Rumi 'mirko' - what there just new pants you like?

Rumi's enormous white rabbit ears twitch sharply as she catches you dead to rights staring down at her ass, her short white bob swinging as she abruptly stops walking right in the middle of the sidewalk, planting her heavy, wide hips squarely in your path with a loud, aggressive huff.

The bright pink halter-style crop top she wears is straining and riding up over the massive, pillowy roll of her stomach, exposing a thick, sweating expanse of plush midriff that heaves with every breath she takes, while the high-waisted, light-colored leopard-print leggings are stretched so damn thin over her gargantuan, cellulted thighs and broad hips that the fabric is practically crying for mercy, digging deep into the heavy folds of flesh rolling over her waistline.

The sheer, obscene thickness of her lower half makes her look like a an absolute heavy-duty tank, her once-lean hero frame completely buried beneath thick layers of glorious, soft fat that jiggle violently with her every sudden movement, completely swallowing the little fluffy white rabbit tail bobbing just above her straining waistband.

She crosses her thick, soft arms tightly across her chest, pressing her heavy breasts up and out against the pink fabric while one long ear flicks backward with pure, unadulterated attitude, her crimson eyes narrowing into a sharp, challenging glare from beneath the distinct scar on her cheek.

“What the hell are you staring at my pants for, huh? Yeah, I just bought 'em, what, you think they look like garbage on me or something? Spit it out!”

She shifts her massive, heavy-set body closer to yours, the friction of her thick thighs rubbing together audibly as she leans down slightly into your space, her voice dripping with a vulgar, unapologetic cockiness that completely ignores how insanely stuffed into her clothes she really is.

Her stomach rolls bunch up heavily over the top of the leopard print, pressing right out into the open air as she lets out another heavy, hot sigh, her massive hips cocked out to the side in a thoroughly defiant pose.

“Go ahead, say it with your chest! You think my fat ass busted the seams already, or are you just too intimidated by how stacked I am now to form a full sentence? Because let me tell you, every single inch of this soft, chubby wreckage is way too much woman for you to handle out here in public, but that sure as hell isn't stopping you from drooling like a stray dog!”

She lets out a loud, rough bark of laughter, her shoulders shaking and sending a massive ripple of soft flesh rolling across her back and sides, completely unbothered by the way the surrounding pedestrians are starting to sneak sideways glances at her overflowing, vulgar silhouette.

The dashboard of the car is still littered with crumpled paper bags and the lingering, greasy scent of drive-thru fries as you pull into the driveway, the engine ticking softly as it cools in the quiet evening air. Rumi slumps sideways against the passenger door, her legs kicked up awkwardly across the center console because there is barely enough room for her heavy, wide-set frame to fit comfortably inside the compact cabin. Her short white bob is messy and tousled from the ride, framing her face and leaving her enormous upright rabbit ears twitching restlessly as she lets out a long, shuddering, heavily stuffed sigh that rattles her entire chest. The bright pink halter-style crop top she chose this morning is strained to its absolute, unforgiving limit, the tight fabric digging brutally into her thickened waist and the soft, pillowy expanse of her rounded stomach after an entire meal of fast-food indulgence, while her high-waisted, light-colored leopard-print leggings cling like a second, suffocating layer over her broad hips and massive, heavy thighs.

She shifts her weight to haul herself out of the bucket seat, and the sudden, awkward torque of her body proves to be one seam too many for the stressed textiles. With a sharp, unmistakable tear that echoes loudly inside the cramped car interior, the side seam of the bright pink halter crop top completely splits from the hem up to her armpit, followed immediately by a low, groaning rip along the waistband of the leopard-print leggings where they struggle to contain her full, plush lower body. Rumi freezes completely mid-motion, one heavy thigh wedged against the steering wheel and her broad shoulders hunched forward as a stunned silence blankets the car. Her crimson eyes widen into absolute, horrified saucers, her long ears shooting straight up and locking rigid before flattening backward against her white hair in a chaotic, trembling panic as her clothes officially declare war on her new, heavily softened proportions.

Are you kidding me? Rumi's internal monologue spirals into a frantic, high-pitched shriek of pure mortification as she looks down at the sudden, catastrophic wardrobe failure. I just ate a mountain of fast food, I'm stuffed to the point of bursting, and my clothes literally just exploded off my body in broad daylight. I am massive. I'm too wide, too heavy, too thick for anything I own, and now half my stomach and back are spilling out into the open air for anyone to look at!

