Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, Stuffing, Progressive Plot, ~SWG - Getting along with relatives sometimes requires adjustments, as our hero discovers in dealing with his girl's family
.Note: Christie in this story is hearing impaired. . It's not integral to the story but I thought it was interesting as the character developed. Enjoy, as I always hope you do. BBD
As Colin finished clearing his plate, he glanced at Christie, who winked at him. So far, dinner was going well, he hadn’t made a stunning faux pas, conversation had been relatively unstrained, and Mrs. Miller was … piling his plate up again.
Whoops. Too late now to say, “Oh, I’ve had plenty, thank you,” Colin thought. Christie wasn’t getting seconds, and neither was Mrs. Miller, but Mr. Miller was. Hmm. When in Rome, Colin thought resignedly, and took a swallow of wine. He took as deep a breath as he could manage and plunged in.
As he ate, he was aware of his belly growing more and more stuffed with every bite. His stomach had become stretched and sore, and the waistband of his pants was slicing into his flesh. He undid the hook. Lot of good that did. He stifled a belch and swallowed some more wine. Polite was one thing, but honestly, was he supposed to eat until he burst? From the feel of it, that wouldn’t be long.
Somehow he managed to empty his plate again. With an audible grunt of effort, he got to his feet. “Stood” would be too graceful a description of his clumsily levering himself upward, leaning on the table, his aching and bloated belly so weighing him down that he couldn’t quite straighten up.
His awareness of the next hour was dim. He remembered leaning back in a recliner with a football game on, remembered some forgettable conversation, remembered massaging his tautly protruding midsection as though it were a living thing. Finally it was time to go. He lumbered to his feet and made his goodbyes, waddling ponderously out to the car with Christie. He tapped her on the shoulder.
“You drive,” he signed. She nodded and took the keys.
He heaved himself into the passenger seat and with difficulty fastened the seat belt. At the first red light, he managed to undo the zipper on his pants and belched hugely.
“Augh,” he groaned. “(Hic!)” He signed, “Never ate … (hic) so much … (hic) ’n my life. (Urrp.) What’re … your parents … (urp) trying … to do?”
“Nothing,” Christie signed back, startled. “That’s normal. The women have one helping and the men have two.”
“Still … a (hic!) … lot … of food,” Colin signed. He tugged up his shirt. “Bout (urrrp) to burst.” He patted it cautiously.
Christie did the same, and her eyebrows rose. “Tight as a drum,” she signed. “Poor baby.”
Colin closed his eyes and groaned. “Stomach hurts,” he signed. “Want to (hic!) go … to … sleep.” His last words were drowned in a snore.
Christie tugged his shirt back down. The light turned green, and she turned onto the highway for the drive home.
*Part II*
By the time Christie pulled into the driveway, Colin was awake. Christie patted his still bulging midsection. “Feel better?”
“Yeah,” Colin admitted. He heaved himself out of the car and stretched, his shirt riding up; he rubbed his bare, swollen belly, letting the cool evening air drift over him. “In fact,” he grabbed at Christie’s skirt as she headed toward the house, “I think I’m ready for a little workout,” he signed.
Christie rolled her eyes, but she seemed to be feeling flirtatious, too. She put her arm around his waist and gave his newly created bulge a squeeze.
“Soft,” she signed one-handed. “Like a big teddy bear.”
Colin kissed her head. By then they were in the bedroom, and Christie responded by tugging his shirt upward. Since his jeans were already undone, it was easy to tug them down and begin explorations. Colin hastily got his underwear out of the way and slowly and languidly began to ease Christie out of her clothes. Pretending aggression, she grabbed his shoulders and steered him nto the bed. As he flopped down, the bed creaked loudly, making them laugh.
“Big boy,” she signed, and kissed his tummy.
Their foreplay took longer than usual; they both seemed to be enjoying it more. Instead of lying there as Colin did all the work, Christie was delighting in letting her fingers and tongue map Colin’s chest and belly. It was no longer taut and aching, but still bulged, and Christie was surprised by how much she enjoyed its presence. When they finally coupled, their intimacy had a depth and pleasure that had been missing before.
Christie rose and turned on the fan, angling it so that the cool air flowed over their sweating bodies. She lay next to Colin, her head on his chest and her hand gently rubbing his midsection.
“Good,” she signed.
“Good,” he agreed.
Christie sat up. She stopped rubbing. Frowning a little, she signed, “Why was it so good?”
Colin also sat up, pretending to be insulted. “Why shouldn’t it be good?”
Christie stuck out her tongue. “I’m not saying that. You know that. I’m saying it was really really good. I want it to be that good all the time.”
Both sat for another minute, thinking, then lay back down and went to sleep, unable to solve the mystery.
