#Burrito Ballads; Three Meat Music

[rockysavannah]

Jirou herself didn't know if she should do something for the fact it was Mother's day. Then again, given Videl was... well... spoiling her like a daughter, the hefty girl had attempted to do something. So she had waddled into the room, bloated and stuffed after an immense meal and attempted to sing a little song she had written. However, all that happened was the girl belching and farting up a storm, heating up the room they were in with smelly and hot gasses.

Over the past couple of months, Videl had come to really value Jiro, seeing a bit of herself in the massive musician, namely the tomboyishness and desire to help others. Videl felt somewhat guilty that her coddling was partially responsible for Jiro’s decision to drop out of U.A. on the cusp of graduation and forgo her old dream of being a hero, in favor of moving in with Videl and—for lack of a better term—mooching off of the housewife. Videl had first met Jiro at an Italian restaurant where the former bore witness to the latter single-handedly devouring a large pizza, with an idle belch and a proud pat on her packed paunch to punctuate her meal. While exposure to her own alien family’s ravenous appetites had desensitized Videl to such an otherwise impressive feat of gluttony, the daughter of Mr. Satan was still intrigued by the rotund rocker’s hunger.

Acting on this intrigue, Videl later prepared a platter of spicy tacos and a gallon of milk for Jiro and subsequently nursed the young hero’s swollen tummy, coaxing noxious burps and farts out of her. It was then that Videl began developing protective feelings for Jiro, though whether those emotions were either strictly romantic or motherly, or maybe even a bit of both, was a mystery to the two women. On top of that, Videl learned about Jiro partnership with her fellow classmate, Momo, and didn’t want to put that at risk. Still, Videl wanted to impress Jiro somehow, and she decided to do it by stripping nude and flexing her chiseled musculature for the quirk-user, whose stammering indicated a mutual attraction to her.

Apparently Jiro didn’t mind being in a relationship with two different women, considering her nonchalant reaction to Videl kissing her large gut as a sign of appreciation for the student’s weight. And thus, Videl and Jiro’s dynamic of feeder and feedee, respectively, was formalized, with Videl using her father’s money and staff to serve Jiro the finest gourmet dishes, as well as whipping up several-course-feasts of her own homecooked meals. However, Jiro’s palette wasn’t the most sophisticated, and she was just as content filling her tummy with scores of fast food confections such as pizzas, burritos, pastas, and submarine sandwiches, to which Videl was more than willing to comply.

One time, Videl sought to test the limits of her jiggly GF’s appetite by having her own mother-in-law craft a banquet designed to sate their otherworldly spouses. A bit of juvenile teasing on Videl’s part goaded Jiro into bare-handedly assaulting the mountain of Mount Paozu delicacies, crumbs, sauces, and beverages littering the hefty hero’s clothing and sipping into the folds of her fat. A tired, yet triumphant, eructation heralded Jiro’s domination of the Super Saiyan-sized smörgåsbord, her stomach reddened from the pressure of housing such a bounty of nutrition and slick with grease and sweat as it kicked into overdrive in an attempt to digest the massive meal.

Seeing Jiro’s unfettered ferocity for forcing food down her gullet filled Videl with feelings of lust and maternity; lust for the unbridled and unabashed manner in which Jiro conquered her fiendish feast, and maternity at how Jiro was now dependent on her to ease her post-meal tummy ache. Needless to say, Videl spent hours massaging Jiro’s burdened balloon belly as recompense for coercing her into devouring the feast, a symphony of gut gurgling, flatulence, and eructation echoing throughout the Son Family household. Jiro’s helpless cooing as she felt Videl’s strong, yet tender, hands nurse her overtaxed abdomen only heightened Videl’s matriarchal nature, being reminded of her own daughter’s whines whenever she was in discomfort. Seeking to ease Jiro’s pain even more, Videl planted a plethora of kisses all over the feedee’s gut, as well as her face, the housewife assuring Jiro that she’d give the student as much nurturing as possible, to which, Jiro ripped a humid belch in agreement. 

As the days went by, Jiro grew more lethargic in addition to growing in weight, to the point where just dancing would leave her a gassy, wheezing wreck. Her muscles, once invigorated by exercise and hero work, had atrophied and given way to still more adipose, the punk gal spending her day sitting around, watching TV, listening to music, playing games, and of course stuffing her face. Videl believed that Jiro could weaponize her slovenly habits to aid in her quest to become a hero, such as by fighting villains with her burps and farts, or just by sitting on them, or maybe even teaching her how to use ki. Videl had heard that her own grandmother-in-law was doing something similar with a Muisca woman, so perhaps they should all meet up at some point and have a gross, wholesome, and sexy family bonding time. Alas, despite Videl even offering to share her own experience as a superheroine with the plump pampered rocker, Jiro seemed to have disregarded that line of work completely now.

Hell, even her prior desire to be a musician was barely spared a thought, with the doughy dame ditching her old strings and keys. Her tummy acted as two instruments, with its gurgles reaching lower octaves than her bass guitar ever could, as well as Jiro simply banging her like a drum. Her booty also pulled double duty, with Jiro playing her rotund rump like a pair of bongos to fill out the percussion niche along with her gut, plus her cheeks striking together like cymbals whenever she ripped ass. For the vocals, Jiro had garnered the practice needed to belch out the lyrics to her  loudly enough to echo from the edge of any venue, no microphones, amplifiers, or subwoofers required—in fact, her audience would certainly be deafened if they were used. Should Jiro be onstage, or more realistically, in her recording booth/dining area—as if every room in Videl’s house wasn’t already a dining area—then her state as a gassy slob would allow her to rock out in a way that no musician ever has before, or would likely want to.

So, here they were, Videl waiting on Jiro hand and foot while Jiro ate, burped, and farted her way around the house and into Videl’s heart. The wife of Son Gohan noted that today was Mother’s Day and wanted to pay her Stand-wielding Futa Milf girlfriend a visit. However, she was surprised to see an engorged Jiro toddle into the living room, one hand holding a sheet of musical notation and another rhythmically tapping her tummy. Everything about this pointed toward the former-hero-in-training wishing to play a song for her maternal figure in honor of the holiday, and Videl was touched enough to oblige her. Although, the heartwarming gesture was instantly undercut by a storm of eruptive eructations and flaring flatulence blasting out of Jiro. A moist peridot fog reeking of digesting meat, beans, dairy, and carbonated drinks polluted the room, just translucent enough for Videl to make out objects in her intermediate line of sight, like the thermometer on the wall currently climbing to sweltering temperatures.

In spite of the grotesque display occurring before her, Videl couldn’t help but giggle at her lover/surrogate daughter’s gas, being reminded of the time the semi-retired rocker burped out the lyrics to her songs during a public concert after drinking too much soda. Back when Videl and Jiro were little more than strangers, the former Junior World Martial Arts champion watched Jiro’s belching ballad on TV and nearly fell out of her chair in laughter. When the quirk-wielder’s gaseous reprise reached it conclusion, Videl managed to compose herself and wrapped her strong, yet tender, arms around the corpulent form of her blushing romantic partner.

“Jiro, you should know that I was laughing with you rather than at you. There’s no need for you to be embarrassed. I’m proud to be together with you and I’ll always love you, whether or not you’re a musician, hero, slob, or any combination of the three.”

[muse-soup]

((Tag dump.))