chapter without a name part 1

It has been many more moons, and my days are still long, but only because I am always striving to do as much as possible. My arms and legs have doubled in size and tone since we arrived, and I feel more male, more virile, and more alive than any other time in my life. We have passed a mild winter in surprising ease, which is good as we 'somehow' 'ran' through our long stores more than a moon early. I joyfully began foraging well before that.

I moved our camp to a cave in the mountainside at the end of harvest, very near the spring of our earliest stream beside our meadow and first home. Though I carried her up here, I could barely lift her less than a moon later, and haven't tried since.

The last of the snow is melting, but it is still rather cold, especially for one I so strive to keep safe and warm. I return in the middle of the night, but within seconds of hearing my approach she is at the cave mouth, and then at the palisade, watching excitedly, I know, as I drag my soon-to-be-obsolete makeshift sled behind me, a whole pile of lowland root vegetables, four 'wild' turkeys, two small deer, and a decapitated (though de-venomized, of course) rattlesnake packed in gathered snow atop it.

She shivers a little, and I realize her once-vast robe wraps less than twice around her now, and her knee-high fur boots are as loosely laced as I've ever seen. Still, even cold as she is, she is running--no--waddling, and jiggling even through her clothes, into my arms in seemingly less than a heartbeat, though I know it was much more. She mashes her fat face into my cheek, my jaw, and finally my mouth, her tears and chubby cheeks and joy-filled wet kisses all over me. I've been gone almost three days.

She smiles hugely, twinkling, a toothy glorious grin, and pushes my hand between her robes and against naked flesh I cannot see, into her now-deep, soft, warm rolls of belly fat. I realize that even through the many layers of blubber I've put on her, I feel a very noticeable stuffed-full firmness, and as I grin at her and follow her back into the cave, I see that she has managed to force-feed herself, very deservedly proudly, through half our remaining stores since I left, probably nearly fifteen pounds of meat and three pounds of cured fat, not to mention an equally huge amount of roots and dried fruit. She is getting so good at this, I know. She wakes up twice a night during the 12 or so hours I encourage her to sleep, and eats till she's just past comfortably-full every time. She eats a little in the morning, but then not usually again until the late evening, in hopes of getting the most out of the calories we can afford to feed her. Knowing that I was coming back with fresh, though, she took it upon herself, helpfully, to clear out the larder to make room, and so likely doubled her intake since I left. Proud I am, though I do realize that I may have to go hunting again sooner rather than later. Oh the burden. I quickly pack the new stores into the snow drift beside the cave, and follow her back.

She has a fire going inside, and some freshly recooked meat and potatoes and carrots and blackberries, with melted fat and old grain used to make a roux for her stew. She sits me down with her excitedly and guides my hand first to the food and my own mouth, and then to hers. I smile, cottoning on, and feed myself as I help continue her project of stuffing herself silly. It is absolutely delicious, my best meal in days, if not weeks. After I am full, she is still trying to nibble, and I can't resist. I move the stew-pot beside her, and I arch over her, nose to nose nuzzingly a moment, my feet far beneath hers, and hand her some food, bringing it to her mouth, encouraging, passionate, as I then make my way slowly down the body we've shaped together, to provide much better encouragement.

I kneel in front of her, and pull her wide, thick, heavy hips forward to me, inclining her against the pillows and furs that make our nest. Her hips barely fit now in her tight furs. I see her face in the light. She is watching me, pupils large, and as I look back at her over her swollen body, seeing her breathing become deeper, she begins eating again. I see her, her bright eyes, glazed with stuffing and lust, I hang on her soft and lovely face, I note that her youthful pimples have returned on my greasy winter diet for her, though now the cheeks they highlight are plumped and full with fat and sit above curves of swollen softness, even rolls at this angle, down a jawline that now has soft jowls that would droop were they not so plumped, themselves merging into the halo of fat I'd forced on her that now graced her face at any angle, but especially this one. She is so beautiful, so fertile, so heavenly, it gives me pause. She has always aroused every part of my body and spirit, but now the very nature of her has become something that transcends the boundaries of my mind and joy and passion. I want all of her, always, all around me. I want to bring her joy, and love, and life, for all time.

From her hips, I watch her closely, tantalizing her with fingers and palms as her thighs are now so full and round and fat as to prohibit my lips finding hers there, bundled snugly and warmly and softly and fatly within her robes and herself. I tease and coaxed her to continue to slowly stuff herself as I massage and nuzzle her body and belly and hips and knees and vulva, and by the time I am allowing her release, I have induced her to finish nearly everything she has cooked. As she breathes shallowly, now covered in her warm sweat beneath her furs, she uses the last of her energy to pull me to come up to her to kiss her food-soiled mouth. My hands slide over soft, bulging, very round and fur-wrapped flesh as I kiss her lips and cheeks and neck and collar, evoking impassioned moans as I lick every remaining morsel from her creamy soft skin. The fat of her upper arms makes them easily as thick as her thighs once were, and she wraps them beside and around my head, smothering me in glorious affection as she brings my lips against hers, me against her fat, kissing me with all her love and lust and joyful desire.

Her passion finally subsides in over-stuffed exhaustion, and she looks in my eyes. With a look of pure contentment, she finally begins opening her garments to me, slipping their ties. Before undressing though, she starts to pull--and I help-- our full pile of blanket furs over us, pushing me onto my back on the rest. As her robes finally emerge from between us, becoming yet another blanket over us, she opens my clothes as well, now huddled with me in warmth.

Penetration I know is still not the goal here, but for the pure act of closeness. She has missed me as intensely as I have her, and her tears fall on my lips as she hugs me. After so long with just each other, time apart can be welcome, but always infinitely more is being back together, enhanced even by our separation, and now fulfilled, touching, close, no space between our carnal selves.