Why should I use the smallest room of the house as a toilet if I don't need to?

That's my mantra, it has been for the last five years at least. Why should I sit on a toilet and pee? I find just standing up and relaxing so more exciting and useful, as my pants take it so well. Wetting myself also feels so good. There is just such an amazing pleasure from it.

There is another layer to my fun, that I have been regularly indulging in ever since I was a teenager when I discovered the delights of going commando. I was at a friend's house on a sleepover and somehow during the night lost my knickers. The following morning. I didn't bother looking too hard for them, I just pulled up my jeans and discovered something new. Liberté.

After years of experimenting, today, this means I never wear underwear. From wearing jeans to leggings to skirts. I am bare below.

This new freedom was soon mixed with another excitement, one afternoon I was being incredibly lazy and needed to go to the toilet. Being an extremely tardy teen mixed with a large dollop of je ne sais quoi  I sneakily let a few jets of pee escape into my pants. It was an electric sensation as the hot urine trickled down and pooled between my buttocks. I wish I had found out earlier. So much so I enthusiastically stood up and emptied the rest of my bladder into my jeans. I just loved the hot wet feeling and tickling excitement that flowed down between my legs. 

Going forward at one sneaked dribbling gushing pee at a time and at every opportunity I found, I took the delight of just letting go in my jeans. Plus de liberté.

Before we go any further, let me introduce myself, I am Perrine from France, I am a twenty three year old skinny brunette. My temporary job, until I start something better, is a pizza delivery girl. I promise I will be in a better job very soon. As I said I have a penchant for wearing tight skinny jeans and never wearing panties.

I moved in with my boyfriend Tim five years ago. I am still waiting for him to put a ring on it. So much so, that after a couple of years we now have a very open relationship. Liberté d'explorer.

The interesting thing is that in the five years I've lived with Tim, I've never used the apartment's toilet. Never had the need to.

The one thing that keeps us together is that he also loves to watch me wet myself and for me is that he loves to pee himself too. There is one small bonus, with us both in wet clothes, I never have to clean the toilet.

I used to entertain myself by just peeing in my jeans or leggings or skirt when I was cleaning the bathroom, it didn't matter if the tiles or shower got wet. It was easy to clean it all up afterwards. The excitement of peeing was too much, I wouldn't bother removing my jeans as I went to the kitchen, I would then have a second pee there too. Soon Tim was joining me with wet jeans as we cooked our evening meal. The cleaning up would wait. There was always another puddle on its way.

As time moved on I wouldn't just pee in the bathroom or the kitchen, I would pee wherever I was and whenever the urge came. I have started to live in a world where toilets don't need to exist. I will pee when I want to.

My dream wet scenario is currently one where I am a normal person. I actually use the bathroom. I am actually sitting on the toilet with my jeans around my ankles like a proper adult whenever the need arises. What makes this special is that on a night out I meet a guy who comes over to the apartment. I may have let on about my fetish. The man being dominant, he doesn't hesitate to pull out his penis and pee all over my house. But he doesn't tell me, he is peeing in corners of the house without my knowledge. Eventually I find out and tell him that it's unfair and he'll have to clean it up. But this man being so dominant forces me to do it. I am there on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor. Over time he moves in with me and continues to pee everywhere, without ever warning me that he has done it. So sometimes I find puddles of pee in the kitchen, or when I go to get dressed, I find he's already peed all over my jeans in the closet. Because I love him, I wear them anyway. The highlight for me is is that he doesn't hesitate to open his fly, flop out his dick and pee on me too. The idea of him peeing on me when I'm doing the dishes gets me wetter than the water splashing from the sink.

For me being wet is important. There is something about driving around town doing my deliveries in my wet jeans. The wafts of hot cheese and pepperoni that mix with the potent smell of fresh urine flowing into my jeans. I don't think the customers notice my glistening backside as I stride back to the car. Or at least if they do, they tip accordingly.

On several occasions I have gone the whole day not changing my jeans, the day off work. I like getting out of bed, putting on my favourite tight fitting denim and then immediately letting go in them. That lovely feeling of urine flowing down my legs with nothing but the jeans restricting the flow. Then going to make my breakfast, sitting there in my cooling wet jeans. A coffee and orange juice later and my jeans are wet hot yet again.

There is some pleasure from answering the door in my obviously two toned clothes. Letting the plumber into the house with the fragrance of fresh pee hanging in the air as it drips from my trouser legs. 

