Belly Laughs Forum Index Belly Laughs
A forum to discuss all Belly Laughs related stuff
 
 Belly Laughs 
 FAQFAQ   SearchSearch   MemberlistMemberlist   UsergroupsUsergroups   RegisterRegister 
 ProfileProfile   Log in to check your private messagesLog in to check your private messages   Log inLog in 

A Christmas Story

 
Post new topic   This topic is locked: you cannot edit posts or make replies.    Belly Laughs Forum Index -> Mrak's Writing Nook
View previous topic :: View next topic  
Author Message
Mrak
Site Admin


Joined: 29 May 2012
Posts: 169

PostPosted: Tue Dec 25, 2012 2:25 am    Post subject: A Christmas Story Reply with quote

A Christmas Story


Outside the window snow was falling. Pale flecks drifting gently down onto the blanket of pristine white that stretched away from the flickering light of the cabin into the inky blackness beyond. Outside the window everything was still and quiet, a quiet punctuated only by the subtle rustle of the wind through snow-laden trees and the moans of passion from inside the fire-lit chalet. Inside was anything but peaceful, two figures rolling around on a bearskin rug in front of a crackling fire, a writhing, moaning mass of limbs and naked flesh. With a momentous groan Naomi and Tom finally fell apart, exhausted and elated, and lay panting side by side on the floor.

"Wow," Tom sighed.

"That was..."

"Exactly."

"The only thing that could make it better would be..."

"More?"

"Yes."

So commanded, Tom rolled over and stretched out his arm to grab the stick that had fallen by the wayside in their last bout of exuberant lovemaking, speared a large marshmallow from a virtually empty bag and began toasting it over the fire. Once the puffy white treat was golden brown he brought it back around to the fondue pot filled with rich, dark chocolate and set to liberally coating Naomi's next morsel. With unerring skill he brought the marshmallow safely over to his wife's eager mouth, already open as she lay with her head in his lap, and began teasing her taste buds by rotating the stick slowly and letting little streams of dark chocolate dribble into her mouth. The tantalising taste made her crave more, she stuck out her tongue trying to snatch the marshmallow but Tom always lifted it just out of reach. As she began to whimper and beg Tom finally gave her what she wanted, watching as she closed her eyes in ecstasy, a gentle moan of pleasure escaping her chocolate stained lips. Tom looked down at her, so peaceful and so unbearably gorgeous. She was wearing nothing but one of his shirts, too large at the shoulders and with several buttons undone allowing him ample view of her naked breasts. Further down though the shirt bulged outwards around Naomi's most alluring feature, the giant, soft potbelly that the two of them had crafted together over the years. Leaning in Tom kissed her, slowly, deeply, relishing the sweetness of her lips, the sugar on her tongue. Letting a free hand wander Tom began fondling her fat stomach, massaging and jiggling the pillow-like expanse of flesh. The buttons on his shirt looked strained, little gaps where her true form shone through. Over-small material stretched across over-fed stomach.


"Wait a minute," Tom said to himself in the empty apartment, "That doesn't sound right."

Knowing something was off Tom began re-reading his latest ramblings, not sure yet what felt wrong. He liked that last line but it just sounded out of place. Then he realised what it was, this was about opulence and comfort and sinful excess, stretched clothes and bursting buttons conjured too harsh an image. But before he had a chance to fix it the jingle of keys rapidly brought Tom out of his literary world and back into the real one. In a few swift keystrokes his latest work was saved, re-encrypted and closed before the lock even clicked. Another two keys and he had tabbed back into his computer game, just as Naomi walked in.

"Hi Sweetie," she called as she shut the door.

"Hi to you. Good day at work?"

"Ugh," Naomi responded, theatrically dropping her briefcase on the floor and falling face first onto the couch.

"That bad?"

"Mmmff mmufffmmmm hffmmummmurmmm"

"Is that couch cushion talk for yes?"

"Mmf"

"Aw... poor baby," Tom said, moving over to his prone wife, sitting on the armrest and stroking her hair. "I've got something that will make you feel better."

"Mhhh"

"You'll need to turn over for me to understand you."

Grudgingly, Naomi rolled up and opened her mouth to reiterate her question only for Tom to swoop in and give her a kiss.

"There, better now?"

"Much. Say, is there anything to eat? I'm bushed."

