Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, ~BBW, Stuffing, Romance - A sumptuous Thanksgiving dinner is the beginning in a big way
It was a little weird how much Thanksgiving dinner at Taras parents house felt like a first date, even though Andrew had been seriously dating her for nearly a year now. For one thing, he was unmistakably on display to the rest of Taras family: her two brothers and one sister-in-law and her other sister and the sisters boyfriend. It definitely felt like a family thing. As the afternoon progressed, though, Andrew was more at ease. Nothing like watching football together to promote bonding.
Tempting smells had been wafting from the kitchen all afternoon before Taras mom finally summoned everyone. Tara grabbed Andrews elbow and pulled him down for a whisper.
Eat a lot, she murmured. Mom gets really emotionally invested in this. Andrew nodded and casually escorted her to the table.
Emotionally invested was an understatement Mom was channeling Martha Stewart. The table was crowded with half a dozen vegetable dishes, a stuffed roast turkey, a glazed ham, deviled eggs, two kinds of rolls, plus corn muffins, mashed potatoes, and scalloped potatoes.
Oh, boy.
Andrew followed the others lead and took large helpings of everything, quickly running out of plate space. He started double-stacking some stuff. A topping of gravy and it all came together.
Food was discussed rhapsodized on and football, sales and Taras new salsa recipe that Andrew personally vouched for. Andrew was enmeshed in conversation and only subliminally enjoying the food. It was delicious, though. Every time he passed something he helped himself to a little more.
Then came a belch he tried hard to suppress, with little success. It was hard to say if he was on his third helpings, because hed been taking a spoonful here and a spoonful there like a drunk topping off his one drink. With the belch, which prompted a hot blush and some good-natured ribbing, the snap of his jeans popped open. No one seemed to notice.
Andrew surreptitiously glanced around the table. He didnt have the best angle, but he could see some swelling bellies, all right. Mr. Mertons brown knit polo was straining through the gut, and at the other end, Mrs. Mertons Spandex was being tested a bit.
Tara, who was sitting next to him, had grown a rosily rounded tummy, pushing against the thin knit of her sweater and the broad elastic waist of her slacks. Andrew discreetly rubbed his full stomach where the snap had undone. In spite of the extra space, his middle still bulged over the now-snug waistband of his size-34 jeans, which had sat loosely that morning. He sat up to take the cranberry sauce and scoop a little more out for himself, and when he sat back he both felt and heard a heavy slosh from his stomach, which was feeling awfully stuffed. He wasnt used to his belly feeling so warm and heavy. It felt as though it was sagging under the sheer poundage of the food he had eaten, pinning him down. He doubted he could stand up at the moment, even if hed wanted to, and he didnt want to. He felt far too full to move.
Nevertheless. No one else seemed anywhere near stopping, and in fact, Mrs. Mertons dishes were so good that despite his fullness Andrew still wanted a little more of several of them. He gulped down some more water and continued, slowly, almost dreamily.
Another plateful (or two? Hed lost count) later, Andrew tried to lean forward to take a dish from Tara and felt his zipper slide down all by itself. That had never happened before. Ever. Zippers werent self-operating. He looked down.
Oh.
A dome of bloated gut now sat in the space formerly held by the snap and zipper. He laid a hand on it. Distended, firm, and he felt more of a pull at his sides from the flesh stretching to cover more real estate. His swollen and aching belly perched between pecs and lap, and he was warmly sated, his eyelids heavy, his mind stupefied. Idly he grasped snap and snap-hole to see. Several inches of bulging, taut belly were in the way.
He glanced at Tara. Her thin knit top now stretched like a tiny tea cozy covering a snow globe. Her tummy was visibly bloated, round and swollen, the hem of the top not quite brushing the top of the elastic waist of her slacks, the waistband that was now visibly stretched and looked like a sling containing the gravid pull of her hugely stuffed stomach. In the gap ballooned a stretch of taut pinkness, the belly button pulled to a slit.