During the week that followed, Colin amped up his workout a little to compensate. He also found himself amping up his eating, having discovered, strangely, that whenever he was stuffed, he was also seriously aroused. He and Christie made love four times that week, a new record. That Sunday, as they arrived at Christie’s parents’ house, Colin greeted Mrs. Miller, accepted Mr. Miller’s offer of a beer, and followed him into the den. As they sat, Colin cleared his throat a little self-consciously.
“Ah, Mr. Miller?”
The older man looked over at Colin, a kind expression on his plump face.
“I, um, noticed last week that, um, Mrs. Miller really … filled up my plate.” He was trying to find a polite way to phrase, “Stuffed me like a prize goose.”
Mr. Miller smiled broadly. “I hear you, son,” he said. “The secret is to keep up the exercise. Nothing fancy – just walking, sit-ups, push-ups, dumbbells … basic stuff. Mrs. Miller likes me with some extra padding --” he patted his pot belly – “and so long as I exercise, that keeps the old muscles toned up.” He winked heavily. “She does like the extra padding.”
Colin nodded. “I see,” he said thoughtfully.
At dinner that evening, Colin plowed through the food on his plate with alacrity. Despite having a good incentive, however, he was sharply reminded that there were some physiological limits. By the time his plate was clean, he was awfully stuffed. His belly felt stretched and weighed down with food, and the waistband of his pants was really starting to pinch. His face was warm, and he swore he could feel a double chin starting to form. Despite his discomfort, another body part was also responding. It was the oddest sensation. The more his belly filled, the more aroused he felt. Even watching Christie eat was turning him on. He gulped some wine to ease his digestion and gladly handed his plate over for seconds, knowing what he and Christie would likely be doing in another hour or two.
The second plateful was harder to get down, though, despite his insistent arousal. He unbuttoned his jeans and gently and discreetly rubbed his swollen and aching belly, but all that happened was a belch, which he had to stifle. He soldiered on, and slowly managed to clean his plate a second time. How many calories had he just consumed? He was dimly aware that he should care, but he had more pressing matters at hand. As before, he levered himself up with effort and waddled into the den, where he and Mr. Miller half-dozed, watched football, and slowly began to digest.
This time Christie took the keys without asking and they drove home in silence. As they pulled in and parked, Christie signed, “You OK?”
The look on her face, though, wasn’t concern. It was something else. Holy cow! Christie was as hot for it as he was! And stuffed and bloated as he was, Colin was more than ready for a bedroom workout.
Once inside, he signed, “Let’s talk.”
How in the world was he going to begin this conversation, Colin thought. He sighed. “You know, it’s strange,” he signed. “Ever since last week, I’ve discovered that if I stuff myself….” He stopped. Jeez. There was no delicate way to say this.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Christie was on the same track. “I know, I know,” she signed back, her hands flashing like lightning. “When I see you eat a lot….” Colin suppressed a grin. Christie couldn’t figure out a way to say it either. It didn’t matter. Both knew what was going on.
“I like the way it feels when your stomach is bigger,” Christie added. “Soft and warm and comforting and just really good.”
“You want me to get bigger?”
“Yes.”
“Wait, stop.” Colin signed. “I don’t mind getting some bigger. but I don’t want to be huge.”
“I don’t want you to be huge,” Christie agreed. “I don’t know how much is enough. Can we just sort of do this a while and decide later?”
“What about you?”
Christie was puzzled. “Me?”
“Watching you eat made me excited too. What if you got a little bigger?”
Christie bit her lip. She was kind of vain about her figure, although Colin thought it was a little on the slight side.
“It’s not as important,” Colin added. “But I want you a little more curvy.”
“Two to one,” Christie signed. “You add 20 pounds, I’ll add ten.”
Well. Jeez. Was that fair? On the other hand, women did have all sorts of pressures around their size. And the childhood illness that had left Christie deaf had also made her heart just a little less sturdy than most.
“OK,” Colin signed. “Now. Take me to your bed!” He scooped her up in her arms with a loud grunt, still achingly stuffed, and lumbered to the bedroom. As she had throughout the previous week, Christie seemed to revel in Colin’s full and slightly softer belly, pinching his waist, rubbing his bloated midsection, pinching his cheeks at both ends.
* * *
A year later, Colin and Christie ducked as they ran through a shower of birdseed. Sixty pounds heavier, Colin was a handsome and imposing six-footer, carrying 250 pounds. His dark hair was sexily tousled and a neat mustache and goatee framed his mouth. Christie had added thirty pounds, which brought her five foot six from 120 pounds to one-fifty – enough to be lusciously curvy. As they hopped into the limo for the ride to the reception, Colin took his new wife’s face in her hands. Instead of signing, this time he spoke, making sure she could see his lips. He wanted his first words as her husband to be memorable.
“I’m hungry.”
NOTE: As originally posted, readers at the end were asked for suggestions to part II. Both parts art now combined but the Part I comments are preserved below.