"There's nothing actually, I think we're ordering in."

"Oh, that takes too long. I want something to eat now!" She stamped her foot against the opposite armrest. Tom thought it was adorable.

"Well I think there's a box of chocolates in the cupboard..." Tom replied, keeping his voice calm even as his heart fluttered involuntarily.

"Bring them to me," Naomi commanded, feigning majestic pompousness. Tom was only too happy to comply. "Now, I'm much too tired to eat myself so you'll have to feed them to me."

It was like some sort of bizarre dream, for a brief moment Tom thought about his stories but then he looked down at his beautiful wife, lying with her head propped up on a pillow and with her mouth expectantly open and all thoughts of his literary exploits evaporated, he never needed fiction when they were together. Little moments like these, though few and far between in their relationship, were plenty enough for Tom.


Now if someone had known about Tom's proclivities, and Tom was quite certain that no one did, they might have found it odd that he and Naomi were together because, to put it simply, Naomi did not exactly scream FA-eye candy. First and most obvious, she was thin. About 5' 9" with shoulder length straight blonde hair and a captivating smile, in the five years he'd known her he doubted she'd ever weighed more than 130lbs. A stunning face, B-cup breasts and a heart-shaped bum atop endless legs lent her tremendous sex appeal but the slim waist, sleek thighs and narrow hips were hardly the stuff of Tom's fantasies. On the one hand she didn't starve herself to be thin but nor did she have any great love of food. She wasn't an exercise fanatic but she played tennis several times a week with friends. Naomi didn't manage her weight, it just never changed. They had been sophomores when they first met, sharing a Computer Science class where they had been partnered for a semester long project worth half their grade. When they met something just... clicked for both of them and they became instantaneous friends. They talked, they laughed, within a week it was as though they had known each other their whole lives. Naomi was dating someone at the time and Tom never made a move and the issue of a relationship just never came up. Their academic partnership was perfect: Tom was a nerd who loved the technical side of computing and Naomi's artistic talents gave her a great eye for graphical design, they handily aced their project when everyone else in their class was falling to pieces. They went to movies together, went out to restaurants, even went on holiday with a few other friends over Spring Break. And when, at the beginning of their Junior year, Naomi's boyfriend dumped her Tom had been there to help her vilify and mutilate every photograph the guy was in.

Tom was such good friends with Naomi that he didn't notice that the break-up led to Naomi picking up an extra 5lbs until she confided as much one night while they were watching a film in her dorm, snacking on popcorn. It was like a switch was thrown and suddenly this wonderful, caring, fun girl was a sex goddess to boot and Tom was hopelessly and irrevocably in love. He had told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world and kissed her there and then, she had kissed back and before long the two of them were in each other's arms and the movie was forgotten. That night Tom had learnt more about pleasure than he had ever imagined. He'd heard from a buddy that sleeping with a friend usually felt awkward but that night was perfect. Naomi wasn't fat or chubby or pudgy or plump but his entire body felt alive next to her. Her skin was like silk, her slender frame was soft and warm, their bodies seemed made for each other. After that night the two were set in stone. They had moved in together two weeks later, married the day after graduation, and celebrated their one year anniversary nearly six months ago, more in love than ever.

To Tom there was no one more beautiful than Naomi. It didn't matter to him whether she was thin or fat, big or small as long as she was with him. A part of him had conjured scenarios wherein Naomi, now secure and safe in a real relationship, would let loose a little, maybe pick up a few more pounds, someday even settle into a more "married" figure but he didn't really care and it never happened. During the holidays she might gain a pound or two and then in the Spring it would melt away again. Likewise, pounds lost during the Summer when she frequently played tennis every evening eventually found their way back when Autumn's chill arrived. Tom had never mentioned his preferences to Naomi, not because he was embarrassed or afraid but because when he was with her it didn't seem important. In Naomi, Tom had found someone who accepted him. She accepted his geekiness, she accepted his love of foreign language cinema, and she accepted (read "tolerated") his habit of disassembling computers on the kitchen table. How could he not do the same? It was only when he was alone, completely alone, that that little voice would ask him "What if?" And so he had started writing, little stories, scenes, imaginings, sometimes just a sentence or two. Always private, never published. His writing was secret even from Naomi, just as parts of her life, like her tennis, were separate from him. He never felt the need to act on his writings, never wanted to ask Naomi to be someone she wasn't, never wanted to do anything to make her different, make her not his Naomi, he just... enjoyed writing.