As if feeling his gaze, Tara hiccuped. Oh! Hic! She put a hand to her mouth. Scuse me. Hic!
Slowly and cautiously Andrew leaned back, hoping a slight change of angle would take the worst of the pressure of his bloated and tender belly. It didnt change much, but he did manage to stifle the rising belch.
Mr. Merton grunted as he levered himself to his feet. Very good, Mother, he said bluffly. Ate too much again.
Oh, George, Mrs. Merton said fondly. Pie later.
Mr. Merton thudded into the den, followed by the other men, except for Andrew, who held back.
Hic! Oof. I need a nap, he puffed. He was short of breath all of a sudden.
Me too, Tara said. She led him to the basement rec room.
Once there, she spread quilts and sofa pillows to make a nest on the floor. Slowly and carefully, Andrew lowered himself down, groaning as his overworked stomach sloshed loudly. Taras harmonized.
Ooohhhh, Tara groaned. Ohhh, I think hic youre a bad influence. Hic! I never eat this much. Hic.
Andrew simultaneously hiccuped and belched, which hurt. Me, he puffed. Im about to pop. He gently patted his belly, which was so full it defied gravity and protruded straight into the chilly air of the basement. Very, very slowly, he worked his way over onto his side. His roundly engorged gut hung suspended for a moment before thudding onto the quilt. Ouch. The resulting impact and groaning slosh sent a wave of hot reflux up his throat, but his angle kept it corked. Tara imitated him, her ballooning belly making a slightly smaller thud. She produced an impressive triple hiccup, wincing as she did.
Side to side, their stuffed and bloated tummies touched, and both felt the strong electric thrill that ran through them. Tara shivered. She stared at Andrew.
What did you do? she whispered.
Nothing, he whispered back. Im so full I can hardly move. Still, he took his free hand and clumsily got hold of a breast, cupping it through the knit fabric and the bra. With a grunt of effort and a couple of false starts, she sat up and tugged off her top. Wordlessly Andrew undid the bra, which sprang open as if in relief. He tugged off his own shirt. His jeans were already undone, and her slacks, straining openly along the seams, were quickly shed.
In the dim light, Andrew stared wide-eyed at this goddess. Her face was flushed and her eyes barely open, her lips full and damp. Her breasts, now that she had lain down on her back again, should have headed for the exits, er, armpits, but they stood at attention, tips like pink-hatted sentinels. Below her breasts her belly swelled, gravid and firm, looking pregnant. Andrew reverently touched her navel slit. It was unyielding. The dome of her brim-full tummy was stately and warm to the touch of his palm, which he gently slid upward. He fondled her breasts and she groaned, flushing further.
In turn, a hand crept over to Andrew. Patted his chest. Tripped south. Slowly, like a new tourist, the hand mimicked his movements. Tara poked his navel, laid a palm on his grumbling belly, tender and distended. She pressed.
Ow. Dont, he begged. Taut as his skin was stretched against his bloated midriff, the pressure really hurt. She eased off, then laid her hand, without pressure, on his swollen gut again. She discovered his member, already half hardened, and gently tugged.
Hello, he mumbled. Carefully, carefully, they turned onto their sides. Tentatively he attempted a docking maneuver. Their hugely full stomachs were in the way. He couldnt effect entry. Tara started to giggle, and he ineffectually tried to hush her. Finally, wordlessly, she turned so her back was to him. He hitched closer and felt another mind-boggling surge of arousal. He couldnt have borne the light pressure of her hand on his full stomach, but the feel of that same stomach pressed tight against her back, his free arm cradling her swell of bloated and aching belly, almost took his head off. He entered. Tears splashed onto his hand.
Good, Tara managed. Dont stop.
He didnt. Their intimacy was languid and fierce at the same time, arousal surging in wave after wave as he pressed his tender gut to her back and held her own stuffed tummy.