Qui a besoin de toilettes quand on porte un jean ?

I don't.

There is that teasing devilish moment of trying on new clothes in the shops and just letting a little pee out on them. I love the thrill of peeing everywhere.

My parents were horrified by me walking around in wet pants. They told me that I wouldn't get anywhere and that they had brought me up correctly. They soon accepted me in wet clothes.

They were partially true about not getting anywhere in wet pants. Sitting in a job interview and forgetting where I was and having a quick pee is a fast way not to get selected. Looking back I preferred the excitement of the pleasure of wetting myself in the interview and I didn't want the job anyway.

I've got the liberté to pee at home or on the road as much or little as I like. Coming home from work and opening a beer and peeing on my sofa is the best fun ever. Tim doesn't care as another wave of hot urine flows around my bottom.

It's even more exciting to head out to the nightclub, and to have a few drinks inside me to be on the dancefloor and to not bother going to filthy bathrooms there either.

There is something about seeing all the guys look like they want to fuck me and to be dancing to music, not wearing underwear, and letting my hot tickling pee flow. It makes me so excited and turned on. Most guys won't notice that I can spend all night either at the bar or on the dancefloor as the night progresses my jeans or leggings are getting wetter and wetter.

I then get the pleasure of climbing on top of Tim, partially undressing and letting go one last time before bed. This throbbing dick hard against his equally wet jeans is such a turn on for me. As he doesn't wear underwear either, it's fun to watch his cock unrestrained pressing against his clothes before he finally enters me.

When we entertain our friends for an evening, they all know that they are at The Piss House. Cocks will be popped out as and when needed and I can enjoy watching corners being aimed for. Some of my friends will nervously squat over my mats, others will join in with me and Tim and just let go in their clothes. We don't put any pressure on them. The choice is theirs. They know we won't be using the toilet.

As well as the permanent smell from the carpets and furniture there is of course another small downside of not using the bathroom at all. A lot does depend on how lazy I am feeling. I have strategically placed incontinence pads next to both the sofa and my bed, I will also use the kitchen bin if nearby. I have never shit myself accidentally. But maybe once or twice a week if I can't be bothered to get up, I'm watching television or doom scrolling on my phone, I will sit there and do it on purpose. I was peeing in my already smelly wet jeans anyway, I am not going to move to stop it. It does mean a visit to the bin, the washing machine and the shower soon afterwards, however lazy I'm feeling.

In the coming weeks I will be starting a new job (I managed to get through the whole interview dry!) as a team leader in an accounts office. If things go as planned very few colleagues will join me in my office, letting me hopefully be free to carry on peeing myself. I really don't want to have to wait all day to get home and be comfortable on my sofa, but I will pee there when I get home anyway.

J'aime tout simplement être mouillée.

For me it's a case of the wetter the better.

La Fin

Written in conjunction with u/ZealousidealStaff900

Grace likes to pee.

Yes, she will pull her pants down, and sit and use the toilet as and when it's truly required. However when she is on her own and the wet horny mood strikes, she also likes the power trip she gets from the feeling of her hot wet urine powerfully flowing into her pants. She now just loves wetting herself either wearing clothes or not. Just randomly standing there naked in her own apartment peeing on the floor is equally a big thrill when compared to lying in bed engrossed in a good book and letting go. 

There is a lot of fun to be had feeling the hot fluid escaping her own body and then trickling down her skinny thighs as she goes about her day. There is no need to sit or squat, she has mastered the act of just letting go standing up. Yes the toilet is just there nearby, but why not just pee standing up whilst washing your teeth?

Stopping what you are doing and taking time out of your busy day and the effort taken by undressing, then sitting and using the toilet, where is the fun in that? To Grace that is just boring and conventional. There is literally no sexual excitement in that. Pissing herself is for pure gratification.

For the slim, smiling, brunette Grace it's even more electrifying and arousing when she is out and about just letting go in her jeans as she struts around town running her errands. She is sure that no one notices the streaks of dark wet patches on the inner thighs of her blue jeans. She can walk along and just enjoy the wet feeling as her thighs swish past each other. Knowing how naughty she is being.

The whole world of pleasure and urine fetish stems from a brief suggestion by her ex Daniel several years ago.

They used to record clips of themselves fucking. It was just vanilla style sex. Him on her, her on him. It used to be fun for both of them, plus they would make some money from selling the clips online.