Naomi sat cross-legged on the bed. Her thighs spread out across the surface, engulfing the duvet and looking twice their size. Below the knee her calves were still relatively slim, the dramatic tapering from her plush hips to her dainty feet made her creamy legs all the more gorgeous. It was only when you looked carefully that you realised how deep Naomi had sunk into the bed, a depression caused by the colossal weight of her giant ass, an ass that had grown larger and larger with every midnight ice-cream binge, every trip to the buffet, every weekend spent bedbound as Tom filled her to capacity again and again with inconceivable volumes of food in between earth-shattering rounds of sex. Naomi's ass was one of her most beautiful features. As she'd gained weight the vast majority had gone south of the border, turning her thighs into great wobbling tree trunks that touched halfway down to the knee and widening her hips so that her walk acquired a wonderfully sexy wiggle. But as much as her thighs had thickened and her hips spread they had simply not been able to keep up with the swell of her rump. Pounds appeared there so fast it was hard to keep her in pants, it seemed that no sooner were they bought than she was struggling to pull them over her abundant cheeks. Without enough space sideways to spread it grew backwards instead, turning into large pliable orbs of adipose that Tom could lose his hands in. And now, even though it was hidden, the size of her ass was in full evidence, juxtaposed beautifully with the small lower belly bulge she had recently begun to develop and which hung defiantly into the open space between her legs, burdened with an excess of Christmas food. And tied around her belly, stretched right across her navel, was a large red ribbon and a little card addressed to him.

♪ On the first day of Christmas my Naomi gave to me: A bul-ul-gi-ing belly ♪


After the chocolate incident the first week of December continued with a wonderful but strange tableau. Every night when she got home from work Naomi was unusually hungry and eager for food. In the last six days they'd ordered pizzas and gotten Chinese takeout, cooked giant volumes of spaghetti bolognese and run through more than 3 litres of Haagen-Dazs. Each time Naomi went above and beyond what Tom would have called a usual portion, easily gobbling down seconds and sometimes thirds of whatever was available before crashing onto the sofa to recover. Lying together Tom would let his hand wander over her engorged stomach, marvelling at his Naomi's newfound love of food. And each night before they went to bed she would suddenly declare the need for something sweet and produce some sugary treat from the fridge that Tom knew he hadn't bought. Last night she had had him feed her cheesecake.

And now they were sitting on their king-sized bed and Tom was getting a prolonged and exquisite view of what his wife's new diet had wrought.

"Full house," Tom said gleefully laying down his cards.

"Again? Are you cheating?"

"Me?" Tom replied indignantly, "Cheating? Perish the thought. What possible reason could I have for cheating anyway?"

"Oh I couldn't imagine," Naomi giggled. "So, what will it be this time?"

"I think… the socks."

"The socks! Oh please, come on will you let me take this skirt off already? It's really tight, I think I must have shrunk it."

Tom hoped she didn't notice the sudden squirm of activity in his boxers at that comment and the large spoonful of chocolate ice-cream that Naomi took immediately afterwards.

"No," Tom said, "Definitely the socks."

"Hmmpf."

Mumbling under her breath Naomi began manoeuvring herself to get at her feet. Some might think that socks were an odd choice of penalty for a game of strip poker but to Tom it made perfect sense. Firstly, he rather liked the tightness of the skirt, she had had to pull it down under the dome of her belly, which not an hour ago she had glutted with pot-roast, and now it was lipping over the hem, a sight that was more entrancing than anything Tom had imagined. The second advantage to the socks was that by forcing Naomi to contort herself he got to see the tiny layer of fat she had added over the course of the week bunch up into tiny little rolls.

"How," Naomi began to ask as she struggled with the cotton, "Is it that you" *Ugh"* "Always win at this" *Oof* "game?"

"I don’t always win."

"I'm down to my skirt, my thong and my earrings, all I've gotten off you is your pants."

"Does anyone really lose at strip poker?"

"Well… actually that's a good point. Why don't we make this more interesting."

"Go on," Tom said, intrigued.

"One last hand, loser takes off all their clothes and has to do anything the winner says for the rest of the weekend."

"Are you sure Naomi, you don't exactly have the best luck in this game."

