chapter without a name

Around us the forest and meadow are filled with the scents and colors of harvest. The light creamy brown of grains and the colors of leaves just beginning to golden and crimson on their edges and extremities. The fiercest of the heat is over but the cooling air is filled with food and love.

Almost four more moons have passed, and we are undisputed masters of our neck of the forest. Well, I am. My princess is more a spirit of it now. Even more, anyway. I have been pushing hard on her to be more sedentary since our full establishment, secure. I have spent the season forcing her to sit more, to rest more, to sleep more, and it has done wonders to her physique.

Her belly is brushing my chin as I eat her alternately delicately and savagely. It wobbles greatly now, draping even sometimes, pleasant and warm and soft and wet with her sweat and mine. It rests for a moment on my chest, though not yet quite my neck. When standing, while still very far from huge, its soft untonedness is just beginning to hang, just starting its long and graceful, joyful descent down her hips, when very full even touching the very top her mons, though not yet fully and still many inches above her fur covered vulva and inner upper thighs.

She is very chubby now. My little lover's body has filled right out, past those early phases of softness or chubbyishness, she is plump now, like the softly rounded berries I watched her eat from her hand nigh seven moons ago. It may be autumn, but, for me, spring is finally here.

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She sits on a rock beside our fire pit, draped in tanned furs and skins. She looks despondent. It has rained for a week. But when she sees me returned, a huge smile has overtaken her lips before mine can even touch them. She twists around me, in defiance now of her nourishment-laden form, and directs and settles me onto her rock.

She proceeds to begin a strip tease, a silent, very welcome thank-you to her new clothes. As the ties come undone by my teeth alone, and the layers begin to shed from her, small parts are revealed, part by part, but not so small now. The softnesses in her face and neck, developed themselves, have expanded into her shoulders, rounding them, delicately smoothing some lines and deepening others, creases, smoothing hard bulges and replacing them with soft ones in new, ever-more-exciting places. Her armpit now has a crease along and just above it where tissue on her shoulder has so thickened with fat, now hiding her fur there. As she lifts it to wrap around her head her chubbiness on her forearm, her upper arm's filling sausage-fat still creases her delightfully furry underarm in another exciting way. The fat from there has flowed downward, always downward, and her other arm with her now-heavy breast creates a real, finger-wide roll at her other armpit. Her breasts, in their turn, have begun fattening more beautifully and naturally than I could have hoped for, distorting as they must and will and want, slowly on their way to reshaping from the inside into those of a true fat woman, a Venus, and I wonder how somehow they're always warm as she brings her chest to my nose and lets me breath her in a second before she pushes away and resumes swaying and gently dancing.

I drum out a firm beat, and begin to hum and throat-sing a weaving pattern. I remove another presented tie with my teeth between notes, and her jerkin falls the rest of the way to reveal on the very chubby belly I've made, now surrounded in radiating halos of her beautiful stretch marks--old ones now a faded white-purple, as new ones come alive a lush red. Her maddeningly-soft abdomen undulates with infinite grace, folding and creasing against itself flawlessly as she dances--the belly that I've so devoutly grown on her, with her eager and constant, dutifully- and fervently-gluttonous, help. She gifts this to me as well, and she remains right before me as I am allowed to tongue-kiss my way down that precious tum until reaching its base crease, below wrapped in a thick, warm, rabbit-furred, knee-length skirt, whose final string I pull as I wrap my arm about her hip and she leans back over its now-bulging muscles playfully, dramatically, new rolls forming and bunching above and against and around in the sexiest thing I can imagine, even as others smooth out and glow in the night lights, a perfect reflection of the fertile moon.

As soon as she feels the draw loosen though, she rolls out gracefully, shifting the rolling fat of those no-longer-slender hips to slowly work loose the skirt cord, gyrating slowly, rhythmically, patiently, until finally, with a flare and a spin away from me, it slips over her stunning full, plump, beautifully cellulite-embellished cheeks and down to her last remaining clothing, a pair of soft furry moccasins that I gave her for her birthday only yesterday. I am now permitted to watch as the dancing moments of firelight play across her stretchmark-blessed skin, her newly dimpling flesh--now starting to cover her from full round glorious backside and hips even to her cute chubby knees, now chubby on all sides--and her soft curving legs, and her thick, bulging, luscious thighs, now nearly shaped by her fat alone.

I can restrain myself no longer, but as I move she stops, still facing away. I move to her, wrapping my arms around her, holding the just-forming lobes of a heavy belly that now bulges well proud of her breasts, out pacing them moons ago, only to find she has begun crying lightly. But when I bring her around in my arms to face me, her belly brushing my manhood distractingly, there is nothing below those tears except a huge, radiant smile, a gratefulness to the world and to life itself, causing the gratitude to leap ever-present in my own chest, and she kisses me deeply as she melts in my arms.

As the moon sets, we slowly dance together in our meadow, her head cradled in my neck, holding each other, as close as possible, naked and unfiltered and bathed in starlight and smoldering fire beneath the vaulting heavens, for hours, until finally she is tired, has climaxed in my arms in every way. I carry her to our hovel, the fat I've crafted spills over my arms, wrapping my muscled core, to our soft detritus bed, now layered with tanned skins and furs and canopied above us, and I feed her from an infinite store of small bites of fatty salted meat and herb-baked roots until she finally falls asleep, always in my arms. Tonight I wake her just enough when I wake to relieve myself, and begin a new nightly ritual of feeding her from our now always adequate leftovers, getting into my softened girl as much of our food-wealth as I can to settle beneficently around her hips and belly and beautiful softening face and neck. And while somehow simultaneously maintaining that sleepy look I adore, she dutifully, willingly, happily, and fervently eats every single proffered bite.


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