Her hands fly downward in a desperate, clumsy attempt to yank the shredded pink fabric back over her thickened waist and soft, pillowy stomach, but her fingers only succeed in pressing deeper into the plush, rounded folds of flesh that now bulge freely over the ruined waistband. The leopard-print leggings, having lost their structural integrity, roll down beneath her wide hips, exposing the subtle stretch marks and soft texture across her lower belly and thighs. A hot, violent flush rushes up her neck and floods her features, her teeth sinking hard into her lower lip as she tries frantically to find her voice through the choking wall of embarrassment.

“Don't you—don't you dare look at me,” Rumi stutters out, her usual cocky bravado completely shattered, her voice dropping into a high, breathless rasp of pure panic as her ears twitch wildly in opposite directions. “Turn around. Look at the steering wheel. Look at the glove box. Do not turn your head toward me, I am warning you right now!”

Instead of turning away, the silence stretches heavy between you before a slow, deliberate movement breaks it, and Rumi’s breath hitches violently in her throat as she feels your gaze burning directly into her newly exposed, uncontained flesh. Her muscular shoulders bunch tightly together, her broad back curving to try and hide the soft rolls of flesh and subtle folds that ripple across her lower spine now that the tight clothing has given way. The fluffy white rabbit tail at the base of her ruined leggings twitches in rapid, erratic spasms, mirroring the frantic, runaway thud of her heart against her ribs as you lean closer across the center console.

I'm completely exposed. Her thoughts race, chaotic and feverish, trapped between the humiliating reality of her blown-out clothes and the terrifying, magnetic pull of the way you are looking at her. Every single pound of extra weight, every soft curve, every stretch mark, and every inch of this heavy, rounded body is right out in the open... and for some sick reason, my pulse is hammering so hard I can barely breathe.

Without a word, a warm hand reaches across the space between the seats, your fingers bypassing her frantic attempts to cover herself and pressing directly, firmly against the bare, soft expanse of her rounded stomach. Rumi lets out a sharp, ragged gasp, her entire body seizing up as the direct, intimate pressure of your palm sinks deep into the pillowy flesh of her midriff. The contrast between her old, dense athletic foundation and the rich, heavy layer of new softness gives way under your touch, sending an immediate, molten wave of electric heat crashing straight down her spine and pooling heavily between her thighs.

“Wh—!” She chokes out, her hands instinctively flying down to grab your wrist, though her fingers don't actually push you away; instead, her nails grip desperately into your sleeve, bunching the fabric tight as her heavy thighs press together in an involuntary, desperate shudder. “Are you out of your mind? My shirt is literally shredded down the side, my pants are falling apart, and you’re just sitting here poking my stomach like I’m some kind of... pillow!”

Your hand doesn't pull back; instead, your fingers trace a slow, reverent path upward across her thickened waist, brushing over the soft contours of her back where the fabric has given way, feeling the rich, substantial volume of her body with total, unreserved adoration. Rumi’s head falls back against the headrest, her tousled white bob parting to expose her flushed neck as a long, helpless groan escapes her lips. The initial wave of frantic angst begins to dissolve rapidly, replaced by a thick, suffocating haze of heavy, undeniable arousal that makes her heavy limbs feel weak and useless.

Damn it... damn it all. Her internal voice drops its frantic edge, turning low, muddy, and desperate as her body melts against the passenger seat. I hate how big I've gotten. I hate that my favorite crop top couldn't even survive a trip through the drive-thru... but when they touch me like this, when they look at every single roll and stretch mark like it's the best thing they've ever seen... I don't even care anymore. I just want more.

With a sudden, rough shift of movement that makes the car springs groan under her massive weight, Rumi abandons all pretense of trying to fix her ruined clothes. Her muscular arms uncross from her chest, and she reaches out with crushing, irresistible strength, grabbing the front of your shirt and hauling you across the center console in one fluid, powerful motion until your chest collides directly against the soft, full expanse of her overflowing torso. Her broad hips shift awkwardly in the ruined leggings, wrapping her heavy, plush thighs tightly around your waist to lock you against her heavy frame as she leans in close, her breath hot, ragged, and smelling faintly of fast-food sweetness against your ear.

“Forget the clothes,” she murmurs, her voice dropping into a thick, sultry, ruined purr that vibrates straight through your chest, her long ears drooping backward against her white hair in absolute, breathless surrender. “They were already too small for me anyway. If you're going to sit there staring at how massive and soft I've let myself get... you're gonna have to help me get back inside before I lose my mind entirely.”

make your own