Meghan's Misadventures (Chapter 7): "The Mourning After" (Patreon)

In the cold light of day the next morning, Zeke didn't look quite so hot.  His jackhammer snore blew wisps of thinning hair from his forehead as the heave of his hairy chest pulled his wifebeater above a nascent potbelly.  Still, the sex was good--at least what Meghan remembered of it--and there was a spring in her step as she scurried from Zeke's bed to his bathroom.  It felt great to finally be unburdened by months of involuntary abstinence.

A glimpse in the mirror made Meghan realize she had merely swapped one weight for another.

Her face was puffy.  Her alcohol-saturated skin was swollen.  And her tapered waistline was missing.  Must still be at the bar with my beer goggles, Meghan mused, as she ran her hands down her sides, feeling their outward curve.  At least going to bed sans supper kept her belly from bubbling beyond the elastic waistband of her sleeping shorts.

Before Meghan completely sobered from her post-coital buzz, she pulled herself from the mirror and past an intimidating physician's scale guarding the toilet.  After finishing her business, she hurried past their icy stares back to Zeke's warm embrace.

"Ready for breakfast?"  he whispered upon her return.

She was hoping another round of lovemaking would get her mind off the mirror, but she smiled and nodded anyway.  His enthusiasm was infectious.

The busty blonde's smile broadened as the pair made their way to the kitchen.  Zeke's farmhouse was HUGE!   Hardwood floors.  Bay windows.  Granite countertops.  Meghan knew from her experience at the supply shop that renovations like those cost a fortune.

"The construction business is booming," Zeke said, reacting to her open-mouthed ogling.  When her gape turned to the army of eggs he was cracking into an oversized pan he added, "Sex makes me hungry."

His sex life must be as active as mine, Meghan thought, watching the foreman cook enough for four men.  Or he'd be as big as his house!

After preparing the eggs and a loaf's worth of French Toast, the couple sat down to their feast.  Sex must have made Meghan hungry too, as she matched the burly laborer bite for bite.  Not that she needed an excuse.  Since moving home her appetite had been healthier than the country air.

"You're a great cook," Meghan said as she alternated appreciative glances between Zeke and her next bite.

"One of my many charms," Zeke said with a wink.  He was as cocky as ever.  Still, it was hard to argue.  He was handsome(ish), affluent, a passionate lover, and a capable chef.

A thought ruminating in Meghan's mind spilled from her mouth with a bit of egg, "How come no one's snatched you up yet?"  

"I'm waiting for someone special."  Zeke leaned back in his chair and appraised Meghan's emerald eyes.  "Though I think I may have found her."

Seconds later, the dishes were shoved aside as the couple worked off their breakfast.  Meghan's locks got locked in some syrup that had dripped on the butcher block, but she didn't care.  The attention felt too good.

Less favorable attention came after they did in the form of an angry phone call from Meghan's mother.  Meghan told her the truth--that she'd had too much to drink and stayed over at a friend's house--though she left out the bit about fucking them on their kitchen table.

"I'm a full-grown woman," Meghan said, mashing the 'end call' button.  "But she still makes me feel like a disobedient little girl."

Zeke's eyes drifted to the bulge of Meghan's belly.  She may be full, but she was far from fully grown.  "Your mom's right," he said with a smirk.  "You're a bad girl who needs to be punished."