At last they subsided, slid apart, and Tara laid her head on Andrews chest.
That was the best sex anyone has ever had in the history of the world, she murmured. Hic!
Andrew smiled at the hyperbole as well as at the punctuation. Maybe we should have sex after eating more often.
Really, really big dinners, Tara added.
Whatever Andrew was about to say next went unsaid as they heard Mrs. Merton call out that the pie was ready.
Ooohhh, Tara groaned. Hic! I caaannnt.
Andrew had tugged his shirt back on, but he was still so full that there was no hope of getting his jeans fastened. He smoothed the shirt down over the gap into which his bloated abdomen swelled, hoping it didnt look too bad. Grunting, he helped Tara up and helped her struggle back into her clothes.
There you are, Mrs. Merton exclaimed. I was about to send out a search party.
Just a little piece, okay? Tara said, smoothing her hair. Im still full.
Nonsense, Mrs. Merton clucked. Pie and ice cream go down easy.
She handed Tara and Andrew each a plate overflowing with massive slices of pumpkin pie and vanilla ice cream, and they sat with the others around the table.
Andrews belly, though freed from the constriction of the now-snug waistband of his jeans, was still stuffed to bursting. Sitting upright put unwelcome pressure on his midsection and he barely restrained a groan as he settled into his chair. He couldnt swallow another bite. As if in a dream, he watched himself lift a spoonful of pie and ice cream, felt it slide into his mouth and felt it slip down his throat. The sweet spicy cool silky mouthful trickled into his achingly packed stomach, soothingly coating everything. Oh, that was good! It was making his full belly feel better somehow. With less reluctance he slowly spooned another mouthful.
Tara was holding her rounded tummy with one hand and eating with the other. With each bite she closed her eyes and a soft moan escaped her whether in pain or pleasure Andrew couldnt tell. Maybe both. Tara matched Andrew bite for bite. No telling where she was packing it away the hem of her top had inched farther upward and a crescent moon of belly, distended and round, peek-a-bood above her overworked slacks.
More, Mrs. Merton urged, and refilled their plates. Oof. Andrew was starting to feel a little faint. He wondered if it was medically possible to burst. He was sure he was about to find out. Unthinkingly he pressed a hand to his belly, which like an overinflated balloon, miraculously seemed to be inching out out out without quite popping.
Amazingly, his plate was empty. So was Taras. Their gaze met. Wordlessly but not without grunts of effort they hauled themselves from their chairs. Andrew, at least, was far too full to straighten up, but Tara leaned back, hands on the small of her back, balancing the unaccustomed weight of her overloaded stomach. The crescent moon was waxing. He could see more of her delectably rosy middle. Andrew followed Tara, puffing with effort, down the stairs and back to their nest.
Slowly, perspiring, they undressed. They both lowered themselves carefully back onto the quilts, where for a space they lay, dopey and satiated, gently rubbing their swollen and aching bellies and moaning quietly. Their groans were punctuated by an occasional hiccup or belch.
Then Andrew found himself rubbing Taras belly. And Tara found herself rubbing Andrews.
A year later, it was with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes that Andrew sat down to Thanksgiving dinner with his fiancees family. The food had been sublime last year, and he had been vaguely sorry that he could not hold as much as he would have liked. This year would be a different story, he was sure.
He and Tara had already survived their arrival and the surprised greetings from the others. Some of the comments had been diplomatic, others less so, but it was no more than they had expected. In the intervening year, they had delighted in slowly and lovingly feeding each other full stuffed ready to burst and in the languid, passionate, incomparable intimacy that had followed. Why had none of the many books on the subject of coupling ever mentioned the pleasures to be found in sex on an achingly full stomach? There was simply nothing like it, and Andrew and Tara had been delighted to discover that it was a pleasure that did not diminish over time.
