chapter 3

The semester progressed as well as one could hope. All our classes were good, the students were largely involved and responsive, and our little house was filled with domestic bliss.

At least, it was on the surface. I still battled an inner turmoil almost daily, one that only intensified as Thomas's waistline continued to expand. He wasn't eating as heartily as he did during our trip through Europe, but there were still three solid meals a day and I could definitely observe a few new pounds adorning his frame.

I vacillated between confusion tinged with self-loathing and intense carnal hunger. It took every ounce of self-control to not pounce on him after every meal in which he overindulged. Sometimes I tried so hard not to reveal my strange lusts that I worried I overcompensated and seemed icy and distant.

As Autumn ended it grew even worse. We celebrated Thanksgiving with his family. The men of his extended family ranged from thin to outright fat, but a good number were healthily stocky and Thomas was starting to fit in more with that group than the athletic younger men.

Of course the meal was a lavish affair and gluttony was encouraged. I was too preoccupied to eat much myself but I certainly paid attention to Thomas's indulgence. He happily filled up his plate time and time again, as did all the other men, until the meal finished with much groaning and patting of stomachs.

The men retired to the living room to watch football and digest, most unabashedly unbuckling belts and unfastening pants to make room for bloated bellies.

I was charged with preparing and serving dessert. Each time I brought a plate piled high with apple ice cream smothered with vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce, or pumpkin pie with whipped cream (or usually both), the recipient would groaningly protest that he was much too stuffed before accepting the plate and digging in with relish.

"Oh, I'm about to pop already," Thomas groaned with a chuckle as I handed him plate nearly overflowing. My stomach fluttered as I saw his slacks were already unbuttoned. Later, when I collected empty plates, I observed that they were unzipped as well.

When I finally got to sit down, the nearest seat was facing the couch on which he sat. I watched him in absolute rapture, his hand perched atop his incredibly swollen gut, his expression one of supremely contented fullness, his eyes glazed as he sank into a well-earned food coma.

I literally throbbed. A warmth emanated from between my thighs, into my lower belly, thrilling up my spine. I felt stretched tight, ballooning with arousal.

I ached for him. In my mind's eye all I could see was my wonderful husband beneath me, glutted stomach pressed against mine as I rode him with abandon.

I excused myself from the room, wobbling on unsteady legs to the bathroom where I could splash some cold water on my face. This was seriously getting out of control.

The good news is that I managed to not embarrass myself in front of his family, more or less keeping my composure until we left (Thomas waddling slightly in a way that had me biting my lip in frustration).

Once home we retired early to bed. For a moment I pretended that I could just fall asleep, but I knew that was a lie. I turned toward him and started lightly tracing shapes on his chest.

"What's up?" he asked sleepily.

"Oh, you know," I said shyly, sliding my hand across the expanse of his inflated midsection and reaching down the front of his pants.

"Oh," he chuckled. "Okay, but you may have to be on top. I'm still too stuffed to move."

His pants were off in record time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I'm not sure how long I could have really gone on that way. As Christmas neared we began baking in earnest, enjoying cozy Saturdays in the kitchen, ending the day covered in flour and sipping on hot chocolate while we watched the snow fall.

It was idyllic. Not to mention the fact that the majority of the cookies we baked disappeared into Thomas's growing paunch. His appetite was as healthy as ever and the cookies that now supplemented his regular diet led to him packing on pounds at an increasing pace.

I still had no idea how to handle it. It wasn't until a Saturday morning that things finally changed. We were about a week before Christmas and I was getting out of the shower, walking to our bedroom in a towel.

I stopped short as I walked in, Thomas stood there completely naked, his nearly corpulent form completely bare. I ogled him.

"Wh-what?" I asked.

He grinned fiercely, a burning light in his eyes.

"Oh Lily," he chuckled. "How long were you planning on keeping this up?"

"What?" I repeated dumbly.

"Did you think I was so dull, so obtuse?" he asked, starting to circle around me slightly.

I awkwardly turned and backed away from him slightly until I backed right into the wall.

"I see how you look at me," he rumbled. "I see how you look at this."

With that he slapped his protruding gut, making it jiggle in a way that made me curl my toes.

"When were you going to tell me?" Thomas continued. "How long until you would confess that you love this. That you love watching this grow."

He grabbed his paunch in his hands and shook it at me.

"How long until you'd finally tell me that you liked me . . . fat?"

He closed the space between us, his midsection just an inch or two from my own. I gulped air desperately.

"I . . . I don't know," I gasped. "I mean, I just, it's so weird! I don't know what to do with it."

"Do with it?" he laughed. "Do you want me to tell you what to do with it?"

I nodded wordlessly.

He reached out and unwrapped my towel, dropping it to the ground. He stepped closer, pinning me to the wall with his spherical belly as he leaned in with his mouth by my ear.

"You should tell your husband that you love his big, fat belly," he whispered. "You should tell him that you love feeding him and fattening him up. You should tell him that you're going to make him eat so much that he won't be able to move for a week."

My legs gave out as a spasm of pure pleasure shot through my body. I probably would have collapsed if he hadn't pinned me to the wall already. His strong fingers found their way between my thighs and it took me a second to realize that the loud moaning noises were actually coming from me.

"I want you to feed me, baby," Thomas grunted. "Feed me and fatten me up. Stuff me until I can't move. Make me so fat I waddle. Make my belly so big I look pregnant. Feed me, baby, fatten me up!"

With that he hoisted me up and angled my hips so he could slide in. I gasped loudly, pure sensual pleasure uncoiling in my belly as we soared toward an incredibly climax.

Later that day Thomas groaned slightly as I handed him the last slice of pizza. He had already eaten about three-quarters of a large pizza plus a dozen wings, his unbuttoned jeans and swollen belly serving as a testament to his gluttony.

"Are you trying to fatten me up?" he asked with a smile.

"You know it," I smirked.

It was amazing, now that it was out in the open it all felt so natural. No longer did I have to deny the joy I found in watching my husband gorge himself. A tremendous weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

"Well, you did a good job of stuffing me," he remarked.

"Oh please, that's barely a taste of what's to come," I told him. "You better hope Santa brings you some bigger pants, because I'm about to fatten you up like you never dreamed."

His eyes widened in a very pleasing manner.

"Oh yes," I continued. "Just wait for Christmas day. You don't even know what being stuffed is yet. I'm going to make Thanksgiving seem like a light snack."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~