Meeting Hoshoka Ch 06

Hoshoka is back in a 6

th

installment, readers, and here the story starts to expand out more and explore Dave and Hoshoka's relationship, taking it beyond the four walls of the house. This is a bit of a kinkier chapter as well, with Hoshoka combining her appetites for desserts and sexual pleasure in a couple of different ways. I hope you enjoy, and feedback is always welcomed!

As an aside, future chapters will probably be a bit delayed - I'm moving in the next few weeks as I become a homeowner, and I've got a few freelance writing assignments that I need to finish up for publication under my real name that take precedence.

CW: Monsterfucking (human male/Japanese Oni female), femdom, size difference, BBWs, dommy mommy play, the word "cunt" used to refer to vulva and vagina, some light conversation about breeding, some playful discussion about futanari between characters, and at long last the food play/feederism/weight gain comes in.

Over the next two weeks, Hoshoka and I kind of settled into a cozy domestic life. I ended my lease on my shithole apartment and moved my stuff into the house with her; if I wasn't in class or working, I was typically on the couch or in bed with her. I'd cleaned the whole house from top to bottom (Hoshoka had watched and commented extensively on how good my ass looked when I was scrubbing something), and we'd even started to replace some of our ChowDash orders with me cooking. Our routine became one of big breakfasts, some light morning intimacy (often just one of us giving the other oral), and then me spending the day in class and making deliveries. In the late afternoon/early evening I came back to the house, we had a big dinner, and had some more intense lovemaking before falling asleep tangled in each other's bodies. I was experiencing a level of happiness I hadn't expected I'd ever see, and Hoshoka was effusive about how good her life had become since she met me.

While I was gone during the day, Hoshoka kept busy watching TV, movies and playing video games. In addition to the extensive hentai collection she'd "inherited" with the house, she had access to my DVD collection and a couple different streaming services. I'd hooked up a GameStation for her and taught her how to use the controls. She'd quickly latched on to JRPGs as her favorite, and was perfectly content to spend hours splayed nude on the couch, working her way through a sprawling fantasy story. I think she enjoyed the Japanese cultural elements to these games; she always insisted otherwise, but I think maybe some part of her was homesick for Japan (or at least, her memories of feudal Japan).

I don't know if she was just pulling my leg, but twice while playing one of these games, she pointed to an oni-themed adversary and told me, "I know that asshole." One of them, she asserted, couldn't handle his sake and ruined an otherwise-fun drinking party by puking directly into the last sake barrel. With the other, she spent 30 minutes trying to run her characters under him and look up, to see if the game designers had accurately rendered his cock. Upon finally discovering that no genitalia had been rendered whatsoever, she laughed so hard she had to put down her controller and wipe tears from her eyes.

"He was so fucking proud of that thing," she explained between giggles, "and I swear to Hell, it was thicker than it was long and he had his foreskin pierced because he thought it made him sexier. It just made it hang open like a kimono sleeve!" She fully collapsed into a fit of laughter at her own description of it.

During this time, she was also very proudly putting on weight from all the modern fast food she was putting away; her breasts were fuller and heavier, her belly rounder, her butt and thighs bigger and more jiggly. I caught her posing and admiring her body in the mirror a number of times, and she'd even asked for cowgirl in front of the bedroom mirror so she could watch her own curves bounce and wobble as she rode me. She was so proud, so in love with her own growth, that it was impossible not to feel like she was getting sexier every day. I was falling in love with having my hands and mouth all over her belly just as much as she was.

I'd lost my virginity to a chubby girl, and so I'd never felt super enamored with slimness as this feminine beauty ideal; but I wasn't prepared for how consistently turned on I'd be by Hoshoka's soft, squishy belly. Watching it bounce with her breasts while we were fucking, filling my hands with it while we were spooning...her belly was just profoundly sexy to me. I felt that way about every inch of her, but hearing her talk about how happy she was to be getting back up to her ideal size and how sexy she found her own stomach to be just drove me wild.

I had asked her, a few days before moving in, if there was any risk of me getting her pregnant; seeing as how her own origins showed that oni and humans were cross-fertile and I was dumping a lot of cum into her pussy on an almost daily basis. She responded by giving me a very lewd look and cupping her breasts in her hands and wiggling them at me.