It was one Saturday afternoon that she was lying on the bathroom floor with her legs dangling either side of him waiting to rest her heels on his back, the phone was balanced on the bath, the camera was rolling. She was just lying there spread eagle waiting for his tongue to make contact with her. The anticipation had been building. They had been talking about what they were going to do. It had all been planned. He would go down on her then when she was nice and wet he would penetrate. She would moan loudly from the predicted pleasure. They had done this style video in most rooms of the house. They were just christening the bathroom with this clip. Just for variation for their fans. An hour earlier she may have accidentally on purpose drunk after her coffee, a large glass of water too.

The situation was created because a month or so before, a seed had been planted. After a beer or three in a moment of shared open heart conversation late one evening Daniel had let on that the being peed on actually turned him on. Grace may have initially panicked at the thought. Reckoning that it was disgusting and vile, stinky and would make a mess. Who in their right sane mind would want to be peed on? But the idea was there, and over the next couple of weeks the words bounced around in her mind until it fertilized, and then shoots of an idea grew.

So lying there naked on the cold bathroom floor. Her legs wide apart and Daniel's stubbly face just inches away from her invitingly wide open crotch. His brown eyes were alive to the task ahead and was just slowly moving towards her. It was with a smile with a giggle and almost sticking her tongue out at him that she clenched her muscles and squirted a jet of hot urine straight at him. She gasped in surprise as it arced and splattered and splashed his nose, mouth and chin. It was then his dripping eyes came alive, she pushed once again and a further jet of her pee splashed against his face, chest and splattered down all over her thighs. Looking across her body she could see his bouncing hard on getting firmer by the second as she released the final pressure of her bladder and for the next 30 seconds jetting as she continued peeing, drenching him, her and the floor. She couldn't help but laugh. Daniel smiled and kneeling in the warm puddle he grunted and bent closer, his tongue started to clean her up before it went deeper than it had before. She squealed as the wave of pleasure flowed across her body as he worked harder and harder on her. 

It was not long before he was thrusting his hard throbbing member, deep inside her. Her buttocks splashing in the cooling puddle that she had created. The grunting screaming orgasm they shared was equally matched in the moment. She knew from that moment on how to turn both of them on. Their subscribers loved it. So did she.

For the next few months they would introduce pee play into their sex life at every opportunity they could. Waterproof mattress protector was a must. He loved her peeing on him.

As time passed he has since moved on, but has left Grace with a big present. The personal enjoyment of the peeing kink. She can now actively look forward to letting go of her bladder in ever more daring situations and get the enjoyment that the thrill t brings. She stands there and feels all powerful as her urine gushes and pours down her legs.

Every time, every unconventional pee, it's a delightful feeling.

Since being single, she now pees just for her own pleasure. There is still an exciting thrill because of it. Depending on how lazy she is feeling, she will stay in her wet panties for an hour or two only to rewet them a little later. It saves on washing several pairs.

Her most daring scenario would be standing high up on a balcony with her naked crotch pointing in the direction of the street below and then letting go. The idea of peeing all over the people walking down below without them knowing where the water was coming from.

For now she is slowly pushing the boundaries of the pleasure of exhibitionist ideas of peeing where and when she can. Her latest video was peeing standing up with an open cubicle door in a public toilet. The  enjoyment of the adrenaline rush of the potential of getting caught with her pants down is only equalled by the feeling of naughtily peeing.

For now Grace is going to continue the risk of being caught as there is plenty of enjoyment to be gained by emptying her overly full bladder wherever and whenever the mood strikes.

The End 

​

You and your man are sitting on the sofa, it's Sunday afternoon. You have already eaten lunch, or in your case breakfast. It took a long time for you to wake up this morning. That was not helped by it being cold and it's raining heavily outside. By mid afternoon you are bored. Neither of you want to do the chores required. The situation is not helped that he is still grumpy with you for last night as you went out with your friends. That was not really the problem, you are allowed a social life. He certainly has one. What was rather the issue was instead of getting back before 11 as promised, you stumbled through the door slightly late, and very drunk gone 2am. Before you could have sex, you had passed out on the bed.

Having made lunch for you both, for the last hour or so you have plied him and yourself with coffee after coffee. He really doesn't want another. He suggests he is buzzing and is really scared that he wouldn't sleep tonight. Even after waiting up until you safely got back in. You just want to wake up. He is also adamant that doesn't want another glass of water.