"I've lost the last six hands, I'm bound to win."

"How many times do I have to explain that's not how probability-"

"LALALALALALA"

"Fine. When I win you're going to be spending the morning cleaning the apartment in the French Maid costume you wore last Halloween."

"Deal the cards big man."

Tom dealt and looked at his hand. He had three 9s. Across from him Naomi looked a little worried.

"I'll take four," she said, handing over four of her own cards in exchange.

"Four cards? Oh dear, did you not get anything good?"

"Shut up and take your cards."

"Okay, I'll take two." He looked at his new cards, he had picked up the other 9.

"Go on then, put your cards down," she said impatiently.

"Alright, alright, keep your clothes on." Naomi scowled. "Four-of-a-kind."

"Oh," Naomi said quietly.

"Oh? Is something the matter," Tom crowed triumphantly. Tom was a very good loser, it was one of his many attractive qualities, but he was not a great winner.

"Well it's just that," Naomi laid down her cards, "I've got a Royal Flush."

Tom was silenced mid-chuckle, utterly dumbstruck. "B-b-but there's no… the odds…"

"What's the line sweetheart," Naomi said mischievously, "Never tell me the odds?"

"So umm, what…"

"What do you have to do now that you've lost? You can start by getting out of those," she said, gesturing at his boxers. "As for what else, well I'm not quite sure yet but I'll tell you how it starts. Tomorrow morning, while I'm lying here in bed in enormous comfort, you're going to be preparing a nice breakfast for me to eat all by myself."

"Umm…"

"And since I won so spectacularly I think we had better make it a really big breakfast, something that will give you lots of washing up to do while I'm eating."

"Umm…"

"Of course we wouldn't want all your effort to go to waste, so you're going to spend the rest of the night helping me… work up an appetite."

Tom didn't need telling twice.


Hefting his bag of gifts onto his back Santa made the careful trek across the roof towards the chimney. The smell of smoke and nutmeg filled his nose as he whooshed down the flume and into a living room illuminated only by the twinkling fairy lights on the tree.

"Good evening Santa," cooed a voice from the gloom.

"W-who's there," Santa called out, peering around him for some sign of another person.

"It's just little ol' me," Naomi said as she lit a candle and brought it to her face. "Why don't you come a little closer?"

Santa walked forward without thinking and no sooner had he done so than the fireplace behind him burst into flame.

"There, now isn't that a little better. Oh, Santa, I'm so glad you're here."

For the first time Santa could get a proper look at his host and what he saw nearly caused him to faint. A young woman, very beautiful, dressed in nearly transparent negligee which showcased her extraordinarily large bosom to great effect. Her breasts were larger than melons, round and full, artfully pressed together to create a deep gully of cleavage.

"So tell me, does wearing this make me naughty or nice?"

"Uhh…what is it I can do for you Naomi?"

"Well, I spent all day baking cookies for your arrival, but I just don't seem to have anything to go with them. Can't you please help?"

"As it happens," Santa said reaching into his sack, "I have just the very thing."

With a flourish he produced a large bottle from his bag.

"What's in it?"

"Oh, it's not what's in the bottle that matters. It's the bottle itself. It never empties, you can drink as much as you want and it'll never run out."

"Oooh," Naomi squealed, "That sounds perfect."

She held the bottle and took a long draught, "Mmmm, creamy. To the cookies! You fancy giving a girl a hand?"

"I do have quite a few stops to make…" Santa looked at her cleavage again, "But I suppose ten minutes couldn't hurt."

Naomi came back pushing a trolley laden with tray after tray of cookies decorated with icing to resemble Christmas trees and snowmen and colourful presents. In no time she had gobbled several of them and took another long hit of milk. Proffering a tray to Santa she reclined by the fire and opened her mouth. At first Santa was confused but as her gentle hand guided his to the cookies and then to her mouth he understood, she wanted him to feed her. Well, Santa could hardly deny such a beautiful woman and so he set to work bringing a never-ending stream of sugary goodness to her waiting lips, pausing only to allow her to quench her thirst. Dozens and dozens of cookies fell to her hunger and empty trays piled up on the floor. And as he fed her Santa watched in amazement as, inexplicably, her stomach remained flat as a board. Instead, impossible though it seemed, all the cookies and milk seemed to be inflating her breasts. By the time the trolley was half empty they had already grown to the size of her head, great orbs of beauteous flesh the retained perfect shape and firmness as they towered above the endlessly munching girl. The barely-there silk garment grew tighter and tighter as she expanded, great rolls of uncontainable breast oozing over the top and spreading out to the sides until Santa was quite certain the girl would have trouble standing ever again. And yet still she kept eating and eating and eating until every last cookie was gone.