"Would you like that, sweet boy?" She asked, eyebrow arched. "My belly huge and round, carrying your child, these fat fucking tits overflowing with milk?" She didn't get too far before she couldn't hold back her own laughter.

"Fun fact about shapeshifters," she said with a smile, "when you can reshape it, you get really familiar with your own body. And you learn some really neat tricks. I personally am not in a place in my life where I'm looking to raise a bunch of brats, but I love feeling your seed in me. So you can cum in me all you want, I just block it from getting deep enough to take root. Does that make sense?"

I agreed that it sounded like an effective form of birth control.

***

About a week after I'd officially moved in with her, we had an evening where Hoshoka was just restless. She'd start a show and after a few minutes turn it off and pace the house, wandering from room to room. She'd grab something from the kitchen to munch on and then resume her meanderings before tossing herself back on the couch and trying again with a different show.

"Something wrong, Mama?" I asked, intercepting her in the hallway leading to the bedroom.

"Just...restless," she said. "Feeling...closed in, maybe?"

"You really haven't been out of the house much," I replied, "maybe we need to get you out and about some?"

"I'm sure my fat red ass bouncing down the street would turn a lot of heads," she mused. "And given the look in your eyes when I am dressed sometimes, I suspect the clothes I take from the former owner of this house aren't 'appropriate' for going out in public."

I chuckled at that. She was right. A 5XL T-shirt that said "Bukkake Ruined My Carpet" (she had cackled until she wheezed when she found it) wouldn't fly in a lot of public spaces. But it did sound like she needed to get out of the house for a bit.

"There's a 24-hour Super Sprawlmart in town," I suggested, "and anyone going after 9pm is either someone who doesn't deal well with being in public, or is going there to see the weirdness on display. You going in as a human in oversized clothes isn't going to attract that much attention. And we can do some shopping and get you clothes that fit well and you feel good in."

"Nothing feels better than a warm breeze on my naked tits," she smirked, "but I see what you mean. An appropriate wardrobe would open up opportunities for things like...dating, wouldn't it?"

I agreed that it would. She beamed. "Let's go shopping then," she said, "and then we can plan our first date."

Sometimes shapeshifting seemed like a very casual thing; the way she'd shrunk to allow me to carry her up the stairs, or giving herself human teeth before giving me a blowjob. Making herself appear human was a much more involved process that took a few minutes; shrinking, losing her horns and tusks, her brilliant red skin fading to a warm peach complexion. It was noisier too; losing or regrowing her horns involved a lot of cracking noises. Imagine someone really overenthusiastically eating crab legs and you've got an idea of the sound.

She'd rarely spent more than a few minutes as a human since our first night together; once she'd found out I wasn't too terrified of her full oni glory, she more or less let it all hang out. Human form was for answering the door when she needed to. Incidentally, her weight gain showed as a human as well; Human-Hoshoka had a rounder face, heavier breasts and a bigger, softer belly than she had that first night we met, and she looked absolutely adorable. It was weird being able to look her in the eye instead of up at her, and I kind of missed her horns.

We tried a few of the tamer anime shirts in the closet, including styling them using one of my belts to make a T-shirt dress for her, but she had the bright idea of pulling one of my shirts on; a plain black T that was stretched to the maximum over her massive tits, but at least felt like an appropriate length. Paired with some drawstring shorts it was a look that wasn't going to invite too much scrutiny beyond a few leers from dirty old men. And she was likely lewder than any of them.

"Shit," I said. "They won't let you in to Super Sprawlmart without shoes. And there's no way this guy's sneakers are going to fit you."

She tapped me on the forehead with one finger. "Shape. Shifter." She said slowly. "Give me his shoes, I'll make them fit." We dug out a pair of sandals from the closet, sprayed them with disinfectant, and she pulled them on. Her feet shifted to fit.

Thus fully dressed, we stepped outside into the fading daylight together for the first time and I ushered her into my car. "It still smells like pizza from your last delivery," she giggled.

"I'm just grateful to be taking a girl out where that's a plus, not a turnoff." I replied.