Colin and Christie
A progressive story by Big Beautiful Dreamer with plot assistance from readers.
A progressive story by Big Beautiful Dreamer with plot assistance from readers.
.Note: Christie in this story is hearing impaired. . It's not integral to the story but I thought it was interesting as the character developed. Enjoy, as I always hope you do. BBD
As Colin finished clearing his plate, he glanced at Christie, who winked at him. So far, dinner was going well, he hadn’t made a stunning faux pas, conversation had been relatively unstrained, and Mrs. Miller was … piling his plate up again.
Whoops. Too late now to say, “Oh, I’ve had plenty, thank you,” Colin thought. Christie wasn’t getting seconds, and neither was Mrs. Miller, but Mr. Miller was. Hmm. When in Rome, Colin thought resignedly, and took a swallow of wine. He took as deep a breath as he could manage and plunged in.
As he ate, he was aware of his belly growing more and more stuffed with every bite. His stomach had become stretched and sore, and the waistband of his pants was slicing into his flesh. He undid the hook. Lot of good that did. He stifled a belch and swallowed some more wine. Polite was one thing, but honestly, was he supposed to eat until he burst? From the feel of it, that wouldn’t be long.
Somehow he managed to empty his plate again. With an audible grunt of effort, he got to his feet. “Stood” would be too graceful a description of his clumsily levering himself upward, leaning on the table, his aching and bloated belly so weighing him down that he couldn’t quite straighten up.
His awareness of the next hour was dim. He remembered leaning back in a recliner with a football game on, remembered some forgettable conversation, remembered massaging his tautly protruding midsection as though it were a living thing. Finally it was time to go. He lumbered to his feet and made his goodbyes, waddling ponderously out to the car with Christie. He tapped her on the shoulder.
“You drive,” he signed. She nodded and took the keys.
He heaved himself into the passenger seat and with difficulty fastened the seat belt. At the first red light, he managed to undo the zipper on his pants and belched hugely.
“Augh,” he groaned. “(Hic!)” He signed, “Never ate … (hic) so much … (hic) ’n my life. (Urrp.) What’re … your parents … (urp) trying … to do?”
“Nothing,” Christie signed back, startled. “That’s normal. The women have one helping and the men have two.”
“Still … a (hic!) … lot … of food,” Colin signed. He tugged up his shirt. “Bout (urrrp) to burst.” He patted it cautiously.
Christie did the same, and her eyebrows rose. “Tight as a drum,” she signed. “Poor baby.”
Colin closed his eyes and groaned. “Stomach hurts,” he signed. “Want to (hic!) go … to … sleep.” His last words were drowned in a snore.
Christie tugged his shirt back down. The light turned green, and she turned onto the highway for the drive home.
*Part II*
By the time Christie pulled into the driveway, Colin was awake. Christie patted his still bulging midsection. “Feel better?”
“Yeah,” Colin admitted. He heaved himself out of the car and stretched, his shirt riding up; he rubbed his bare, swollen belly, letting the cool evening air drift over him. “In fact,” he grabbed at Christie’s skirt as she headed toward the house, “I think I’m ready for a little workout,” he signed.
Christie rolled her eyes, but she seemed to be feeling flirtatious, too. She put her arm around his waist and gave his newly created bulge a squeeze.
“Soft,” she signed one-handed. “Like a big teddy bear.”
Colin kissed her head. By then they were in the bedroom, and Christie responded by tugging his shirt upward. Since his jeans were already undone, it was easy to tug them down and begin explorations. Colin hastily got his underwear out of the way and slowly and languidly began to ease Christie out of her clothes. Pretending aggression, she grabbed his shoulders and steered him nto the bed. As he flopped down, the bed creaked loudly, making them laugh.
“Big boy,” she signed, and kissed his tummy.
Their foreplay took longer than usual; they both seemed to be enjoying it more. Instead of lying there as Colin did all the work, Christie was delighting in letting her fingers and tongue map Colin’s chest and belly. It was no longer taut and aching, but still bulged, and Christie was surprised by how much she enjoyed its presence. When they finally coupled, their intimacy had a depth and pleasure that had been missing before.
Christie rose and turned on the fan, angling it so that the cool air flowed over their sweating bodies. She lay next to Colin, her head on his chest and her hand gently rubbing his midsection.
“Good,” she signed.
“Good,” he agreed.
Christie sat up. She stopped rubbing. Frowning a little, she signed, “Why was it so good?”
Colin also sat up, pretending to be insulted. “Why shouldn’t it be good?”
Christie stuck out her tongue. “I’m not saying that. You know that. I’m saying it was really really good. I want it to be that good all the time.”
Both sat for another minute, thinking, then lay back down and went to sleep, unable to solve the mystery.
