My tray groaned with food as I dropped it onto the table. There was a pile of pizzas which were supposed to be served one slice at a time, but I didn’t see that policy lasting long with me around – instead, they were stacked like pancakes. There were a couple of towers of burgers, and a few coops’ worth of fried chickens arranged artfully to make them take up as little tray as possible for the sheer mass of greasy meat they represented. I had to admire the skill of the people who worked behind the counter – of course, this didn’t stop me demolishing their work at once and stuffing it into my face.
I folded up each large pizza like a taco, and opened my mouth as wide as it would go, my chins squishing together and my cheeks bulging to admit the mounds of cheese. I stripped the meat off the chicken drumsticks like a ravenous wolf. I grabbed the burgers two at a time, cramming them into my mouth with alternate hands. Whenever I got tired of chewing, I’d wash it all down with a huge glug of thick chocolate milkshake, and keep on going.
Even as I gorged myself senseless, I was surprised by how much Amy could pack away. She wasn’t up to Mel Carlyle standards by any means, but she didn’t waste a moment, her slim fingers always questing for the next slice or morsel, and volume-wise too I had to admit she was some eater, especially for a skinny girl. She wouldn’t have been out of place at Buttercombe – well, not her appetite, anyway.
Still, she was way more captivated by my appetite than I was by hers. Every time I glanced up she was surreptitiously watching me, taking note of every detail. She almost rocked backward in her chair when I first deployed the pizza-taco move, but covered it well by adjusting her top, which she did often. If I thought I had trouble containing my belly, it was clear Amy’s breasts were just as rebellious, quaking and shimmying with every move. I wasn’t sure what was attracting more stares from the other students – my epic feats of gluttony, or Amy’s ongoing jiggle show.
“Wow,” said Amy when we were done, leaning back in her chair. I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or stuffed – most likely extremes of both. “Damn, girl, you can EAT.”
“I – rp– know,” I said, leaning back myself with a creak of timber and rewarding my bulging belly with a slow, two-handed blubber-stroke. “But you’re not so bad yourself.”
Amy blushed. “So, um… you want some dessert?”
It didn’t take too long before...
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