"We should get more snacks while we're out," she said with a grin.

***

The drive to Sprawlmart was largely uneventful; Hoshoka was absolute entranced by being in a car for the first time. She bounced in the passenger seat as she watched the scenery roll past her window, played with the A/C and radio settings, and asked a million questions about what made the car work. Once we parked and I turned off the car, she gave me a big kiss, very playfully thanking me for taking her on her first ever car ride.

The aged greeter welcomed us into Super Sprawlmart with a bored tone, but his eyes were locked on Hoshoka's unhindered breasts, wobbling with each step she took, the entire time. I think she might have been putting an extra bounce in her step, knowing that her body was being admired and not just by me.

"Guys don't change much," she whispered as we passed him. "He's gonna feel 20 years younger jerking off to the thought of me."

We grabbed a cart, and she insisted on being the one to push it. She wanted to go straight to snacks, but I gently reminded her that we were on a mission to get her a new wardrobe. She pouted, tugged my sleeve and whined "but snaaaaaaaacks!"

"How about this," I suggested, lowering my voice, "we get your clothes picked out first, then we grab snacks and check out. Then, we get back in the car, you get snacks for the drive, and we go home so you can be naked and eat more snacks."

Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled upwards into a devious smile as she considered the possibilities of this plan.

"You know me so well," she said. "I

do

like eating snacks."

With that I managed to steer her in the direction of women's clothing. I did have to stop her from taking her shirt off in the middle of the store to try one on; she rolled her eyes at the concept of dressing rooms and American prudishness (especially, as she put it, "in the face of such world-class tits"), but acquiesced to taking a few tops and some jeans in and trying them on privately.

Jeans turned out to be something Hoshoka simply did not care for. Hated the way the denim felt against her skin, hated having to jump to pull them up over her luscious butt, hated the buttons and zippers. Yoga pants turned out to be much more her style - easy to get on and off and soft fabric appealed to her. We bought four pairs in different colors - two in black, one in hot pink and one in bright blue.

As far as tops went, tank tops seemed to be our best option in terms of comfort and coverage; there was no avoiding cleavage, of course, but at least the tops we found didn't go see-through when stretched over her chest. We grabbed a half-dozen along with a pack of soft plain T-shirts. She also found some soft flannels she liked the feel of, which she could layer over the tank tops as the weather cooled down or to cover her shoulders as needed, so into the cart those went as well.

Even better, Hoshoka agreed to try on a couple of sundresses at my suggestion. Emerging from the dressing room in a bright, sunflower-patterned dress that hugged her curves up top while having plenty of fabric hanging free down below, she gave me a brilliant smile and did a little twirl - almost revealing her lack of panties to the Sprawlmart employee supervising the dressing rooms; a sour-faced older woman with her red hair in a severe bun, looking like she hated us for keeping her from sitting down and staring into her phone. Incidentally, every time this woman looked away, Hoshoka shot her a venomous glance; I saw her mouth the words "cock-blocker" behind this woman's back, as her presence kept me from joining her in the dressing room.

Back to the sundress.

"I love it!" Hoshoka beamed, following her twirl with a little shimmy that sent her breasts bouncing in all directions. Happy with the size, we picked out five in different patterns for her - sunflowers, lilies, flamingoes, tropical fish, and palm leaves - and put them in the cart. She was so in love with the feel of the sundress that it took some convincing to get her to take the sunflower dress off and put her shorts and T-shirt back on.

I checked in with her to see if she wanted panties to wear under her new yoga pants and sundresses; she inspected the packaging, considering different styles (suprisingly, boyshorts seemed to hold the most appeal to her) before declining; she rationalized that she would forget to take them off before returning to her natural self and either cut off circulation to her legs or the unbridled might of her ass would blast them to shreds. Bras, likewise, were out of the question. She took one look at them, inspected the clasps and shoulder straps, and had to be stopped from spitting on the floor in anger at the very concept.

"Why would I want to be cinched into some sort of fucking boob-prison made of hooks, wire and frankly, insufficiently soft fabric?" she hissed in disgust. "It looks like it pinches and chafes and my fucking tits deserve better than this." I gently guided her out of the underwear section before she started tipping over the racks in indignation. There was no delaying it; she needed to see the snack aisle before she got violent.

