The greediest of them all? Entrant 7: Lauren Miller & Sarah Lytton (part 2 of 3) (Patreon)

NB It seems italics aren't working on the new Patreon, which is a bit frustrating, given that I us them quite a lot for thoughts, sounds, and for notes like this! Hopefully this still makes sense without them. I'll add them in if and when they're working again.

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'Zo-Zo!'

The prim voice carried through the dorm hallway and into the living room, reaching Zoe's ears just as she was lowering a slice of pepperoni pizza into her mouth.

Zoe paused, pizza dangling floppily above her tongue like a delicious cheese-drenched Sword of Damocles. She sighed. University had been full of new experiences, but perhaps the strangest was the discovery that her name could be made to pout. Hearing that familiar, needy summons, 'Zo-Zo' immediately knew two things.

One: Sarah wanted her to do something that she was too lazy to do herself.

Two: whatever that something was, Zoe would happily do it.

She couldn't explain why. There was just something about Sarah that made you want to please her, even when you knew she was taking advantage. Of course, the pouty voice and pleading-puppy eyes helped. But it went deeper than that. Sarah had a way of making you feel needed—as if you were an essential part of her life.

For a bookish inbetweener like Zoe, who'd never made friends easily, this was another new experience, and one she found difficult to resist.

'Zo—Zo!' The same tone, but now with the slightest twist of impatience at the end. 'Zo-Zo, come –hic!– come help me with this!'

Sighing again, Zoe crammed half the pizza into her mouth and tore it off with her teeth. Mumbling a quick 'Coming!' through bulging cheeks, she dusted off her hands and pushed herself up from the sofa.

And had to clutch suddenly at the armrest.

Woah...

Zoe gave the room a moment to straighten out. You'd think I'd have learned by now, she thought, smiling to herself. As usual, a 'quick drink between morning lectures' had turned into an extended boozing session that had carried on through lunch and all the way into happy hour. Zoe had lost count of how many glasses of rose she'd sunk, but it must have been at least six. With shots and jaeger bombs mingled in for good measure - courtesy of Lauren, of course.

I just need to let this pizza kick in, Zoe thought, chuckling as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. How times had changed! Last year one reasonably large glass of wine had been enough to turn Zoe's legs to jelly. Six months of the student lifestyle had definitely increased her alcohol tolerance.

And that wasn't the only thing it had increased...

Grinning with drunken pride, Zoe tugged on her jumper, pulling it away from her bosom and letting it snap back, giggling like a schoolgirl at the resulting wobble. Finally! For two years she'd watched with growing bitterness as the bosoms of every other girl at her sixth form college began to swell an bounce, stretching their uniform shirts until the buttons puckered. Meanwhile Zoe remained about as busty as an ironing board. And as much as Rob insisted that he loved her just as she was... well, she couldn't help feeling a bit hard done by.

Especially when she'd caught him lingering just a second too long in Lauren's ample embrace when they'd met at the start of term.

Well, all that had changed now. Zoe cupped her newfound tits, almost purring with delight at the swell and heft, where until so recently there had been only a vague nipple-tipped softness. Okay, so she hadn't reached Lauren-levels of boobage, but it was still a massive improvement. And they still seemed to be growing.

Rob's going to blow his load in his boxers when he sees these puppies, Zoe thought with a tipsy giggle, playing out their reunion in her head. She'd keep the hug brief, just long enough to hint that something was different, and she'd wear her modest black dress for dinner, to make the big reveal later all the more tantalising.

Zoe was pondering over whether to go with red or black lace lingerie when a cry pierced her eardrums like a needle.

'Zoh–weee!'

Zoe flinched guiltily. Sarah's pouty whine had graduated into a foot-stamping wail. Taking her hand off he sofa, and finding that the room stayed the right way up, Zoe hurried out of the lounge and down a short corridor, where she pushed open a bedroom door.

And was presented with a view that would have turned most people's legs to jelly - drunk or not.

Facing away from Zoe, with her arms bent behind her as if she were trying to scratch an itch on her upper back, and her hands hidden behind waves of sleek golden hair, the curling tips tumbling almost all the way down to a perfectly shaped bottom, stood Sarah Lytton. The reigning Miss Cheshire and official hottest blonde on campus.

Entirely naked.

No, not entirely, Zoe realised, spying the thin white line of a thong that looped around Sarah's hips and vanished between the unblemished plumpness of her bum cheeks.

Bum cheeks that began to wobble like blancmange as the blonde squirmed and wriggled on the spot.

'Well don't just stand there' – golden curls rippling as hidden hands fidgeted behind them – 'Help me!'

Instinctively Zoe stepped forward.  But.... help with what?

