Dieting 1

I'd chosen the house pretty much at random. The street wasn't too far from the station and I just liked the house number (24). Also it looked like the sort of house that probably had a spare room (as it turns out it did) and that's all I really needed; somewhere to stay for a couple of days. That being said I wouldn't pass up the opportunity to have a bit of fun with the inhabitants of the house.

I rang the doorbell. There was a pause, the sound of footsteps and then a man opened the door. Once I had convinced him that we were long-time friends that hadn't seen each other in a while he was all too happy to let me in and put the kettle on as we caught up with what we'd been doing the past few years. I learned that he was a freelance graphic designer called Francis who lived here with his fiancée Grace, who was currently at work. He learned that he felt very guilty about not knowing anything about me despite our friendship, but also that he would never ask about it. He also learned that, from now on, he and Grace would be sleeping in the spare room.

It was a while later now, and I had paused the television to check up on Francis, who was in the process of moving some of his and Grace's belongings to the spare room. Francis was neatly folding a pair of Grace's leggings, which gave me an idea. I asked him whose leggings they were. He told me that they were Grace's, wary that this might be some sort of trick question, and explained they wouldn't even fit him, holding them up to his waist to demonstrate the point. While Francis wasn't out of shape by any means he certainly wasn't in any position to fit into his girlfriend's trousers, at least not yet. I smiled slightly, and told him that they were his leggings, he'd just let himself go recently, and needed to go on a diet until he could fit into them again. Until then he'd just have to go without trousers altogether.

Francis was in his boxers before I could finish talking. I pointed at them, those aren't yours either, I think you'd be much more comfortable in your own underwear, and handed him the frilliest panties I could find. As he changed into them I explained which clothes were now his and that he shared most of them with Grace. His penis looked so snug in that tight ornamental undergarment, so much so that I decided I'd much rather watch him work than watch the television. I was also kind enough to show him the correct way to pick things up, and soon enough he was bending over at the waist to pick up each and every item of clothing individually.

He was almost done by the time Grace arrived back home, and once I'd explained all the new arrangements to her he had finished. I decided to take the opportunity to make some more changes. It seemed an awful waste to have all of those mens' trousers and pants and no-one to wear them, so I let Grace use them. Since most of the trousers were too long, I gave her a kitchen knife and the task of cutting them down to size. When I left her she was bottomless, on her hands and knees single-mindedly sawing away at a pair of jeans, making deep gashes in the hardwood floor.

By this point it was close to dinner time, so I searched through the kitchen cupboards. There was plenty of suitable food for me, but nothing for Francis now that he was on his new diet. To deal with this issue, I convened a meeting with everyone in the living room. Grace stood there, wearing her smart casual work blouse and a pair of raggedly-cut baggy jeans held up by a belt, with Francis beside her with his shirt, panties and a gormless facial expression. I told Grace that she didn't wear a belt, and would have to go on a special diet to fit into her trousers. By the time I'd finished talking, she'd slipped off her belt and her trousers and boxers had slipped to the floor, leaving her pussy exposed and eliciting a slight twitch from Francis' exposed cock. She started to say sorry until I helpfully informed her that the best way to apologise is to simply say "you're welcome" or just wink. I then sent her off to the shops to buy a variety of vegetables and other healthy foods for her fiancé and something fattening for herself. She headed out holding up her newly-tailored trousers with one hand. Then absent-mindedly dropping them when she went to unbolt and unlatch the door at the same time. She turned around, embarrassed, looking me directly in the eyes and winking before pulling them back up again and heading to the supermarket.

Feeling peckish, I reheated some leftovers. I was about halfway through when I heard Francis talking to someone in the other room. It soon became clear he was on the phone with a client, and I decided to take it off him and talk to her myself. I learned that she worked for some boring mid-sized marketing company, who had hired Francis as a graphic designer, and she learned that the only graphics she was interested in getting from Francis were sexy pictures and videos. She was obsessed with seeing him in his cute little panties and so excited to witness his weight loss journey, even if it meant misappropriating company funds to pay for videos of Francis jerking off. I informed Francis of the nature of his job, and he dutifully filmed a video of himself humping a pillow to send in lieu of the graphics he had been commissioned for. By the time he had ruined a perfectly good pillow and pair of panties with an impressive amount of semen, Grace had arrived back and was stocking the fridge with various vegetables.

I left Francis to write and send a formal e-mail, detailing the exact nature of the work he had just finished, heading to the kitchen to talk to Grace, who was eating the second doughnut in a pack of five with her pants around her ankles. I sat her down as she moved on to the third and told her I felt sorry for her. When she asked why, pausing to scoop some spilled jam from her bare thigh and lick it off her hand, I told her that her fiancé's penis was painfully small, a fact she had until now been unaware of, because it wasn't true. I informed her that there was no way he could properly satisfy her with that thing, although he would try every single night. She did love him though so, as a good fiancée, she would fake an orgasm every time to make him feel like a real man. She agreed, happy that she could finally talk to someone about how difficult her life was without a big, hard cock to satisfy her. I let her vent, happy to listen to and enforce her desire for something mor substantial to be thrust between her legs. At this point Francis was almost done with his e-mail, and Grace was almost done with her fourth doughnut, a fact reflected in the amount of caster sugar plastered around her lips, so I told her to save the last one for later and start preparing dinner.