I swear to God, I saw stars twinkling in her eyes when we reached the junk food. All frustration and disgust at the concept of a bra melted out of her at the sight of shelves laden with sugary treats.

"Fuckin' Hells," she whispered in awe as she began to examine her options. She turned to me, an angelic smile on her face as she said, "start filling the cart."

We compromised on a "sampler" of a dozen boxes, one each of various goodies: frosted brownies, rice krispie treats, double chocolate chunk cookies, cream-filled sandwich cookies, cream-filled snack cakes, the works. Hoshoka kept licking her lips hungrily as she piled box after box in the cart, and I started catching a glimpse of blue as she did so; a definite flush had risen in her chubby cheeks as well.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked quietly. "You're, uh...your 'color' is looking a little off..." She gave me an odd look, then her eyes widened and she pulled out her phone and used the front-facing camera to examine her face, then opening her mouth to inspect her tongue. The tip of which was definitely turning blue and getting longer.

"Shit," she hissed. "Okay, let's take all this and go, before all this delectable goodness gets me too turned on to stay human."

She bounced on her heels, arms crossed tightly over her chest and lips pursed while I ran everything through the self-checkout; she refused to let herself even look at the boxes of snack foods until we were out of the store. The sun was long gone from the sky at this point, and she practically raced to the car with a bag of snacks clutched in each hand under the glow of the parking lot lights.

"Fucking shit," she growled, sounding more like her old self, as she piled into my car and closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry, Dave, I thought I had a better hold on myself than this." She closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths through her nose.

"What's going on, Mama?" I asked. "Is there like a time limit on being human or something like that?"

"Nah," she replied. "Just being hungry and horny making it harder to concentrate, so some of the unfiltered Oni is seeping out. Showing you my body in different outfits was hot, but not being able to get off or get you off because that beaky old vulture was looking for an excuse to throw us out was frustrating and then just wanting to eat fucking everything in that aisle...Fuck! Have you ever wanted say, pizza or whatever, so badly that your cock got hard?"

I told her I hadn't. She swore again.

"That's where I'm at. I swear to fuck my cunt was getting wetter and wetter the more snacks I put in the cart. I'm going to eat some of this while you drive us home to take the edge off of this feeling."

She opened a box of Hostess Cupcakes, tearing the plastic wrapper off of one as I put the car in gear and pulled out of our parking spot. She sank her teeth into it and moaned like she was getting her clit licked.

"Fuck me, that is good," she murmured around a mouthful of cake and cream. Out of the corner of my eye I watched her slide her free hand under the waistband of her shorts. She moaned again as she began to rub herself, finishing her first cupcake and tearing open the wrapped on a second one with her teeth. It took everything I had, and probably some deep reserves of strength that I didn't know I had, to keep my eyes on the road as I listened to her pleasure herself while eating cupcakes.

She climaxed while we were still about five minutes away, her moans crescendoing into a long howl of ecstasy. I hazarded a glance over at her. Her shirt - because let's be real here, after being stretched across her bust I wasn't getting the shirt back - was covered in crumbs and she has crumbs and cream around her mouth. Empty cupcake wrappers drifted from her lap to the floor of my car. She gave me a happy smile and showed me her tongue - now very human and pink as it licked the remnants of frosting off her face.

"All better," she said, sounding very relaxed and almost sleepy. I, meanwhile, was rock hard from listening to her masturbate for fifteen minutes.

When we pulled into the driveway and parked, I discovered that she'd finished the entire box of cupcakes in the course of her masturbation session. She giggled at this revelation, and gave me a playful, if sticky, kiss. "They were just too good to stop," she said with a smile.

Then she noticed the erection tenting my jeans. She dipped down to kiss it through the denim, and then said, "let's get you inside and take care of that, my sweet boy." She grabbed all of the bags herself to carry into the house, leaving me to adjust myself and unlock the door for her.

As soon as the door was closed behind us, she dropped the shopping bags on the floor and started stripped off her clothing - starting with the sandals. Turning to look at me as a tomato-red flush spread across her skin, she grinned, revealing her tusks sprouting back into place.