'Got an itch, Sarah?' she asked, frowning as she came up behind her friend. Then she spotted them - the white bra straps peeking out from all that lovely blonde hair.

And Zoe realised that just for once, Sarah wasn't being lazy.

For once, Sarah really did need help.

'M' too -hic- drunk to do up the clasp,' she whined.

Zoe watched the flesh around Sarah's armpits bunch and bulge as the blonde tugged on her uncooperative bra straps to demonstrate. Drunk she certainly was—slurring, swaying and hiccupping every few seconds. But that wasn't the reason she was struggling with her bra.

No, Sarah Lytton – the magazine-perfect blonde model and pageant-winning beauty queen – was struggling with her bra for a far more basic reason.

Sarah Lytton was getting fat.

Smiling to herself, Zoe brushed aside her friend's beautifully soft hair and took hold of her bra straps. It was funny, really. Both Lauren and Sarah had been steadily (and at times not so steadily) putting on the pounds since Freshers' week, thanks to stodgy canteen food and three or four nights out drinking every week. Yet while Lauren was quite open about her extra heft (only this morning she'd leaned back while brushing her teeth and stroked her boozy paunch with a sarcastic 'phwoar!') Sarah, her lifelong bestie who'd had an almost identical upbringing, was in total denial.

Six months they'd been at university, and in that time the haughty blonde had gone through at least a dozen excuses for her obviously expanding figure. When her leggings had jammed around the thighs after Freshers' week, it had been the wrong washing powder - nothing to do with seven days of boozing and late-night kebabs. The failure of her favourite jeans to button either beneath or above her swelling jelly belly a month later was explained away as a case of bloating, after Sarah had been forced to drink beer the previous evening when the union bar ran out of gin (a state of affairs for which she herself bore considerable responsibility).

As the blonde's weight had continued to increase, so too had the ingenuity of her excuses, reaching a new height of absurdity the previous Sunday. Shocked to discover a double chin after a particularly heavy weekend, a near-hysterical Sarah had diagnosed herself with glandular fever and immediately returned to bed. There she had remained throughout the week, complaining dramatically of fatigue and nausea, and self-medicating with mojitos to "restore her blood sugar levels". These, of course, were helpfully administered by Zoe, along with regular meals and a daily triple-chocolate donut from Greggs to help the suffering socialite "keep her strength up". And in a manner of speaking the treatment had worked. Sarah consumed so much sugar during her five days in bed that by the time she made her miraculously recovery this morning (just in time for a party) her neck had thickened up to the point where her double chin was far less noticeable.

Zoe wondered what the excuse would be this time. Because here was simply no way she was getting this bra done up. The gap was huge. Widening her stance, she gave the straps one last tug, wincing as they were enveloped by Sarah's soft flesh.

The pudgy beauty queen squealed like a tasered piglet, then let off a hiccup that rippled her ample pink buttocks.

'Ugh! This one must have -huic!- shrunk,' she complained, dramatically casting aside the offending item, which floated down onto her bed. Hiccupping and swaying, Sarah staggered drunkenly over to the bureau across the room.

Zoe's eyes bulged at the swelling of blonde's hips as she bent forward to pull open a drawer. Even if does find a bra that fits, it'll be a mission to get any of her dresses down over that bum, Zoe thought, watching the rump in question jiggle like a pair of juicy balloon as the blonde rummaged through her drawer like a dog digging a hole, tossing out various items of underwear, grumbling all the while about how the washing machine was ruining her clothes.

While Sarah continued to delve in search of the perfect bra, Zoe took a seat on the bed and looked around. In a recent psychology lecture (one of the few Zoe had actually attended) they'd discussed what students' dorm rooms reveal about their personalities. Most followed a similar trend. Living away from their parents for the first time, anxious yet eager to assert individuality, they decorated their rooms in a way that would stamp an identity but also remind them of their favourite things from home: posters of bands, photo collages of friends and family, and so on.

Sarah was no exception. The only difference was that Sarah's favourite thing from home was, of course, Sarah. Her room was a kind of shrine to herself. On the bedside table, set at an intentionally jaunty angle, was an issue of Cheshire Woman from April the previous year, with Sarah modelling on the front cover. The far wall was adorned with professionally taken photos of Sarah in various modelling poses, gazing vacantly into the distance with those stunning blue eyes. The shelf above Sarah's desk housed Sarah's beauty queen crown and sceptre, each set in a glossily varnished oak plinth with a polished bronze plaque, which made Zoe think of a knight's weapons ready to be taken from the wall. Looking at them now, she realised that Sarah must have had the plinths and plaques built specially. There was, admittedly, one small photo that showed both Sarah and Lauren posing together on a night out in their native Liverpool. But even this, Zoe couldn't help thinking, had been carefully selected to show Sarah at her radiant best while Lauren was clearly drunk, a little sag-jawed and cross-eyed.