During the week that followed, Colin amped up his workout a little to compensate. He also found himself amping up his eating, having discovered, strangely, that whenever he was stuffed, he was also seriously aroused. He and Christie made love four times that week, a new record. That Sunday, as they arrived at Christie’s parents’ house, Colin greeted Mrs. Miller, accepted Mr. Miller’s offer of a beer, and followed him into the den. As they sat, Colin cleared his throat a little self-consciously.
“Ah, Mr. Miller?”
The older man looked over at Colin, a kind expression on his plump face.
“I, um, noticed last week that, um, Mrs. Miller really … filled up my plate.” He was trying to find a polite way to phrase, “Stuffed me like a prize goose.”
Mr. Miller smiled broadly. “I hear you, son,” he said. “The secret is to keep up the exercise. Nothing fancy – just walking, sit-ups, push-ups, dumbbells … basic stuff. Mrs. Miller likes me with some extra padding --” he patted his pot belly – “and so long as I exercise, that keeps the old muscles toned up.” He winked heavily. “She does like the extra padding.”
Colin nodded. “I see,” he said thoughtfully.
At dinner that evening, Colin plowed through the food on his plate with alacrity. Despite having a good incentive, however, he was sharply reminded that there were some physiological limits. By the time his plate was clean, he was awfully stuffed. His belly felt stretched and weighed down with food, and the waistband of his pants was really starting to pinch. His face was warm, and he swore he could feel a double chin starting to form. Despite his discomfort, another body part was also responding. It was the oddest sensation. The more his belly filled, the more aroused he felt. Even watching Christie eat was turning him on. He gulped some wine to ease his digestion and gladly handed his plate over for seconds, knowing what he and Christie would likely be doing in another hour or two.
The second plateful was harder to get down, though, despite his insistent arousal. He unbuttoned his jeans and gently and discreetly rubbed his swollen and aching belly, but all that happened was a belch, which he had to stifle. He soldiered on, and slowly managed to clean his plate a second time. How many calories had he just consumed? He was dimly aware that he should care, but he had more pressing matters at hand. As before, he levered himself up with effort and waddled into the den, where he and Mr. Miller half-dozed, watched football, and slowly began to digest.
This time Christie took the keys without asking and they drove home in silence. As they pulled in and parked, Christie signed, “You OK?”
The look on her face, though, wasn’t concern. It was something else. Holy cow! Christie was as hot for it as he was! And stuffed and bloated as he was, Colin was more than ready for a bedroom workout.
Once inside, he signed, “Let’s talk.”
How in the world was he going to begin this conversation, Colin thought. He sighed. “You know, it’s strange,” he signed. “Ever since last week, I’ve discovered that if I stuff myself….” He stopped. Jeez. There was no delicate way to say this.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Christie was on the same track. “I know, I know,” she signed back, her hands flashing like lightning. “When I see you eat a lot….” Colin suppressed a grin. Christie couldn’t figure out a way to say it either. It didn’t matter. Both knew what was going on.
“I like the way it feels when your stomach is bigger,” Christie added. “Soft and warm and comforting and just really good.”
“You want me to get bigger?”
“Yes.”
“Wait, stop.” Colin signed. “I don’t mind getting some bigger. but I don’t want to be huge.”
“I don’t want you to be huge,” Christie agreed. “I don’t know how much is enough. Can we just sort of do this a while and decide later?”
“What about you?”
Christie was puzzled. “Me?”
“Watching you eat made me excited too. What if you got a little bigger?”
Christie bit her lip. She was kind of vain about her figure, although Colin thought it was a little on the slight side.
“It’s not as important,” Colin added. “But I want you a little more curvy.”
“Two to one,” Christie signed. “You add 20 pounds, I’ll add ten.”
Well. Jeez. Was that fair? On the other hand, women did have all sorts of pressures around their size. And the childhood illness that had left Christie deaf had also made her heart just a little less sturdy than most.
“OK,” Colin signed. “Now. Take me to your bed!” He scooped her up in her arms with a loud grunt, still achingly stuffed, and lumbered to the bedroom. As she had throughout the previous week, Christie seemed to revel in Colin’s full and slightly softer belly, pinching his waist, rubbing his bloated midsection, pinching his cheeks at both ends.
* * *
A year later, Colin and Christie ducked as they ran through a shower of birdseed. Sixty pounds heavier, Colin was a handsome and imposing six-footer, carrying 250 pounds. His dark hair was sexily tousled and a neat mustache and goatee framed his mouth. Christie had added thirty pounds, which brought her five foot six from 120 pounds to one-fifty – enough to be lusciously curvy. As they hopped into the limo for the ride to the reception, Colin took his new wife’s face in her hands. Instead of signing, this time he spoke, making sure she could see his lips. He wanted his first words as her husband to be memorable.
“I’m hungry.”
NOTE: As originally posted, readers at the end were asked for suggestions to part II. Both parts art now combined but the Part I comments are preserved below.