He ultimately knows exactly what's up, that you really want to enjoy your punishment, but nothing more is said. He smiles, his manly hands caress and stroke up and down your bare legs. You're still wearing your cute little pajama shorts as today you were not going to go anywhere. As such you are snuggled up into him. It really has not been a day to go anywhere. Both of you are trying and failing to focus on watching TV. Sunday afternoon movies are awful. There are definitely other thoughts spinning around both your heads. As you sit there your nipples are already hard against your pajama top just thinking about what is going to happen next. It's just a matter of time.

You just have to sit there and wait until he gets up. Mother nature would soon call. It's guaranteed. After another five minutes of anticipation finally building. He grunts and makes a move, firmly but sweetly shooing you off his body. You may have had your arm and elbow affectionately pushing a little hard against his stomach. All in the aim of love. You shiver with the sudden coldness that wraps your body. Being draped against him you were all nice and warm. With a sultry face, looking your best to be seen to be obedient, followed by a kiss and an extravagant flirtatious smile you get up too and take his hand. You have the power for a sudden as you drag him to the bathroom. Standing between the bath and toilet, and between kisses you hurriedly undress. He is looking back at you a little nonplussed. You however are grinning happily as he stares crossly down. You change your face again to that of an apologetic puppy. Making your eyes as wide as possible. You look as if you have been caught red handed being naughty. You are about to be punished.You are very naked in front of him. He raises an eyebrow and slaps you on the ass. It's gentle but firm, but still momentarily still stings. Ultimately it's nothing you don't deserve. It should have been harder.

With a sultry look into his eyes you reach for and undo his fly before reaching in and pulling out his member. You turn and carefully climb raise your legs and get into the bath

Turning again to stand in front of him, you can’t help but nervously giggle as he looks you up and down. It's nothing he hasn't seen before. Your eyes lock on as you look at each other.

With a cute nonchalant shrug of shoulders you slowly kneel down infront of him, grinning. Your buttucks are resting on the heels of your feet as you are sideways on, you grip hold on to the side of the bath.

Looking up wide eyed at his face you know you are about to be degraded. No more useful to him or anyone for that matter other than to be a human toilet bowl. It is exactly what you deserve.

You stare up at his face, he growls, then you look down at his still flaccid cock protruding from his jeans. You can't help but run your tongue around your lips. You really want to consume him. But won't be taking his member in his mouth just yet.

Normally his soft cock would be an offense. Just why can’t he get it up for the very pretty, sexy, naked you in front of him. But on this occasion it's not for what you want him to do.

You can't help but smile as he takes it between his fingers and then slightly moves his hips. He glares again, you look sultry again. Your eyes light up in anticipation as you focus on the tip. The arc of yellow fluid shoots out. You can't help but shriek as the warm urine splatters and splashes on your forehead and drips over your eye and down your nose splattering loudly on the bath .

You resist licking as more warm jetting splatters hit your face and it flows down tickling as the rivulets trickle down your body. He then adjusts his aim, like a fireman aiming his hose he jets his wee briefly at your mouth before taking aim at your breasts, the left and then the right, before aiming at your belly button.

You whinge and stick your pink tongue out wanting more on your face as your fingers caress your dripping wet beasts.

But annoyingly no sooner than he had started had he had finished, it's dribbling down onto the floor. He instinctively shakes, sending the last drops in your direction. You blink your wet eyes lashes as the dribbles splatter onto your body.

You sniff and smile, you reek of urine, but don't care. With one hand on your breast you reach out and take his cock between your fingers, shaking the drips from the tip annoyed that they didn't land on you. The stroking brings his cock into life.

You focus all your attention on his cock as it behaves itself and quickly thickens and hardens. With that you take advantage as your wet hands glide up and down his hardening shaft.

Stoking faster and faster you keep going, tugging him closer to your dripping lips. You take his cock briefly between your lips, licking his tip. Sucking his remaining pee. All whilst stroking quicker and quicker as you tweak your nipples harder whilst moaning louder and louder.

You look at each other briefly, his eyes intently focus down on you gripping on to his cock. You smile. You stroke and love it with the best of your intentions. You're moaning, he is groaning. You don't care that you are dripping wet, you twist your nipple harder and stroke his cock faster. You are both groaning and moaning. You are trying your best not to slip over in the wet bath. Stroking harder and faster as he grunts above you.

