The Pear Shaped Gift

Chapter 1

The house was quiet, the only light in the living room coming from the multi-colored glow of the Christmas tree. Nathan sat on the edge of the sofa, a half-empty glass of eggnog sweating in his hand. He watched his wife, Savanna, as she hummed along to a silent carol playing in her head, meticulously arranging the last of the presents under the lowest branches.

She was a vision. A perfect, frustrating vision. At 5'4", she was the definition of a pear shape, a fact that had first drawn his eye when she signed up for personal training sessions at his gym. Her waist was tiny, her arms toned from lifting flour sacks at the bakery, but her hips and ass were naturally wide and soft, a promise of curves that she fought to keep under control. She was slim, yes, but built for softness. She was a baker who never touched her own creations, a personal trainer’s wife who treated a slice of pizza like a mortal sin. It drove him insane.

Nathan was a good personal trainer. He knew the science, the macros, the discipline. But his secret shame, his deepest desire, was the thrill of a soft, heavy body. He loved when bigger women came to him, not because he wanted to help them lose weight, but because he wanted to see them struggle, to watch their bodies jiggle and sway with effort. He wanted to feed them, to see them grow. And he had married the one woman who embodied the perfect starting shape but refused to let herself become anything more.

“Okay, I think that’s the last one,” Savanna said, standing up and brushing her hands on her jeans. The denim stretched snugly over her rounded hips and thighs. She caught him staring and gave a little smile. “Still can’t believe we’re married. A month in and I still feel like I’m in a dream.”

“It’s a good dream,” he said, his voice a little rough. He stood and wrapped his arms around her from behind, his hands resting on her stomach. It was flat, firm. He pressed his palms against it, imagining it swollen and taut with food, with fat. He imagined the soft give of her belly against his hands, the way her hips would spill over her jeans, the way her thighs would press together when she walked.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she murmured, leaning her head back against his chest. “Everything okay?”

“Just thinking,” he said, his chin resting on her shoulder. He inhaled her scent, a mix of vanilla and sugar from the bakery and the clean, floral scent of her shampoo. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

She laughed, a light, airy sound. “Says the man who sees me at my sweatiest and grumpiest after a leg day.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. They were substantial, but he wanted more. He wanted so much more. He wanted to see them overflow his grasp. He wanted to see her ass ripple when she walked, to see her belly press against the waistband of her pants. He wanted to see her eat, really eat, without guilt. He wanted to be the one to feed her, to make her grow.

Later that night, after they’d gone to bed, Nathan lay awake long after Savanna’s breathing had deepened into sleep. The moon cast a silver glow across her body, highlighting the gentle slope of her stomach and the generous curve of her hip. She was beautiful. But she was unfinished. A masterpiece trapped in a sketch.

He closed his eyes, the desire a painful ache in his chest. It was Christmas Eve. A night for miracles, for magic, for impossible wishes whispered into the dark. He knew it was stupid, childish, but the longing was too strong to ignore.

I wish, he thought, the words forming with desperate clarity in his mind. I wish Savanna would just let go. I wish she was fat. Not enormous, not sick. Just… soft. Round. I wish she had a hundred extra pounds on her. Just to see what it would be like. Just for me.

He held the thought, pouring every ounce of his secret longing into it. He imagined her at 220 pounds. Her face would be fuller, her cheeks plush. Her breasts would be heavy, her belly a soft, prominent curve that rested on her thick thighs. Her ass would be massive, a wide, jiggling expanse that would strain the seams of every pair of pants she owned. The thought was so vivid, so intoxicating, that he fell asleep with a smile on his face, the wish hanging in the air like the scent of pine.

He woke up slowly, the winter sun filtering weakly through the blinds. The bed felt different. Warmer. Softer. He rolled over, his arm reaching for Savanna, and his hand met a new, unfamiliar landscape.

Instead of the firm, toned plane he was used to, his fingers sank into a yielding, substantial warmth. It was a deep, soft curve of flesh, smooth and heavy. His eyes flew open.

Savanna was still asleep on her side, facing away from him. The blankets were pushed down to her waist, and in the dim morning light, he could see that her back was no longer the lean, defined line he knew. It was a broad, smooth expanse, with the gentle dimples of cellulite marking her skin just above her hips. And her hips… they were monumental. They were wide, rounded hills of flesh that spilled out onto the mattress, pressing against his own legs.

His heart hammered against his ribs. He slowly, carefully, pulled the blanket down further.

Her ass was a thing of beauty, a vast, pale expanse that rounded out from the small of her back in a perfect, heavy shelf. It was twice, maybe three times the size it had been last night. It was soft, jiggly, and perfect. He could see the faint crease where her thigh met her buttock, a fold of skin that hadn't been there before.

He sat up, his eyes wide with disbelief and a terrifying, exhilarating surge of triumph. He leaned over her, trying to see her face. It was fuller, her cheeks rounder, her neck softer where it met her shoulders. Her breasts, barely visible under her t-shirt, were clearly larger, pressing against the fabric in a way they never had before.

It had worked. His impossible, desperate wish had come true.

Savanna stirred, letting out a soft groan. Her eyes fluttered open. “Mmm, morning,” she mumbled, her voice a little thicker than he remembered. She started to roll over onto her back, a motion she’d done a thousand times before.

But this time, it was a struggle. Her new, heavy body resisted. She grunted with effort, her arms pushing against the mattress, her new, substantial belly and thighs fighting the movement. Finally, with a sigh, she flopped onto her back, the mattress groaning under the sudden, concentrated weight.

She lay there for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling. Then, her brow furrowed. She brought her hands up to her stomach, her fingers sinking into the soft, rounded paunch that now protruded prominently. Her eyes shot open, wide with confusion and dawning horror. She looked down at herself, at the heavy mounds of her breasts, at the thick flesh of her arms, at the vast curve of her belly that she could now see even while lying down.

She sat up with a gasp, a motion that sent a powerful ripple through her entire body. Her new belly, a soft, doughy dome, settled heavily into her lap. She looked at her hands, then at her thick thighs, then over at Nathan, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated panic.

“Nathan,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What… what happened to me?”