chapter 4

Because my family lived several states away, we had arranged to see them the week after Christmas. On Christmas day we woke up, had a light breakfast, and exchanged our personal presents. As always, Thomas's gifts were supremely thoughtful and generous.

He wanted a quick romp in the bedroom before we left for his parents' house, but I told him he needed to save his energy for later. Plus, I was eager to start stuffing him thoroughly.

The time with his family was great, full of laughter and hugs and food. Lots and lots of food. We were hardly through the door before plates of food were shoved in our hands. I drank hot cocoa while Thomas began on the eggnog.

I made sure he snacked steadily, even handing him a cookie to eat as we were being called for a late lunch around 1:30. The dining room table practically creaked beneath the weight of all the food and I winked at Thomas we sat down.

Just like Thanksgiving, everyone indulged thoroughly. Even I had a couple servings and only stopped when my skirt was feeling quite tight. Thomas, and just about all of the men for that matter, still blew me away. Plate after plate was filled and emptied into stomachs that were steadily swelling.

More than one belt was loosened as dishes continued to be passed around, the activity gradually slowing as everyone reached capacity. Many groaned praises were given for the food, the men proclaiming that they were full to the rafters. I smiled when Thomas stated that he was so full I would have to roll him home.

Again I found myself on dessert duty and I made sure that Thomas's plate was not lacking. I actually had to use two hands to carry it out to him.

"Time to loosen that belt, babe," I whispered in his ear as I leaned over and handed him the plate.

He didn't disappoint, unbuckling and even unbuttoning pants after disposing of the dessert. Shortly afterward we departed to spend the evening at home.

"You weren't lying," Thomas said on the car ride home. "I am truly stuffed."

He patted his round middle, it gave a satisfying thud.

"What, that little snack back there?" I asked innocently. "I hope you saved room for dinner."

He looked at me curiously, plainly wondering if I was joking.

"I'm not kidding, buster," I told him. "I got all the fixings at home for a roast and I'll be putting it in the oven as soon as we get back. Don't think you're going to chicken out on me now."

"Oh, what have I gotten myself into?" he laughed.

"Certainly not smaller pants," I joked, making him laugh even more.

Just as I had promised, I put the roast in the oven right away and prepared the rest of the dinner. We sat down to eat around 6. Thomas still looked nicely bloated, although he had managed to refasten his pants.

I made sure to serve him hearty portions and then watched happily as he worked his way through them. His pace slowed as less food remained on the table and more took up residence in his expanding gut. I took joy in watching every little detail - the way he reached down and hooked his thumb in the waistband of his pants to push them down a bit, the way he leaned back further in his chair as it became more difficult to lean forward, the way his cheeks would puff out as he stifled a belch, the look in his eyes as he surveyed the heavy fare with the knowledge it was going to end up in him.

Soon he was becoming quite overstuffed, his face turning slightly red as he kept slowly eating. When I gave him his third serving of potatoes he groaned in defeat and undid his belt before wrestling open the button of his slacks.

"Just a little bit more," I urged. "Almost there."

He kept going, plainly flagging as dinner drew to a close. Finally he finished his last plateful and dropped his silverware on his plate before leaning back in his chair.

"Woman, you have done me in," he groaned loudly.

And he looked it. I felt my temperature rising as I gazed at his form, his tremendously swollen gut straining the buttons of his shirt. I stood up and walked over to his seat, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

"Are you stuffed?" I asked.

"So stuffed," he grunted.

"Have I stuffed you so full you can't move?"

He nodded, trying and failing to stifle a huge belch.

"Do you feel fat and bloated?"

Another bob of the head.

"Good."

He tilted his head back to look at me, his expression doing nothing to hide how full he felt.

"So now that we're done, are you going to drag me to bed and have your way with me?" he asked.

"Done?!" I exclaimed in mock surprise. "But you haven't had dessert yet!"

"Oof, baby, I'm about to pop," he protested.

"I know," I said with a wicked smile. "Don't worry, you'll get a little break. How about we move you over to the couch to relax for a bit?"

He gave me his hand and I pulled him up, Thomas wincing slightly as he stood. I helped him waddle over to the couch in the living room and set him down. After taking a moment to enjoy the sight of my reclined husband gently rubbing his overfed belly which spilled through his open slacks, I skipped off to the bedroom.

I took my time getting ready, knowing Thomas needed a breather. After giving myself a once-over in the mirror, I strode down confidently to the kitchen and removed the cheesecake from the fridge. After slicing a generous piece, I took the plate and went back out to the living room.

Naked.

Thomas's jaw dropped.

"Got any room now?" I asked.

He didn't seem to have any words, so I walked over and straddled him on the couch.

"How about now?"

He nodded slightly.

"Ooh, look, a little table," I giggled as I set the plate on top of his stomach.

I started feeding him one small sliver at a time. He didn't even really have to chew, just letting each bite slide down into his bulging midsection. I gently wiggled my hips against him every so often as further incentive to keep going.

About halfway through he started puffing for breath again so I placed the dessert to one side. One by one, starting at the bottom, I slid open the buttons on his shirt to reveal his engorged belly. The skin was stretched taut across its great expanse.

Gently, oh so gently, I rubbed my palms across his warm flesh as he moaned quietly. As his moans changed slightly in timber I began to widen my area of focus, moving up to his softened pecs and down to the underside of his heavy stomach. When he began bucking his hips slightly against mine, I took it as a sign that he was ready to eat some more.

I kept feeding him slowly, now constantly grinding my hips against his rapidly stiffening member. Our mutual arousal continued to grow and I think we were both eager for him to finish dessert

Finally, we were down to one bite. I scooped it onto the fork, tossed the plate aside, and held it out a foot in front of his mouth.

"Are you ready?" I asked him.

"Yes," he grunted, red-faced and breathing heavily.

"Beg for it."

"Ungh, please."

"Please what?"

"Please *hic* feed . . . me," he gasped.

I popped it in his mouth and then threw the fork to the side. I leaned into the firm bulge of his gut as we kissed, his hands pawing wildly at my bare form.

"Couch?" I asked.

He nodded.

I backed away for just a moment and helped him get out of his shirt. Then we moved him around so he was lying on the couch. I grabbed the waistband of his underwear and slacks and yanked them right off.

"Merry Christmas," I told him as I swung my leg over his hip and mounted him.

I gripped his mountainous belly and imagined how fat he would be in a year.

Merry Christmas indeed.



FIN