Of course, neither had their bodies. Tara had gained 70 pounds and now carried 210 pounds of creamy flesh on her 56 frame. Her face was rounded and rosy, with apple cheeks and a soft chin which Andrew loved to nuzzle. Plump arms, dimpled elbows, and soft hands with round little fingers. Her breasts swung ripely in their silken hammock, and below them her torso flared pearlike, a teardrop of softness punctuated by her navel. Her hips flowed luscious and round, a lyric swell leading to the full heart shape of her bottom, packed into jeans that were deliberately too snug.
Andrew had added 75 pounds to his once-slight 510 frame and was now pushing 250, a weight he fully expected to reach before Christmas. (Hed promised her a treat if he got there in time, and he wanted the treat so much it was as much for himself as for her that he strove for this goal.) He too wore too-snug jeans on purpose and had laboriously tucked in his shirt. His boy-next-door face was now fuller around the eyes and cheeks, and when he ducked his head a second chin swelled. His pecs, still firmed by exercise, remained hidden below an overlay of suet that slid onto a belly that cushioned his middle, a well-inflated spare tire. His elbows joggled against his plump love handles when he walked, and when he sat his steadily increasing waistline folded into two thickly creased rolls. When he had eaten his fill, however, it distended to a firm dome of belly crested with a slit of navel. That was when other things firmed up as well. He could hardly wait to descend to their basement nest.
In the Basement
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
It was a little weird how much Thanksgiving dinner at Taras parents house felt like a first date, even though Andrew had been seriously dating her for nearly a year now. For one thing, he was unmistakably on display to the rest of Taras family: her two brothers and one sister-in-law and her other sister and the sisters boyfriend. It definitely felt like a family thing. As the afternoon progressed, though, Andrew was more at ease. Nothing like watching football together to promote bonding.
Tempting smells had been wafting from the kitchen all afternoon before Taras mom finally summoned everyone. Tara grabbed Andrews elbow and pulled him down for a whisper.
Eat a lot, she murmured. Mom gets really emotionally invested in this. Andrew nodded and casually escorted her to the table.
Emotionally invested was an understatement Mom was channeling Martha Stewart. The table was crowded with half a dozen vegetable dishes, a stuffed roast turkey, a glazed ham, deviled eggs, two kinds of rolls, plus corn muffins, mashed potatoes, and scalloped potatoes.
Oh, boy.
Andrew followed the others lead and took large helpings of everything, quickly running out of plate space. He started double-stacking some stuff. A topping of gravy and it all came together.
Food was discussed rhapsodized on and football, sales and Taras new salsa recipe that Andrew personally vouched for. Andrew was enmeshed in conversation and only subliminally enjoying the food. It was delicious, though. Every time he passed something he helped himself to a little more.
Then came a belch he tried hard to suppress, with little success. It was hard to say if he was on his third helpings, because hed been taking a spoonful here and a spoonful there like a drunk topping off his one drink. With the belch, which prompted a hot blush and some good-natured ribbing, the snap of his jeans popped open. No one seemed to notice.
Andrew surreptitiously glanced around the table. He didnt have the best angle, but he could see some swelling bellies, all right. Mr. Mertons brown knit polo was straining through the gut, and at the other end, Mrs. Mertons Spandex was being tested a bit.
Tara, who was sitting next to him, had grown a rosily rounded tummy, pushing against the thin knit of her sweater and the broad elastic waist of her slacks. Andrew discreetly rubbed his full stomach where the snap had undone. In spite of the extra space, his middle still bulged over the now-snug waistband of his size-34 jeans, which had sat loosely that morning. He sat up to take the cranberry sauce and scoop a little more out for himself, and when he sat back he both felt and heard a heavy slosh from his stomach, which was feeling awfully stuffed. He wasnt used to his belly feeling so warm and heavy. It felt as though it was sagging under the sheer poundage of the food he had eaten, pinning him down. He doubted he could stand up at the moment, even if hed wanted to, and he didnt want to. He felt far too full to move.