"Aww…" Naomi mewled, awoken from her gorging state to find her food all gone, "I thought that was going to be enough. Oh well."

And with that she began drinking from the endless bottle. Mouthful after mouthful she drank, never pausing, never slowing. Santa was transfixed by her chest, watching with the drawn, hungry look of a starved animal as each swallow sent a tiny ripple across the immaculate expanse of abundant curvature as they grew millimetre by millimetre. The ripples came steadily, each one augmenting the last until Naomi's boobs were jostling and swaying back and forth as they grew larger and larger and then, finally, the poor abused lingerie lost the fight to contain even a small fraction of her titanic chest and tore right down the middle. Satisfied at last Naomi dropped the bottle and turned to face her guest, smiling her dazzling smile as her bosom heaved, the wobbling mass casting strange and wondrous shadows in the flickering light of the dying fire. Naomi reached over and grabbed Santa by the collar, heaving him on top of her in one swift moment so that his chest was balanced atop her pert, jaw-dropping melons. With one hand Naomi ripped the beard off, revealing Tom's face staring lustfully down at her. They kissed, each relishing the feeling of Naomi's breasts bulging between them and she rolled herself on top of him as the fire died and the room fell back into darkness.


Every new day was like living in one of his stories for Tom. Each meal they shared together Naomi seemed to find new ways to tantalise and excite him, whether it was her shrinking wardrobe highlighting the latest additions to her steadily expanding frame or her begging him for just one more serving at dinner. Tom didn't know what had brought on this sudden change in his wife's behaviour. Under normal circumstances, as wonderful an experience as it had been for him, he would have been concerned for Naomi's well-being, worried that her eating was a result of depression or anxiety but the reality was quite the opposite, she was cheerful and smiling and boundlessly libidinous, and never was that more true than after a big meal.

Today though was going to be an interesting test-case. Christmas lunch with her parents. Naomi's parents were nice people, although her dad's collection of antique guns had been somewhat intimidating the first time he had visited, and they liked Tom. Of course they'd had reservations about them marrying immediately out of college but they knew their daughter was in love and that was that. Since they lived moderately nearby the two often spent Christmas day with them before returning home to have their own private Christmas on the 26th.

Driving down Tom couldn't help but sneak glances at his wife when they stopped at traffic lights. She was wearing a bright green Christmas jumper suitably adorned with Santa. It was particularly ironic that the Santa depicted was "shaking his belly like a bowl full of jelly" because the less than smooth ride along the back roads was doing much the same to Naomi. The jumper was new, Tom was fairly sure, and it was very baggy on her frame but sitting allowed her growing midsection to fold neatly into her lap and Tom could catch glimpses of it moving as they jostled down the poorly maintained roads. Her tummy wasn't the only thing moving either, her recent weight gain had rendered all of her bras "uncomfortable" and she hadn't yet bothered to buy any new ones. Keeping his eyes on the road and not on his stunning young wife's bouncing breasts was, in Tom's opinion, a truly superhuman feat. But what really had Tom sick with eager anticipation was her pants. They were also new, Tom was certain of that, although they still looked enticingly tight around her meatier thighs. Their party piece though was the waistband. Elasticated. Tom didn't know why she had bought them exactly, whether it was just an issue of comfort or she liked the pants and they happened to be designed to accommodate her growing potbelly but a part of him thought, hoped, that she wanted an elasticated waist so that she could eat.

When they arrived the door was answered by Naomi's mom, Tom was always struck by the resemblance between the two. Her eyes immediately darted to the slight bulge around her daughter's middle and her mouth twitched in a half smile but she didn't say anything. Pleasantries were exchanged. Naomi's father tried to crush Tom's hand when he shook it, the price Tom paid for having taken his daughter away from him, and after a short time spent chatting and catching up in the lounge Naomi's mother declared lunch to be ready.