The room's crowning glory, however, was the photograph above Sarah's bed. Stretching from bedhead to ceiling, it was an almost life-sized image of Sarah looking sleek golden and impossibly beautiful, standing at the centre of a stage, slim curves sizzling in a hot pink bikini - crowned, sceptred, and flashing her diamond-dust smile, with the silky "Miss Cheshire" sash draped from shoulder to hip.

Zoe wondered what the boys Sarah slept with must have thought, looking up at the vision of slender perfection above the bed and then down at the considerably porkier reality they were humping on the mattress, all soft and pink and pudgy, wheezing from lack of exercise, beads of sweat rolling down the curve of a potbelly that wobbled with every thrust they put into her. Did they feel cheated? Angry?

They must at least had felt surprised. For as well as a way with words, Sarah had a way with clothes. Somehow she always managed to create an impression of slimness. Other than a bit more squish than expected when they squeezed her backside in the club, few of her conquests would have realised just how plump she'd become until they'd gotten her out of her designer gear.

Right now, however, the issue was getting Sarah into her designer gear.

'This one will have to do,' she said with a sigh, finally returning from the bureau with what looked like an identical lacy white bra to the one on the bed. Looping it around her friend's sides, Zoe wasn't convinced that it would do. But... perhaps the straps were a little nearer to closing. She gave them a hefty tug.

'Zoe!' Sarah squealed, 'Be gentle! You know I have delicate skin!'

The remark was followed by a belch that was anything but delicate. Groaning, Sarah stroked the top of her paunch, eyebrows pulling together in a frown. 'Ugh, my hernia's playing up again.'

It took all Zoe's willpower not to smirk. 'Sorry Sar. Can you er... maybe arch your back a little?'

With a grunt of frustration, Sarah learned forward, setting a knee on her bed and arching her back. In the mirror across the room Zoe watched one side of the blonde's squishy potbelly rise, as it was pushed up by her plump thigh.

'Where the fuck is Lauren?' Sarah huffed. 'We're going to be late.'

Well that'll make a change, Zoe thought, smiling to herself. The three of them were late to literally every party and event they attended. And it was always because of Sarah. A last minute outfit change. A little more blusher. Sometimes, Zoe suspected, simply a desire to make an entrance. Even if it took Lauren another hour to get back (which was quite possible, given that she'd been getting pretty hands on with a boy in the bar) Zoe would have bet her life's savings that she'd still be ready before Sarah.

'She text to say she'd be here soon.' Zoe hesitated. 'Er... I think that Craig guy bought her another beer.

There was no visible tone around Sarah's shoulders, but even so Zoe got a vague sensation of muscles tightening. She could understand why. 'That Craig guy' had been talking to Sarah at first. In fact, they'd seemed to be getting on really well. Then, inevitably, Lauren had swooped in. And, well...

'The last thing that girl needs is another beer,' Sarah sniffed haughtily. 'Did you see the way her gut squashed up against the bar while she was ordering? She's getting too fat for her own good.'

The beep and creak of the front door opening saved Zoe from having to reply. Both she and Sarah stood still for a few moments, listening to the footsteps that thumped up the stairs - accompanied by a boozy belch that made Sarah cluck in disgust.

Moments later, Lauren appeared, bouncing off the corridor walls, slice of pizza in hand. She  slumped against the doorframe, and took an enormous bite.

'Are you still not dreffed?' she said, spraying stuffed crust.

'Hey, watch my carpet!' Sarah complained, though as far as Zoe could see most of the crumbs had landed on Lauren's great shelf of a bosom. 'And no,' Sarah continued, lifting her head a little and fidgeting with her much-too-tight bra, 'some of us like to make a bit of an effort with our appearance.'

Grinning, Lauren crammed the rest of her pizza into her mouth, brushing the crumbs off her chest with a dismissive backhand flick that made sure they sailed well into the room. She stretched her arms up over her head, gripping the top of the doorframe with both hands.

The upwards stretch caused Lauren's trendy grey t-shirt to pop up like a roller blind. And though Sarah might have been exaggerating, Zoe had to admit her description of her friend's midriff wasn't far off the mark.

When they'd first met, Zoe had found Lauren quite intimidating. A natural Queen Bee with a look of Kelly Brook in her prime Big Breakfast days, Lauren was tall, curvy and full of confidence, with a wide mouth and sex-hungry smile - and a hint of softness around the tummy. Just enough to create a subtle shadowy curve in her dresses that stretched from hip to hip like a shallow smile, and forced her to loosen her Ralph Lauren belt a notch after a few pints.

