Pyrrha's Panty Problem

Running a bit behind schedule so I whipped up a little something something for ya.

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Pyrrha whined softly to herself. Her cheeks burned bright pink, and she fidgeted in place. She had found a secluded corner to tuck herself in, but would have preferred a deep hole to hide in. 

However, that hole would need to be just as wide as it was deep if Pyrrha were to hide in it. That was simply because of how fat she had gotten. That wasn’t exclusive to her, but she had struggled to adjust more than most. Numerous students at Beacon had put on hundreds of pounds and readily adjusted. They accepted wider chairs, squeezed through narrow doors, and upsized their uniforms. 

Pyrrha held onto the idea that she could lose weight. She went to the gym twice a day, walked…er waddled wherever she needed to go, and she TRIED, oh how she tried, to resist overeating. Unfortunately, meals weren’t satisfying unless they were large, and she needed snacks to keep her energy up. 

Thus, Pyrrha continued to gain weight but failed to properly embrace it. This meant that her uniform was a few sizes too small. A simple roll of her broad shoulders would split her jacket in two. Each shoulder was a puffy mound whose idle weight was enough to give Pyrrha a slight slouch. Any time she tried to lift her arms, a rare occurrence, her shoulder managed to rise and squish her cheeks. They were also so supple that her bra straps sank into them. This gave an appearance like bread being baked within twine…

One thing Pyrrha didn’t mind about her weight gain was how it benefited her chest. Already ample, Pyrrha’s breasts had flourished into impressive mounds. They were like overly-ripe, fleshy melons affixed to her torso. When bound in an expensive bra, crafted by Coco Adel, they looked remarkably perky and bore a flawless teardrop shape. This didn’t come easily, though. Pyrrha’s breasts were hefty and so soft that handling them was difficult. Even with her bra hooking in the front, Pyrrha had to juggle her breasts to stuff them into the cup and then clasp the material shut. Then she had to try to force the buttons of her blouse closed. The fabric was stretched so far that a deep breath could send buttons flying. There were also gaps between each button large enough to fit her fist. Her cleavage was exposed through those gaps. Pale skin, the squish of supple breasts, the tasteful heft that caused a slight sag into a teardrop shape.

They looked remarkable…

Pyrrha didn’t feel the same about the rest of her. Her belly was a thick, heavy, sagging mound of dough. It was mostly rounded but had a wave around the sides and front. The uppermost area was like a soft dome whose lower edges dipped and curved away. Those curves eventually made a sharp tuck to complete meaty love handles. These were so thick that it would take two hands to thoroughly grasp them. They were also some of the furthest things Pyrrha could reach. Her belly was too large to fully grasp. Her hands could reach above her belly button, now a vertical cleft, but they were too short to feel at the lower curve. That was something she could only observe in a mirror. It was a gradual, smooth curve with only the faintest disturbance in the middle. A very faint, incomplete cleft. Just a faint area where the opposite curves met unevenly. The entire mass of her belly was heavy, unwieldy, mostly uncovered, and very demanding. It growled so loudly that it almost echoed at times. The noise wouldn’t stop until Pyrrha stuffed her face. Then, it was replaced with a lulling, satiated feeling. Naps that followed meals were utterly divine…

Pyrrha groaned. She couldn’t stand it. She was in a losing battle with her body. She reached out and grabbed the hem of her blouse and idly tugged on it. The button tucked under her breasts was supposed to be the button that rested over her belly button. The garment was far too short for that now. The lowest portion failed to reach over the curve of her upper belly. The flaps of fabric could only drape themselves atop it. Still, Pyrrha fiddled with the fabric. This brought her attention to her arms. They used to have immaculate muscle definition, but that was buried and forgotten now. The undersides of Pyrrha’s arms were pillow-sized bingo wings. The fat was supple and quivered with every move. They primarily rested at Pyrrha’s sides, but they managed to thump or press against the side of her breasts when she shifted them forward. The opposite side, over her bicep, was more rounded. It was still thick, just not as loose. More bulbous compared to the hanging portion of her underarm. The same could be said for her forearms. They were thickest near her elbow and tapered into thick wrists. The underside was more supple and jiggled easily, while the upper side was rounded like a cylinder. 

That was Pyrrha’s upper body. It provided several challenges, but none were what confined her to this corner. The most significant issue of the day was her skirt. It was too short to adequately cover her butt. The skirt was more like a glorified belt. Her belly hung to her knees which adequately covered her front, but her skirt failed to cover more than a fourth of her butt. Pale, wobbly cheeks wide enough to clog a doorway and bury a standard chair were almost entirely on display. The curves went on and on, slightly wavered, but displayed pure softness. They wobbled with every step she made. The subtle thump of her feet touching the ground carried through her pillar-like legs, vast barrel-shaped thighs, and the blubbery cheeks of her rear. 

Such force added up. This resulted in the most mortifying incident as of late. Pyrrha’s panties had vanished between her butt cheeks. She had made a painstaking effort to pull the fabric as far as it would go. That provided enough cover, but it gradually diminished with each step. Pyrrha was in the halls when she felt a sudden SHWIP as her butt cheeks fully engulfed the fabric. Thus, she made her desperate waddle into isolation. She couldn’t be seen like this. A little of her butt being exposed was fine. Even a portion of her panties was socially acceptable at Beacon.

Her fully bare butt cheeks? Absolutely not! 

Fixing it was easier said than done. She had to maneuver her chunky arms around her back, which put her at odds with the meaty rolls that developed there. Then she had to try to pinch and pull the fabric. Most of the time, her fingers were full of fat instead of fabric. Even when she tried to follow the waistband of her panties, she always lost track of it. This was due to how thick her butt cheeks were and the limited mobility in her arms. She stretched, twisted, and craned her arms, but it was no use. The struggle was fierce and persistent. 

Pyrrha’s rounded cheeks turned a brighter shade of red a she slipped her hand between her butt cheeks. There was a noticeable warmth there, and the embrace around her fingers was incredibly soft. Eventually, Pyrrha was able to seize her panties between two pudgy fingers. This was only after floundering enough that her cheeks clapped against each other. 

Pyrrha pulled the fabric and stretched it across her left butt cheek. She continued to tug and drag until it hooked securely around the outer curve. This also pulled on the rest of the hidden fabric, so Pyrrha had an easier time pulling it free. She repeated the process so her rump was suitably covered. 

“Thank goodness.” Pyrrha sighed in relief. She could now make it to class if she moved now. She made a confident step forward and SHWIP! 

Her panties vanished between her butt cheeks once more.

Pyrrha stood still. The urge to fall to her knees was immense, but then she wouldn’t be able to get up. Dread settled in her heart as she sighed again. This sigh carried with it all her reservations and hopes of fitness. “I’ll just ask for a bigger uniform…one with room to grow.

THE END