Once Francis had sent off his e-mail, video attached, and I had assured him he did not need to change his cum-soaked panties, the happy couple sat down for dinner, Francis enjoying a carrot and Grace a microwave meal for two. After reminding Francis of how he tried to please his fiancée nightly, I decided to leave them to it, lying down in my new double bed and falling asleep, pleased with their progress.

I woke in the middle of the night, thirsty for a glass of water. I found Grace in the kitchen, wearing only a pyjama top and some sugar around her mouth from the final doughnut. Predictably, she looked decidedly unsatisfied. As I poured myself some water I told her to act like I wasn't there and open the fridge. I reminded her of all of those nights pretending to be satisfied by that pathetic little dicklet, those years of frustration after frustration. She needed something more, something better than Francis. As I kept reinforcing this need I let her come to her own conclusion about what must be done. In the light of the fridge I saw her rummage and pull out the longest, thickest cucumber she could find. She looked at it longingly for a moment, then looked around the kitchen, not noticing me. She had barely finished her search before there was a glorious squelching noise and a look of eyes-closed mouth-open euphoria on her face. She started slowly and quietly at first, but soon enough her moans were louder than the sound of the cucumber pounding in and out, in and out with furious ecstacy. Those years of dissatisfaction may have been entirely fictitious, but I could see them in her face, in her whole body. She finished her ministrations before I could finish my water, sinking to her knees with a satisfied smile on her face and a little bit of cucumber sticking past the hem of her top.

I reminded her to act like I wasn't there, but also that she had a fiancé. His cock may be pathetic, but she still loved him. And yet she had cheated, cheated with this soulless, inanimate, glorious object. She should feel bad, she had done something wrong. It had felt so right, but it couldn't be. So, so right. By the time I left her she was pressing it in and out again, this time trying to keep her moaning to a minimum, her ecstasy undiminished by her growing regret. I fell a sleep to the sound of squelching and stifled gasps.

That morning Francis ate a cucumber salad. Grace didn't seem to notice, waddling her way over to the door, pulling up her mangled jeans with one hand and making her way through a tube of biscuits with the other. Francis opened the door for her, mouth still full of his salad. He tried to put on his trousers for thirty minutes before giving up and getting to work. As he set up the camera and started to stroke I told him not to cum until I came back and headed to the shops. On my way out I borrowed his phone and called his current client. She seemed eagre to receive a new video of Francis in those pretty little panties, and even more excited for him to finally fit into his trousers. I told her what she really wanted to see was Francis fucking. Not humping some pillow or masturbating but full on fucking. She loved hearing that squelching of a nice hard cock in a nice soft hole. But she wasn't thinking of the regular holes, far from it. She wanted Francis fucking something far sweeter. Any sort of baked goods, she wanted to watch him fill it up with his delicious seed, she would imagine anything with icing was covered in his semen. She would want to eat those items more and more, each time watching a video to "prove" it really was his cum. At this point in the conversation that the woman behind the bakery counter gave me a funny look, before remembering she was into exactly the same thing, and would give me any baked goods for free as long as she got the videos afterwards. I kept talking to them both, reminding them how much they loved seeing that man fill fattier and fattier foods with his seed, even as he got thinner and thinner.

By the time I left I had two full bags of various sweet treats and the woman behind the counter had an orgasm on the floor. I arrived home and handed the phone to Francis. He continued to stroke himself through his panties as he leaked precum through the pink lace. As he listened he began to eye the cakes and, with a solemn look on his face he brought a pastry to his cock. He paused, then held the phone next to it as his member forced its way slowly through the layers of pastry. There was silence except the soft sound of Francis fucking his pastry and the even softer moans of hus client on the phone. I assume she must have been in the office. I eventually let him cum, by the time he was finished there was almost more semen than pastry. He held the phone back up to his head, nodded, and began to reach for another pastry.

I met up with Grace on her way home and we stopped off at the greengrocer's. She looked lustily at the long, thick vegetables as I reminded her how good they would feel. Her mind was in turmoil, love for her fiancé battling with how good she knew those gourds could make her feel. It was when we reached the eggplants that she dropped her trousers in shock. I could see she was incredibly wet. Ready. We were right at the back of the store, there was only the owner and us in there. She snatched a huge dark purple specimen and slowly hid it deep inside herself. She let out a slight whine and, talking to the vegetable within her, said I love you. Then she began to fuck herself wantonly, whimpering at first, then moaning, then almost screaming out her love for that thick, hard object splitting her in two like she truly deserved. As she pushed herself over the edge she noticed the shopkeeper watching in disbelief and moaned, "you're welcome."

After I'd convinced Grace and the shop owner that fucking vegetables in the shop was perfectly reasonable, as was paying for them with blowjobs, I returned to the station to catch my train. Back at home Francis enjoyed an eggplant parm, and Grace gorged herself on baked goods. They'd fit into their new trousers soon enough.