"Still got room in that tummy, Brinley?" Carmine asked with a knowing smile, referring to what she'd overheard you and Brinley planning to do first on your agenda for the day.
Your wife patted her stomach affectionately. "Oh yeah! I'm, like, super ready to eat the best brunch of all time! I could still fit, like, a whole cow in here!" As if on cue, a gurgle of bubbles sounded off from within her gut, prompting her to laugh.
"Well, hey, at least you have the peace of mind to know that all that food just goes to your best places." Carmine pointed out. "You've got some damn lucky genes, Brinley."
Your wife's brow furrowed. "But...I'm not wearing jeans, I'm wearing short-shorts, Carmine."
Your younger cousin erupted into laughter at that remark, which in turn prompted your wife to laugh just out of sheer infectious joy (even if she totally didn't get what was funny). And then, her laughing fit triggered a gut reaction, and a muted trumpet blast of flatulence slipped out, the two women spared the brunt of the burst by Brinley's seat cushion absorbing it. Carmine's hysteria grew even stronger upon your wife farting, and the two women were practically in tears as they pulled away from your house and off to the restaurant, Brinley letting out a few more laugh-induced toots that further amused the giantesses...
...and did little more than sting your eyes, assault your nostrils, and gag you in misery as you stewed under your wife's ass and baked in her farts all the way to Diane's Diner.
*****
Thankfully, Brinley noticed she'd sat on you shortly after arriving at Diane's Diner, and she peeled you free and kissed you as an apology in short order (though she did unthinkingly ask why you 'smelled a bit weird'). While you reformed, she settled you into her cleavage, her favorite place to set you down. You loved being submerged in the soft, warm, comforting flesh embrace of her breasts too, but not when you weren't reformed, and so you hastily had to steady yourself to avoid slipping completely into the all-consuming embrace of your wife's bosom, especially as she started walking and her boobs jostled and bounced frantically with her steps.
Entering the restaurant, you took a look at your surroundings from your vantage between your wife's breasts.
Diane's Diner had been around in the Oakland area for a staggeringly long amount of time, and it somehow hadn't lost its appeal as other things came and went. The old timey 'wood cabin' aesthetic, the rustic and homey decorations, the warm orange lighting that evoked comforting candlelight...it was all quite nice and down-to-earth. And then to top it all off with some world-class delicious food? Alright, maybe it wasn't quite so surprising to know the beloved restaurant was still around, and very popular.
As your wife and younger cousin approached the cashier, you took note of the college-aged girl behind the counter.
She was dressed in the typical Diane's Diner uniform, which was a somewhat old-fashioned outfit consisting of a black-and-red stripped button-up blouse, and then a matching miniskirt. The girl's subdued physical proportions were a sleek fit with the slimming uniform, though she did keep pulling on the skirt's hem, seemingly subconsciously. She was tall, lean, toned, and appeared pretty effortlessly cool, embarrassment over her uniform notwithstanding. Her purple-dyed hair really stood out against her pale skin.
A little nametag, which you could read once your carrier drew closer, read 'Zoey, Waitress'.
"Good morning, you tw--uh---two! You two! Good morning!" The waitress, Zoey said, her greeting somewhat stilted by the way her eyes had bulged out upon noticing Brinley's utterly gargantuan breasts shoved nearly in her face by your wife excitedly leaning over the counter. "F-For here, or carry-out?" She added, recovering her calm demeanor.
"Morning!" Your wife beamed at the younger girl. "We're for here! We're super-duper excited to try that famous brunch spread you guys have!"
Zoey smiled warmly. "Ah, yes. It's certainly a popular pick. I can promise you won't be disappointed." She bent down, and stood back up with two drink menus in hand. "So if you two are ready, you can just follow--"
"Not to interrupt!" You shouted out, having finished reforming at just the right time. "I'd like a menu too. Affected-sized, if you have one!"
Zoey's gaze turned confused, then her eyes widened as she locked her gaze with you. From the surprise on her face, it was clear that she was kicking herself for not noticing you earlier. You couldn't really blame the poor girl, though. She'd been so flustered by your wife's hugely-exposed cleavage that she'd overcompensated in trying to be polite by avoiding staring, and in turn had failed to spot you. This certainly wasn't the first time Brinley's body-confidence combined with her obliviousness put other people in tough spots, socially speaking.
"I'm so sorry, ma'am. Three menus, got it." Zoey grabbed a final one, then glanced over your wife's shoulder. "I...think my co-worker, Rika, is just about finished cleaning that booth over there. You all can follow me."
As Brinley turned to follow Zoey, you got a glimpse at the apparent co-worker Zoey had been referring to...and your eyes just about popped out of your skull at the sight of what was very nearly a full-moon of ass shoved in your direction.
The other waitress, Rika apparently, was a very sore fit for her Diane's Diner uniform. In sharp contrast to Zoey's sleekness, Rika was voluptuous as hell, pushing past the boundary of overweight, and her immense curves were simply far too much for her clothes. Two buttons had already popped from her blouse, and the miniskirt rode all the way up the massive swell of her ass she she leaned over to, what from you could tell, very half-heartedly wipe down the booth. The black-haired Japanese-American woman also seemed closer to your age (if not a bit older) than Zoey's college-aged self.
Finished cleaning (despite obvious food bits still visible), Rika stood up, scowled, and stomped away without a word as Zoey approached. You heard Zoey sigh under her breath, before her mask of professionalism slid back on. "You all can take a seat, and I will be right back to get your drink orders. I'll tell our cooks to start whipping up the brunch spread, too. I hope you all enjoy your time at out diner today."
"Thanks." Carmine nodded curtly, not so up her own ass that she'd dare to insult someone in the food service industry. She might've considered herself far above the station of a paltry restaurant job, but she wasn't dumb enough to not know the folly of ticking off the people who make your food.
"Thanks so much! This is gonna be awesome!" Brinley gushed, taking a seat so erratically her breasts heaved around you, and you ended up tossed out from between them like you'd been launched by the world's biggest, fleshiest catapult. Thankfully, you had nothing if not decades of practice in handling Brinley's idiosyncrasies, so you nailed the three-point landing on the table.
"Yes, thank you, Zoey." You shouted up to the pretty waitress, after recovering. "You've been wonderful so far."
Zoey smiled at your words, and then walked away towards the kitchen. You, your wife, and your younger cousin were left alone to bask in the comfy atmosphere of Diane's Diner, and the soft-pitched country music gently playing in the background.
After a few minutes...
1) Zoey returns to collect drink orders, and then it's on with the famous brunch spread!
2) Carmine excuses herself to the bathroom, and secretly snags you along the way. She then carries you into the women's bathroom with her, some nefarious scheme or other in mind.
3) Carmine excuses herself to the bathroom, and secretly snags you along the way. However, she diverts into the kitchen instead, sneaking back there to add a certain little ingredient to her and Brinley's upcoming brunch: You!
4) A waitress comes to your table, but it isn't Zoey. It's Rika! Zoey got called away, so Rika's stepping in to handle the drink orders, and as soon as her eyes land on you, you sense an overwhelmingly dreadful wave of anti-tiny disgust radiating from her, and get a really bad feeling.
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