Chapter 1 - Homecoming

As always, I couldn't wait to get home. I work in construction- laying concrete mostly, but other things too. I even get paid fairly well, well enough that my wife hasn't ever had to work outside of the house, which both of us enjoy. But it's hard work, and I typically end the day sore, sweaty, dirty, and tired. My car is dirty inside and smells horrible because of that, which is just another reason to think fondly of home when I leave work.

It didn't help that the current project was a forty-five minute drive from home, but eventually I arrived at our house in the suburbs of Washington. The house was fairly large, more than large enough for the two of us; it didn't have many rooms, but the rooms it did have were very large, especially the kitchen and the bathroom, which fit our needs perfectly. It also had a three car garage, although only this small sedan and a massive Hummer call it home, spaced well away from each other and the walls.

I pulled in, grateful to be home. I walked inside quickly; the garage wasn't heated. Once inside, my mood changed completely. It was warm, the lighting was inviting, and it smelled faintly of good food and the light scent of sugar cookie candles. This was my haven, partly because of how hard my wife worked to make it this nice. The other part was my wife herself, but I didn't want to see her just yet; as much as I love being with her and seeing her and feeling her, I didn't want to spoil the perfection she cultivated in this environment with my stink and dirt.

I quietly closed the door behind me, and walked to the master bedroom after hearing my wife singing to herself quietly in the kitchen. I loved that sound, even though she can't sing to save her life. I got to the shower without drawing her attention, thankfully. I normally spend a long time in the shower, luxuriating in the warm water and enjoying the slow process of removing the filth from my body. Today though, I couldn't wait to see my wife, so I stepped in before the water was warm and scrubbed myself clean before it had finished heating.

I put on the fleece pajamas that my wife kept clean and soft after drying off, and checked the mirror to make sure I was basically presentable. Satisfied, I walked back into the house proper and made my way to the kitchen. The smell of cooking was now much stronger, and almost dominated the pleasant smells that normally permeate the house. It couldn't hide the smell of my wife though, the delicate perfume she has used for years, since before I met her even. As much as I enjoyed the smell of her however, it couldn't hold a candle to the sight of her.

She had long brown hair, held away from her face with a blue ribbon today. It swept over her shoulders and down her back, a cascade of shimmering silky threads. Her face showed few of the signs of her weight, except for several chins and a jolly plumpness to her cheeks. Her large blue eyes were deep and dark, and her nose aquiline and delicate. Her mouth was thin, but one could somehow tell that it rarely didn't carry a smile. Her face had been round even when she was a size 4, a cherubic, angelic shape. None of my friends questioned me when I call her beautiful because of that face, despite her weight.

To me however, the rest of her immense body only magnified the beauty of her. Her many chins almost hid her neck entirely from view, and her shoulders were broad and soft, leading into arms the size of a normal woman's waist. When her arms were at her side (or as close as they could come anyway) the fat of her upper arms hid her elbows from sight. Her hands even carried that feeling of immense weight; her fingers were thick and soft.

Her breasts had been amazing even when she was small; now, they were magnificent. They had long ago surpassed normal bra sizes, and she didn't bother with them now. They rested atop her gut like twin watermelons, albeit very large watermelons. One could clearly see the imprint of them on the long sleeved fleece top she never went without in the winter, despite the fact that her belly had more flesh below the shirt than in it. That belly flowed over the waist band of her pajama pants like a tidal wave of soft flesh, and hung down to her knees, swaying as she slowly walked towards me.

Her thighs were tree trunks, simply put, dimpled and soft tree trunks. Her calves threatened to hide her ankles, all of which made walking a difficult proposition. However, she managed wonderfully; she never seemed to have a problem accomplishing whatever she wanted to get done. Which at the moment consisted of wrapping me in a squishy embrace, letting me slide my hands over as much of her as I could reach. I sighed with pleasure; this was what home is about. This is my haven.