A Hopeful Dream

Chapter 1 - The Dream

It’s been a hell of a day, but here I stand, finally at my front door. I loosen the collar of my shirt and smile as I open the door. There you are, so soft and beautiful; the dim lamplight of our living room accentuating the vast swathe of adipose we have cultivated.
You giggle happily as I enter, asking me how my day was. I only shake my head and reply that I’m glad to be home. We’ve been together long enough that my evasive answer tells you all you need to know, and you wrap your padded arms around me and pull me into you, surrounding me with your soothing and soft flesh as you position my head between your breasts.
We lay there for a while, just idly cuddling; my hands wandering and grabbing your beautiful body while you play with my hair. Me, destressing from the day while you are just beginning to rouse. Neither of us would choose to leave that divine and transcendent moment, yet your greedy stomach’s grumbles demand attention.
I’d rise from my position, lingering for a moment longer to kiss your sweet lips and perhaps grab a final, cheeky squeeze before I’d go to the regularly-restocked kitchen and grab whatever value-size bag of snacks was the closest. After all, there’d never be any fear of spoiling your appetite for dinner.
Returning with my bounty in hand, I’d shuffle you over on the couch, half-joking that we’d have to get a second couch when we finally fatten you to immobility. You’d giggle again, a knowing and flirtatious giggle as you’d lean up against me, your head on my shoulder and your hand in the freshly-opened bag.
With the TV on to one of our shows, we would sit there for hours, relaxing, laughing together. Perhaps I’d lack the self-control to keep my hands off of those plush thighs that keep destroying your pants. Idle kisses, touches and chats, all the way until dinner time.
Of course, dinner would be it’s own ordeal. Bulk cooking would always be the method, and we’d get pretty good at it. We would cook together, and I’d keep asking you to taste the meal, just for an excuse to feed you a little myself. The meals would be huge, I would have a serving dwarfed by yours, and I’d make sure you were too stuffed to comfortably walk every single night. You’d love those final mouthfuls; my stern and direct, yet gentle and encouraging words. I’d kiss you and tell you how good you are being while I hold another forkful in front of your greedy mouth.
Belly rubs, presumably, would be a regular part of our after-dinner routine. I’d help you to our bed, knowing that you’ll be unlikely to move much after your stuffing. I’ll pour massage oil over your taut and protruding belly and give you gentle and loving belly rubs while I alternate between telling you what a greedy pig you are and praising you for eating so much for me. Occasionally I’m sure I’d “accidently” pour too much on your and to “not waste” it, I’d simply have to massage all of you; working your soft body over as I feel your fat bulge out from between my fingers. Telling you how soft your inner thigh is while I smirk and watch you squirm.
The day would turn to night, we’d turn the TV off. I would cuddle up beside you, perhaps being the big spoon so my hands get easy access to play with your full belly. We would chat for a bit while we cuddle, you’d tell me how happy you are to find someone like me and I would tell you the same. Maybe we would dream, maybe this is the dream. I hope one day I’ll find out.