The spread was impressive, as always, an enormous turkey held centre stage, flanked on either side by an enormous joint of roast beef and an enormous flank of honey-glazed ham. Tureens of roasted potatoes and mashed suede, buttered carrots and Brussels sprouts, parsnips and cranberry sauce and gravy left a table groaning with food for a dozen people and only four there to eat it. Well, three people and Naomi. While eating his own food and continuing his discussion with Naomi's father about buying a new computer Tom took great interest in watching Naomi eat. She started off slow, taking a moderate portion of everything on the table until her plate was piled high. On a normal day for a normal person it would have been considered a large meal but on Christmas it was nothing out of the ordinary and Tom knew it was nothing compared to what Naomi had been eating of late. She didn't gorge herself or eat quickly but she almost never stopped. She listened to the chatter, nodded and shook her head as she chewed but in the main she kept her mouth busy with food. Tom, recognising his part in this, made every effort to carry their half of the conversation as well as he could so that Naomi could continue unhindered. It was no surprise to Tom when Naomi was the first to clean her plate, she savoured her food but the relentless methodical pace meant she was serving up her seconds long before anyone else was close to finishing. The second plate, Tom noticed, seemed to be going faster than the first. Seated next to her he could see the rounded mass of her little belly pooching into her lap, expanding and receding as she breathed. Her eyes were focused, a look Tom had come to associate with two activities: food and sex, and given the presence of her parents it was clear which one was on her mind. Tom noted with glee the slightly bemused look her mother was throwing her way, as if the sight of her daughter now significantly heavier and eating with newfound passion was a funny curiosity. As she neared the end of her second plate Naomi started to speed up, her forkfuls grew larger, her breathing slightly heavier. An errant trickle of gravy ran down her lip only to be swiftly cleaned without her ever slowing her pace. More than anything Tom wanted to reach across under the table and massage his wife's stomach, feel the gentle hardening as she filled it with food. As she finished the second plate she leaned back in the chair, one hand rubbing her rounded middle. Apparently she was done, Tom was a little disappointed, particularly since she was still eyeing the food on the table. He hated the thought of her depriving herself of anything that made her happy.

Tom took his own seconds, modest portions since he was already quite full, and then passed them round the table to Naomi's father. Her father passed to her mother and then finally round to Naomi who wasted no time in loading up her plate for a third time, bigger than ever before. Just as she was about to dig in she grabbed Tom's hand under the table and squeezed it. Tom squeezed back.

Plate three saw Naomi unleashing her full might against her food. Tom watched delightedly as she demolished her plate bite by bite as he distracted her parents from their daughter's gluttony with an hilarious anecdote about his co-worker's tribulations with a sandwich. Open, chew, swallow. Open, chew, swallow. Open, chew, swallow. Naomi was more subtle about refilling her plate this time, rather than letting it empty she would periodically take more food from any nearby plates. Tom in turn made sure to keep the food rotating round the table so that his beloved wouldn't miss out on anything. It was difficult to estimate how many helpings Naomi had had once she started this plan but based on conservative estimates she was somewhere in her fifth plate when Tom noticed that her enormous baggy sweater had inched up her stuffed middle to reveal a few scant centimetres of her glorious, bloated belly. When Tom noticed the way her stomach was sat heavily in her lap and that the elasticated waist had buckled under the strain it took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to jump her there and then.

Naomi had eaten so fast that even though she had probably matched all three of them in quantity she cleared her own plate moments after everyone else finished theirs. She pushed the plate away with a sigh and a deep look of satisfaction on her face, as Naomi's parents got up to clear Tom leant across and kissed his wife on the cheek before he took her hand and led her to a comfy seat. More than anything in the world he wanted to feel her belly, revel in its decadence, but if he started he knew he would never stop and so he contented himself with bringing her a large slice of pecan pie à la mode which she gobbled down so fast her parents never even saw it and unknowingly brought her another slice.

After lunch the four exchanged gifts and drank coffee. In spite of the food sitting in her belly Naomi was awake enough to enjoy plenty of cheese and crackers when they appeared and though her mother threw the bloated beauty's bulbous tummy the occasional odd glance she never saw fit to mention it or her daughter's new gluttonous habits. Eventually, to Tom's delight, it was time to leave. He helped Naomi out to the car, she cradled her stomach the whole way as though she were pregnant, and as soon as she was seated she reclined the chair and closed her eyes. She slept the whole way home, her stomach making infrequent gurgling noises, and whenever he had a free hand Tom gently massaged her, smiling at her smile.