He gasps as he thrusts his hips toward and then for the second time in a few minutes a warm splatter covers your wet hair and face as it starts dripping down over your eyes.

You are just what was needed. Utterly degraded but in reality totally loved. Your tongue again runs around your lips tasting the salty fluid, briefly cleaning them up the best you can.

He looks down at you and chuckles almost evilly. You are at the moment an unworthy mess. With a smile he bends down and rather than aiming for the lips kisses you on a dry patch on top of your head, and at the same time his large manly hands gropes your wet breast. He releases, stands up and wipes his hands on his pants, turns and with a nod, leaves you dripping. Suggesting that he will turn the oven on so you can cook him dinner. You ask him to make another coffee. The hope hangs in the air, but he has gone.

You sit there on your own dripping, your fingers migrate down to your own crotch. You breath in as you stroke yourself and and start to smile and moan as again and look to the ceiling as there is a gush of warmth and a loud splatter as between your fingers as you continue playing with yourself as as your own urine now flows down between your thighs streaming down over your feet onto the floor of the bath. You smile as you continue stroking yourself, moaning and panting, then grunting, before shuddering and squealing. Only then do you finally reach for the taps and the shower head.

The End

Latte and Cigarette

Dawn never imagined that food would become part of her identity. She definitely could not imagine ever smoking.

At twenty-six, very much in love she lived in her one bed flat on the high street and she had purpose. She was at the gym before sunrise, and even fit in a session before going on a night out. She bulk cooked and planned meals every Sunday afternoon measuring her calories in scientific detail. She would bore her boyfriend and colleagues in the discussions on nutrition. As such she rarely missed a workout. Dawn took pride in how strong and muscular she felt rather than simply how pretty she looked. She was proud of her stamina.

Once a week on her way to work she stopped at the neighbourhood café for a single caramel shot flavoured latte, a small reward for her workouts that she never questioned.

It was just one nice drink.

As the weeks passed her morning latte became a daily habit instead of an occasional treat. The Friday excitement was buying a chocolate muffin to go with the coffee. But she still lifted weights four evenings each week and jogged on weekends. The scale barely moved, though she noticed she wasn't quite as lean as she had been six months earlier.

She shrugged it off. It was just a milky coffee and a nice bun, but importantly her life was good.

Year Two

The home-work life balance shifted, Dawn had got the promotion she had always wanted. Ven moved into her own place. Thinking that there would be a time to move her relationships forward. Except the opposite was true. There was no time for a relationship. There was the natural pressure to stay at work longer, there was the need to get jobs done. Her sex life had to take a back seat, work had become more demanding. Her sex life vanished overnight. Her presence at the ever growing number of meetings was required. The chocolate muffin became a daily thing along with the latte. 

Those late on important meetings at first replaced her time with her man and then subsequently her evening gym sessions more often than she liked. Instead of cooking for herself after getting home late after eight o'clock, she ordered pizza or Chinese because it was faster. Popping out of the office for a second or third latte during the afternoon helped her stay awake through endless boring meetings.

Dawn was still proud that even without the gym visits, her slimfit jeans whilst snug still fitted, although after dinner the waistband pressed deeply into her stomach whenever she sat.

There was a plan, once she had got on top of the work problems, Dawn had promised herself that things would return to normal and her gym visits would increase again once work settled down.

There was a small snag, Dawn was so dedicated to her job, that only six months later, she got another promotion. The extra work required her pushed those extra gym visits even further away.

At home unpopping the jeans buttons helped relieve some pressure, but the stress of work was getting to her. Another large slice of chocolate cake made her feel better.

Year Three

A couple of years ago on a Friday evening Dawn would have been in the gym pumping weights and using the bike and running machine. That was the past, more recently she and a group of colleagues had been invited over to Sally’s house after work for some drinks and food.

For Dawn this was a whole new world that appeared in front of her. Sitting out on Sally’s patio with the wine glasses full, the food eaten, sheepishly the cigarettes were produced. Everyone relaxed on the patio, cigarettes were shared. Dawn had never been particularly interested, her lungs were needed to work hard in the gym. But after a half a bottle of wine, and gentle arm twisting curiosity won. She could work harder in the gym to work it off.