Six months and several hundred pints later, it was difficult to tell whether she was wearing a belt at all. A paunch pale and wobbly bulged so far over the rim of Lauren's designer jeans that Zoe reckoned the sultry Kelly Brook-alike must have guzzled at least three more beers with Craig after they'd left. Probably a bowl of chips too, she decided, eyeing the way Lauren's love handles spilled over the sides, like a pair of plumply swollen lips.

What really amazed Zoe, however, was that none of this seemed to have put the slightest dent in Lauren's confidence. Swallowing the last of her pizza, the tall girl swayed forward onto her tiptoes. 'Some of us don't need to make an effort,' she slurred. 'Being irresistible just comes naturally.' Lauren paused, her grin twisting into a mischievous smirk 'Although, I do need a shower. Poor Craig just couldn't keep his hands off me and well, you know...'

This time there was nothing vague about the tension that gripped Sarah's upper body. Her shoulders and chest tightened with a such an extreme spasm that Zoe was actually able to fasten her bra.

This small success did little to improve Sarah's mood.

'He only went for you because you launched your tit torpedoes into his face like a scabby prostitute!' the blonde huffed, glaring at Lauren in the mirror. 'Personally I like to have a bit more self respect.' Sarah lifted her nostrils snootily, 'I am a model, after all.'

Still grinning, Lauren dropped her hands from the doorframe and sauntered into the room. 'A model of what though, Sar?' she asked, coming up just behind her friend so that they could see each other in the mirror. 'Certainly not restraint, that's for sure,' Lauren added, looking very pointedly at the tubby paunch that swelled over Sarah's lacy white thong, puckering slightly as the blonde's attempted to suck in. 'It's a good job Reiss have a plus-size range, that's all I can say.... You know, Sarah, you really want to get that vein above your right eye looked at. It's fit to burst.'

Sarah pivoted so aggressively that Zoe felt sure the two busty besties were going to knock each other over in a drunken collision of tits. Fortunately the height difference saved them both. Sarah's ample bosom passed just under the brunette's enormous jutting bust – though there was a silky hiss and mutual quiver as two plump bellies brushed against each other.

Zoe looked at two protruding stomachs. Sarah's potbelly seemed to be pouting indignantly at Lauren's smug paunch. Even their bellies are a reflection of their different personalities, Zoe thought, chuckling to herself.

'There's only one thing in this room that's fit to burst,' Sarah sneered, and she punctuated the last work by attempting to puncture  Lauren's exposed, beer-swollen tum, prodding a finger in so sharply that the taller girl's mouth puckered and then burst open in a lip-rippling belch.

Sarah staggered backwards, dainty nostrils scrunching in disgust. 'Eeeeeew!'

'Ah, Sarah,' Lauren sighed, pausing briefly to suppress a secondary burp. 'Don't be -hic- jealous. It's not my fault boys fancy me more than you.'

'Jealous?!' Sarah spat the word with such venom that Zoe half-expected the flecks of saliva to burn holes in Lauren's face. 'You're the one who's jealous! Ever since I got that modelling contract, you've pounced on every boy I've even so much as looked at like some... some cow-uddered leech!'

'Don't be daft,' Lauren chuckled, wiping Sarah's spittle from her cheek. 'I'm proud of you for getting the contract. I think it's great that these modelling agencies have started promoting normal body shapes.'

Zoe gasped, and for a split second even Lauren's confidence faltered. Calling Sarah fat was one thing. Calling her normal...

Zoe backed up against the wall as the vein on the blonde's forehead throbbed, bracing herself for the explosion.

To her surprise, it didn't come.

Unclenching her fists, Sarah released a deep breath. 'You know very well that I bloat when I drink, Lauren,' she said, almost understandingly. 'And maybe I have put on a pound or two. But I'll easily lose it before my next shoot. I'm in much better shape than you. And boys do not fancy you more than me. If I was as loose as you, I'd pull any man I wanted. And far better ones than you could.'

Lauren cocked an eyebrow. 'Making this a contest are we?'

'Umm, girls,' Zoe took a step forward. 'I think we've all had a bit to drink and-'

'Fine!' Sarah interrupted, squaring up to Lauren like a boxer at a rather mismatched weigh in (Sarah's chin was almost resting on her friend's enormous chest). 'A contest it is. But we're basing this on quality, all right. Not quantity.'

Zoe could help snorting with laughter. 'Sorry, but how would that work? Ten points for a medical student, five for business studies? Fifty for a professor? You can't possib...ly...'

Zoe's words trailed off, but her mouth remained open. Both Sarah and Lauren had turned to look at her.

And for once, the expression on their faces was identical.

Oh God, Zoe thought. What have I done?

Interim gluttony ratings

Lauren (aged 19): 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕
Sarah (aged 19): 🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