"The most beautiful girl in the world."


The next morning Tom awoke in the same position he had been in last night night when he had fallen asleep: with his arm draped across Naomi's softened, bloated form. It was difficult to tell because it hadn't grown much larger but her butt had crossed some threshold between supple and soft in the last few weeks of her gain and it made for an incredible feeling when they spooned. Crawling out of bed in search of some coffee Tom threw on a dressing gown to ward off the chill morning air and snuck quietly out of the room. In the living room he found their Christmas tree twinkling and the small pile of presents sitting underneath. Unexpectedly though in the kitchen he found another present and a note that said "Open me".

Curious now Tom took a seat and examined the gift more closely. He shook it experimentally, it made no discernible sound. He felt the edges, it seemed to be some kind of book. Very carefully he tore a hole in the wrapping paper, pulling out a large leather-bound folio. Opening to the first page Tom was greeted by the smiling visage of his wife, dressed in her sexiest underwear striking a seductive pose. There were half a dozen photos of Naomi on the first page, taken from different angles that showcased her gorgeous body in all its glory. At that moment, Tom felt like the luckiest man alive. At the bottom of the page was written, in Naomi's elegantly flowing cursive, "December 1st 2012, 129" He turned to the next page, more photos of his wife striking the same set of six poses with "December 2nd 2012, 130" written at the bottom. He looked at the next page, and the next, all the same poses but Naomi wasn't the same. As the pages passed he could see Naomi growing larger and larger. See her breasts start to rise out her bra, watch her belly slowly swell and bulge over her panties. She had chronicled her weight gain for him, the same shots, the same lighting, so that he could see the change in perfect, exquisite detail. Looking at the album's last filled page, where his wife's love-handles threatened to engulf her underwear and her boobs oozed out the side of her bra he checked the date "December 24th 2012, 153". She knew. How could she know?

He sprinted to the bedroom, unsure of what he would do when he got there. He opened the door only to be stopped dead in his tracks. Naomi was sitting, cross-legged on the bed. Her thighs were bulging against the duvet and her prodigious potbelly, no longer stuffed with food and now returned to its soft, natural state, was bulging into the free space above her legs. She was completely naked, her nipples stiff and erect in the cool morning air, save for a ribbon tied in a bow around her navel.

"B-b-b-but how?" was all Tom could stammer.

"You remember when I left my laptop at your folks' over Thanksgiving?"

Tom nodded mutely.

"I used your computer to check my e-mail?"

Tom nodded again.

"I opened something in Word. All your little stories were there in the recent documents list."

"But they were encrypted. There was a password."

"Honey, you use my maiden name as your password for everything, you know I know that."

"But not those."

"No, you used my maiden name backwards. It wasn't that hard to guess."

"So you read them?"

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Every last one."

"Oh god I'm so sorry. You have to know that I have always thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world, I-"

"Honey, don't worry. You don't have anything to be sorry about, I know you love me. In fact, knowing that you still found me beautiful even though I was skinny makes me love you all the more. That's why I did this. That's why I'm your Christmas present. I know it's not much but I gained a pound for each day of advent. Seeing the way you looked at me, reading those beautiful stories you wrote, I understand why you find this so attractive. So, please tell me, what do you think?"

"I think… I think that I couldn't possibly have done enough to deserve you."

With that Tom leapt onto his wife, kissing her passionately. Staring deep into each other's eyes they held each other close.

"So," Naomi said, "Why don’t you unwrap your present. And afterwards, I've got a few things planned."

"Oh?" Tom said, hand hovering above the bow.

"Well," Naomi said coyly, "There are still quite a few empty pages in that photo album."

_________________
If the human mind was simple enough to understand, we would be too simple to understand it.
Back to top
View user's profile Send private message
Display posts from previous:   
Post new topic   This topic is locked: you cannot edit posts or make replies.    Belly Laughs Forum Index -> Mrak's Writing Nook All times are GMT
Page 1 of 1

 
Jump to:  
You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum
You cannot vote in polls in this forum
You cannot attach files in this forum
You cannot download files in this forum


Powered by phpBB © 2001, 2005 phpBB Group

Hosted by ForumCity