Kelly lowered a five pound bag of Braeburns into her cart.
"Great! Apples are nature's candy," chirped the anthropomorphic head of broccoli floating above her right shoulder.
A disdainful rebuttal came from the imaginary flapping chocolate bar on her opposite side. "You know what's better than nature's candy, right? Candy."
Point taken. Obediently Kelly added a tub of caramel dip to accompany the fruit.
Her shopping cart was a study in such compromises. There was healthy food and junk in equal measure: dried apricots alongside peanut butter cups, cream to drown a pint of blueberries, and low sodium baked potato chips at odds with cheez curls. It wasn't that the avatars were particularly persuasive. It was because they were both poor losers. The consequence for leaving a package of smoked sausage links on the shelf was a three minute long tantrum so shrill it inspired a throbbing headache. Add to that the smug gloating from the opposing party and Kelly meekly allowed herself to be guided from isle to isle by the little tyrants.
Kelly supposed she was lucky to have a moderating force, but as she gazed at the food guide pyramid printed on the back of a box of granola and saw how tiny the portion allotted to sweets and fats was, she had to admit a 50/50 split was pretty atrocious. Despite all the fresh fruit and vegetables she was steadily putting on weight.
She quit quantifying the amount when her bust eclipsed the digital readout of the bathroom scale. But there were other reliable indicators, such as the increasing difficulty of finding jeans her size in her favorite boutiques, and how the hem of even her stretchiest shirts left more of her bulging midriff uncovered every week.
And of course there were her breasts. They had been quick to outgrow their original D-cup homes and outpace additional commercially available supports. Now they bullied a customized adjustable bra; jiggling when they felt like jiggling, tolerating the outclassed garment just the sake of propriety. Her boobs were always her favorite part of her body, and now even more so. Unconsciously, Kelly rested her chest on the handle of the cart and lowered her head, chin almost resting in her sweetly perfumed cleavage.
Her heavily lidded eyes fluttered open at a barked command. "Brownie mix! We're critically low!" Her arm rose in a robotic arc and grabbed a box.
Great story, but the pic could show a little more in my opinion. I can't wait to see some of these girls in push-up "homes." Still love your work Woot!
It's funny, I'd been thinking of suggesting a picture/story in a grocery store. And I know Kelly's pain, my shopping cart isn't the healthiest selection either. ^_^
More plumps! Woot your art is fun and sexy, as ever. But leaving this much to the imagination...my imagination can't be trusted! It's never quite as good as anything you produce, my good sir. I shall faithfully await your next generous contribution to this website (hopefully 'tis another girl of generous proportions! Generosity indeed)
I think that in the context of the story, (and I like the story a lot) the view's perfect.
We see that she's packing up top, (where a lot of her weight seems to be going) and the avatars are clearly defined. Pull out much more and they'd have to be a lot bigger than the standard shoulder angel/devil.
This story feels really illustratable. Over a sequence, I mean. Not expecting you to go through the trouble for my expectations alone, I think I may try to do it for fun.
"Great! Apples are nature's candy," chirped the anthropomorphic head of broccoli floating above her right shoulder.
A disdainful rebuttal came from the imaginary flapping chocolate bar on her opposite side. "You know what's better than nature's candy, right? Candy."
Point taken. Obediently Kelly added a tub of caramel dip to accompany the fruit.
Her shopping cart was a study in such compromises. There was healthy food and junk in equal measure: dried apricots alongside peanut butter cups, cream to drown a pint of blueberries, and low sodium baked potato chips at odds with cheez curls. It wasn't that the avatars were particularly persuasive. It was because they were both poor losers. The consequence for leaving a package of smoked sausage links on the shelf was a three minute long tantrum so shrill it inspired a throbbing headache. Add to that the smug gloating from the opposing party and Kelly meekly allowed herself to be guided from isle to isle by the little tyrants.
Kelly supposed she was lucky to have a moderating force, but as she gazed at the food guide pyramid printed on the back of a box of granola and saw how tiny the portion allotted to sweets and fats was, she had to admit a 50/50 split was pretty atrocious. Despite all the fresh fruit and vegetables she was steadily putting on weight.
She quit quantifying the amount when her bust eclipsed the digital readout of the bathroom scale. But there were other reliable indicators, such as the increasing difficulty of finding jeans her size in her favorite boutiques, and how the hem of even her stretchiest shirts left more of her bulging midriff uncovered every week.
And of course there were her breasts. They had been quick to outgrow their original D-cup homes and outpace additional commercially available supports. Now they bullied a customized adjustable bra; jiggling when they felt like jiggling, tolerating the outclassed garment just the sake of propriety. Her boobs were always her favorite part of her body, and now even more so. Unconsciously, Kelly rested her chest on the handle of the cart and lowered her head, chin almost resting in her sweetly perfumed cleavage.
Her heavily lidded eyes fluttered open at a barked command. "Brownie mix! We're critically low!" Her arm rose in a robotic arc and grabbed a box.