She coughed, but persevered, in the warm air and social environment she laughed and cried at the jokes more than she had in weeks. The daytime stress seemed to disappear with the smoke into the darkness of the evening sky. Each tentative drag melted the worries and stresses of the night away..

Saturday morning, as promised she worked harder in the gym than she had done in months. Her chest felt as if it had been filled with tarmac. She was cross with herself for smoking and drinking so much. She was stuck in a traffic jam itching to get home, and eventually passed a corner shop. There was something behind the counter that she knew reduced stress, more than working out in the gym. There was also a selection of chocolate bars too. She was working on the theory that the girls said, just one smoke didn’t do any harm. That was what the girls kept saying all night long every time their packs were shared.

The following Friday night, and subsequent weeks she had her own pack to share some cigarettes out on the patio. It was never a full pack when she got there, as she practiced in between. Dawn had begun to enjoy the feeling of the smoke filling her lungs. For once in her life she fitted in socially with the female colleagues.

The downside of her new found habit was her gym workouts became even more inconsistent, to non-existent. Being hungover on Saturday and often again on Sunday morning was not conducive for a work out. Drinking coffee and feeling sorry for herself made her feel better. A cigarette or two helped in the mornings too. Elasticated clothes at the weekend was a must.

When not out with the girls Dawn found snacking in the evening became a thing. She was just tired and needing the dopamine hit before bed. The nice feeling of being full. Potato chips and pretzels and beer filled the evening. More often than not with a stress removing cigarette too.

She still looked healthy, just noticeably a lot softer around her waist. Her clothes had all gone up a dress size, especially her rather tight on the hip underwear. Her bra clips were on the final hook, rather than the middle one. The seam snapping on her favourite thong one morning was more than a little annoying. That autumn her nicest pair of slimfit jeans were given to the nearby charity shop. The button just wouldn't do up. Stretchy clothes were the way forward, and just a lot more comfortable.

To make herself feel better Dawn would open another bag of chips. The feeling of a full tummy just made things a little better in her life.

Year Four

When her family or friends asked how things were going with her gym sessions. She had to admit exercising was something she used to do. There was just no time in her life to physically get there. There was also one thing she also couldn't hide- that of her developing physical shape. For now the membership fee continued leaving her bank account every month reminding her of her intention to get there.

There was always a reason she couldn't. The idea was there, but the practicalities just kept escaping her. 

However, she did manage to get to the corner shop every other morning, she had to. The pack at home was empty. As a couple of stress relieving cigarettes were needed before leaving for the office. She couldn’t cope with work otherwise. Next door was the coffee shop. The large latte washed everything down.  Her large latte was still a must before settling at her desk.

Sitting down her stomach developed an obvious gentle bulge that rested firmly against the waistband of her dress or skirt when she sat. Her thighs and arms had lost all of their muscle definition and when she walked her inner thigh fat rubbed together.

She again had bought more clothes one size larger and at the weekends quietly donated the smaller ones. She was slightly horrified that she now had back fat, that in the mirror there were folds below her shoulder blades. But not scared enough to do anything.

The next morning, like clockwork, the corner shop guy and café employees already knew her order before she reached the counter. Pack of twenty Marlboro Lights and extra large latte.

That order became a daily thing. The nicotine and caffeine were required in multiple doses throughout her day. She liked to smoke a cigarette and drink a latte. It was just a nice thing to go together as she escaped her desk for five minutes.

Looking in the mirror her shape scared her, she could hold on to the belly fat. She told everyone she smoked to reduce her appetite. It would help her lose weight. It would suppress her appetite. For all the hope, for Dawn, the combination of eating and smoking made her feel better about herself. She needed to keep smoking. She loved to keep eating.

Year Five

Daily life became remarkably predictable. A daily rhythm that fulfilled her time, of which didn't involve going anywhere near the gym. She drove past it the other day, and didn’t feel guilty that she didn’t stop and go inside. Her new routine was to wake up feeling tired, light a cigarette, reluctantly get up, light a cigarette, shower, light a cigarette, and get in the car. Light a cigarette. Buy a latte and a sausage bap for breakfast.

The new normal was to stand outside the office and smoke a much needed cigarette as she would eat, and then finally go to work. She would come out again a couple of hours later for some ‘fresh air’ and light another cigarette. For lunch she would get a toasted cheese sandwich and an extra large latte. She would eat it sitting on the wall outside with a cigarette between her fingers.

