chapter without a name

I can smell her fertility amidst and above that even of the season around us.

The heat of the day is still surrounding, and the air is full of the loveliest scents of life. It has been surprisingly warm for still so early in the year, but the heat comes with regular rain, and means the seasons ahead will be... well-laden.

We have chosen this place well, and the summer and harvest will be long and bountiful, but eventually we will face winter together, boldly, each sculpted then for and from our devoted life here, and living from what we've made of it. We will forage and store well, for depending on where we make our yule camp, and how well I can cajole and comfort her to eat, the deep winter (hopefully) will inevitably require some addition.

I roast the buck's fat on a rock beside the fire with sweet, and tart, berries and forest mint. It has been very nearly two and half moons here, and this is just an extended appetizer, a holdover, until the hours have passed until the warm, blessed, salted flesh beneath the soil has blistered and baked, juices flowing out, and we, I, can unbury it, remove the hot baking stones and unwrap the alder and hickory leaves and pine needles from around the vegetable-and-herb-stuffed carcass, and finally feed it, mouthful by tender succulent mouthful, to my bride, my female, my woman, my love.

Her gentle thighs have just finally begun to swell and soften, in that most natural way, and as she sits before me, below me on a cushion of moss and leaves, I can just see their new softness beginning to roll to the inside, between her hips, to brush against her lips nuzzled so warmly in their new, protective--yet delicately-soft--fur, especially as it runs, uncensored and decadent, past the creasing with her inner thighs, spreading on her naturally, proclaiming her fertility, and her beauty.

The light flickers in her brown eyes as she watches the fire, mesmerized. Never before has it meant so much. Our fire, it is our fire, and in it is food, and warmth, but also protection, and joy, and love; even above and in addition to our love, it infuses our passion with unique, enduring, flickering light, bright and shaded and whole, ever-changing, never wavering. I kiss her, kneeling, the softness of her beautiful face against mine, and my thumb again is naughty of its own as it brushes and pinches ever so lightly new chub on her cheeks, quickly finding its destination in her adipose of her softening under-chin.

We, I... we, have now built a small shelter over our shelter, a rectangular hovel to better deter scavengers, and cold. And predators, the first of which we ate only a week earlier. Chewy, but not overly gamey. Such are not real threats, but against them anyway I have almost finished a dry staked-moat around most of our domain.

Her hips have finally begun their slow widening, as I watch her bottom sashay and sway on them as she walks naked the few steps along the meadow to our stream. The smallest jiggles followed her curves as she stops. She knows I am watching. I always watch. Her. As if I could help it, and not that I would if could... though neither could she. I catch her all the time watching me work, her large eyes fixed on my mouth, or my chest, or my arms, or... elsewhere. There isn't much more that could be expected: We are each other's only entertainment, and only company. Not that we mind in the least, to be sure. Plus... it won't last. Not back in the real world. Not even here. Before any winter for us, will come winter itself, and changes thereof. But for now...

When she returns she turns her sweet, nearly chubby, bottom to me and sits down between my legs, her back resting against my knee, itself resting against the same curving log as my back. She sits comfortably, turning her head to me, lower than mine by almost a hand even though I am leaning. Her neck creases just the tiniest bit. God the calories accumulate fast at her height.

She takes my hand and places it on her stomach without expression, presses it in. New flesh bulges just a sexy little bit around it, and a tiny stretchmark just starting to form peaks out. Her breasts lean over my arm, larger, almost three inches, growing now it seems as if back in adolescence, though soon their gain will change their shape, I know, revealing their increase for what it is, hedonistic and untempered fat... I long for it so.

Her tummy grumbles grumpily with emptiness, and I kiss her and pull her close and her face breaks and she smiles, smirks really, and then giggles a little shyly, still just the tiniest bit embarrassed by her new lack of physical modesty, as I fleetingly tickle her tum, and reaching to the rocks, pull off the first berry-sugar-encrusted strip of juicy elk fat, and feed it to her. She eats the richly flavored treat appreciatively to the sound of a cooing-moan, her eyes closing around the flavors of salt and sweet and tang and savor and fat, and I kiss away the grease at her mouth's flavored corner.

She has a few small pimples now on her face I see, from heat and sweat, and they make her look youthful, and even more beautiful, and I stiffen slightly. No blemish creams here, and she is completely natural: natural, true, feminine beauty, slender still in some places but growing and insatiably hungry now.

I feed her, and me, the rest of the cooked strips, easily enough food for many; through cajoling and cooing I manage to slip every last extra down her pretty throat as I massage her stomach, not that she puts up much resistance. The meal is more than enough, and the meat itself will slowly cook beneath the earth until breakfast tomorrow.

She is sweaty from heat and food as she tiredly turns to bed, and I follow my love entranced as always. New fat gathers in small rolls on her side as she kneels to our entrance, and on her softening filling hips I can just make out the beginnings of other stretchmarks glowing red in the firelight. Her arm above her head on the peak has softened too, its muscle tone fading even now, and adipositic flesh is beginning to reshape her curves. Before I know it, I am down next to her with her wrapped in my arms and nuzzling against the thin chub of her arm and shoulder, my nose finding the fur of her unshaven damp underarm and breathing deeply of her as she kisses my head.

Me full, and her positively bulging, we slip into our triangle-covered nest, bring each other mutual pleasure, of which my favorite is, unabashedly, hers, and settle down spooning, my erection, nearly ever-present even post-coitus with her laying so fully against me, nuzzling her ass, her hand around the shaft sleepily, comfortably. She pushes it between her wet thighs, and it takes all my restraint not to tilt the slightest bit into her joyful, beautiful, craving warmth. There is no separation between us out here, no barrier between our love. She is astoundingly fertile, and she knows it, knows just a drop touching her inner femininity might be enough. She is teasing me, I know, but sweetly and luxuriously-erotically, and I shiver in pleasure and restraint, and she in turn against me, and tucking even closer into my spoon and pulling arms of growing muscle even tighter around her.

I chuckle and nuzzle her neck, the sweet spot of her collar, and I can feel her shiver again. I know what she wants. My arm beneath her massages her filling breasts. Her strong smell fills my nostrils and my brain, and she rubs the knob of my length with her moist hand, rubs the shaft against herself and her fur and her wet lips in the most divine sensation, pulling me against her firmly in sumata, and with my arm above her wrapping around to join at hers, leaning into newly-softened hips and still-thin layer of fresh fat on her nascently emerging belly, she quickly brings both of us to a climax again, my fingers only really serving this time to eke out the most final ounces of pleasure from her yoni. She catches most of me in her hand, lifts it to her mouth, her lips so like those still in my fingers, and drinks it, purring even as I clean the pussy juice happily off her other delicate--though decidedly softer--fingers, and then my own.

Bending at neck and shoulders, I nuzzle down into her hair again, messed and surrounding me like a halo, and mumble a sweet goodnightly noise, at which her own sleepy nonsense drifts quietly back to me, pleasantly--I had no idea how much I'd miss the sound of her pillow talk, and I am grateful now even at this facsimile--and I pull the curtain above our heads to the outside forest and fire, my arms rewrap around her, she snuggles in, already asleep, and I fall to join her, buried in her sweat and her hair and her numinous-inducing feminine scents.

Heartened and soothed and aroused even now, I look forwards even in my dreams. The time of her efforts to build around her are over. Now is finally the time to build within. Now I will keep her slow and full, and we will use this rich season to wrap her in its bounty.


- -
- -