotten exhausted along with the rest of her, but she kept chewing slowly, her mouth open, and I kept adding little pieces torn from the Big Mac or a French fry or a spoonful of milkshake. From the nose down her face was covered with food residue, and my semen was getting crusty on the rest of her face. I thought she was beautiful.

And her belly was distended from all I had fed her. I found it sexy.

When the last of the McDonald's was gone, boxes and wrappers and the milkshake cup laying on the bed, discarded, I used my hands to urge her legs apart and then slipped into her. She was beyond wet to slick, and I was harder than I had ever been, but I had no real urge to cum. I set up a slow, gentle rhythm as I kissed her smeared mouth. She kissed back, but her arms stayed relaxed. It was like she was too exhausted to move.

It was the hardness of her distended belly that really got to me. I had the thought that this must be what it was like to have sex with a pregnant woman.

And the Viagra kept me hard but also made it hard to cum even when the urge built up.

She didn't have that problem. The feeding had been good foreplay for her, and she came easily and often. Her first climax was very liquid, and the hot release soaking my balls made my breath catch. Her second wasn't as, well, "wet," but her body tensed even more and her face was an amazing rictus of ecstasy with her mouth wide open and her forehead scrunched into a series of deep lines. The third was a sudden tension in her body. and her hands reached for my back and her fingers dug in like claws. The fourth was almost gentle, accompanied by a long, sonorous, bubbly fart that made us both laugh. When the laughter turned into giggles I was surprised by my own ejaculation.

It was a good morning.