At the end of the long day, she would get outside, light another much needed cigarette, get in the car and drive home.

Her overly tight fitting work skirt and blouse would be discarded as soon as she was in the door. Dawn would pour herself a cold beer, and order dinner on her phone from the sofa. Sitting, drinking, eating a snack whilst lighting cigarettes as she watched television waiting for the delivery.

After eating she would smoke and graze snacks until bedtime. Empty beer bottles competed for space on the coffee table with the full ashtray and empty snack packs.

Dawn had become clearly overweight. Her mom was concerned and compared to before there was no sprinting up the stairs. Just the idea of it left her breathing harder than she remembered. Her large granny cut knickers were getting larger by the year. She joked her silky red pair she bought one Saturday afternoon when she felt sexy were actually big enough to be her emergency parachute if needed. They were actually needed to hold her equally matching large buttocks and bulbous soft stomach in place.

For all the original excitement for the Friday night drinks and smokes with her friends, as the weather changed they were shunned. It was too cold to sit outside. Even in the spring when it got warmer she found excuses to avoid social events because none of her favourite outfits fitted anymore.

Instead she would slope off home, get changed into her XXL baggy t-shirt and stretched elasticated grey sweatpants and sit on the sofa. Doing that provided fewer questions. She was as happy as she could be. With the snacks, beer and cigarettes in easy reach. The gym membership was cancelled. The money was needed for cigarettes, beer and food.

On the weekends, she didn’t need to move too far from the sofa. Wadding to the bathroom or fridge was as far as she went. She could get her hot food delivered by doordash.

Year Six

The changes in Dawn’s life accelerated because inactivity after work had become normal.

Her weekends were once filled with excitement and exploration. From hiking to running errands now disappeared into marathon streaming sessions. Sitting on her comfortable sofa in front of the television watching ‘box sets’ for hours on end. Even to the extent of getting dressed was far too much like effort, sitting in her baggy sleeping t-shirt and stretched panties were good enough.

She rarely cooked. Everything she needed could be delivered.

The refrigerator contained no vegetables, only flavoured creamers, takeaway leftovers, soda, and beers. Her bulging belly now rested comfortably in her lap whenever she sat. Her face had become fuller, and climbing a single flight of stairs required a pause halfway and a celebratory cigarette to recuperate afterwards.

Her friends still invited her nights out.  The excuse to party the night away. Drinking and dancing and chasing men.

She usually declined.

"It sounds fun," she'd text back..

"Maybe next time."

She would get home from work, unwrap the maxi dress, take off her bra, get dressed in her comfortable elasticated clothes. The first stop would be to pour herself a large Jack Daniels before sitting down on the sofa to light another cigarette. With her being comfortable, there was never a good reason to go out.

Year Seven

A few years had passed since that night out of the girls. A point where she was in the prime of her life, married with a couple of children. But no.  Dawn couldn’t put her finger on who had given her that first cigarette. She had drunk too much. She was having fun, it could have been Martha or Cynthia..

For her the woman that looked back at her in the mirror only had a passing resemblance to the skinny energetic person from old photographs.

Dawn was now markedly obese. The energy needed to waddle to the corner shop every morning to collect two packs of Marlboro Reds cigarettes was hard work. That was before going next door to the café every morning. It remained part of her daily routine, except now the walk to both counters felt a lot further away than they used to. The baristas still smiled and had her order ready before she spoke. The box of three caramel slices duly put in her bag for later.

Every evening after work she followed nearly the same script.

A post work cigarette, 

Walk into the coffee shop buy a ‘get home latte’ and bun,

Light a ‘got home cigarette’,

Takeout meal or a microwave meal for one,

A post meal cigarette,

Television with a few more cigarettes,

Liquor or beer depending on the mood with snacks with a few cigarettes before bed,

A final cigarette before lights out, in bed.

For her tomorrow would be different.

For tomorrow could be the day that Dawn jumped out of bed and enthusiastically started over by going to the gym and working her body hard and beginning the journey to losing all the weight. 

But tomorrow always looked remarkably like today. Dawn felt happier in herself smoking a cigarette in bed to get her going, and once out of bed, to keep rolling with one latte, a couple of cigarettes and a fistful of snacks at a time.

The End 

Yes, this story is based on a AI generated work by Blackbean on Deviant Art...but I have turned it into a thing not using AI!

Mods can I have a erotica/fiction flair?