Nevertheless. No one else seemed anywhere near stopping, and in fact, Mrs. Mertons dishes were so good that despite his fullness Andrew still wanted a little more of several of them. He gulped down some more water and continued, slowly, almost dreamily.
Another plateful (or two? Hed lost count) later, Andrew tried to lean forward to take a dish from Tara and felt his zipper slide down all by itself. That had never happened before. Ever. Zippers werent self-operating. He looked down.
Oh.
A dome of bloated gut now sat in the space formerly held by the snap and zipper. He laid a hand on it. Distended, firm, and he felt more of a pull at his sides from the flesh stretching to cover more real estate. His swollen and aching belly perched between pecs and lap, and he was warmly sated, his eyelids heavy, his mind stupefied. Idly he grasped snap and snap-hole to see. Several inches of bulging, taut belly were in the way.
He glanced at Tara. Her thin knit top now stretched like a tiny tea cozy covering a snow globe. Her tummy was visibly bloated, round and swollen, the hem of the top not quite brushing the top of the elastic waist of her slacks, the waistband that was now visibly stretched and looked like a sling containing the gravid pull of her hugely stuffed stomach. In the gap ballooned a stretch of taut pinkness, the belly button pulled to a slit.
As if feeling his gaze, Tara hiccuped. Oh! Hic! She put a hand to her mouth. Scuse me. Hic!
Slowly and cautiously Andrew leaned back, hoping a slight change of angle would take the worst of the pressure of his bloated and tender belly. It didnt change much, but he did manage to stifle the rising belch.
Mr. Merton grunted as he levered himself to his feet. Very good, Mother, he said bluffly. Ate too much again.
Oh, George, Mrs. Merton said fondly. Pie later.
Mr. Merton thudded into the den, followed by the other men, except for Andrew, who held back.
Hic! Oof. I need a nap, he puffed. He was short of breath all of a sudden.
Me too, Tara said. She led him to the basement rec room.
Once there, she spread quilts and sofa pillows to make a nest on the floor. Slowly and carefully, Andrew lowered himself down, groaning as his overworked stomach sloshed loudly. Taras harmonized.
Ooohhhh, Tara groaned. Ohhh, I think hic youre a bad influence. Hic! I never eat this much. Hic.
Andrew simultaneously hiccuped and belched, which hurt. Me, he puffed. Im about to pop. He gently patted his belly, which was so full it defied gravity and protruded straight into the chilly air of the basement. Very, very slowly, he worked his way over onto his side. His roundly engorged gut hung suspended for a moment before thudding onto the quilt. Ouch. The resulting impact and groaning slosh sent a wave of hot reflux up his throat, but his angle kept it corked. Tara imitated him, her ballooning belly making a slightly smaller thud. She produced an impressive triple hiccup, wincing as she did.
Side to side, their stuffed and bloated tummies touched, and both felt the strong electric thrill that ran through them. Tara shivered. She stared at Andrew.
What did you do? she whispered.
Nothing, he whispered back. Im so full I can hardly move. Still, he took his free hand and clumsily got hold of a breast, cupping it through the knit fabric and the bra. With a grunt of effort and a couple of false starts, she sat up and tugged off her top. Wordlessly Andrew undid the bra, which sprang open as if in relief. He tugged off his own shirt. His jeans were already undone, and her slacks, straining openly along the seams, were quickly shed.
In the dim light, Andrew stared wide-eyed at this goddess. Her face was flushed and her eyes barely open, her lips full and damp. Her breasts, now that she had lain down on her back again, should have headed for the exits, er, armpits, but they stood at attention, tips like pink-hatted sentinels. Below her breasts her belly swelled, gravid and firm, looking pregnant. Andrew reverently touched her navel slit. It was unyielding. The dome of her brim-full tummy was stately and warm to the touch of his palm, which he gently slid upward. He fondled her breasts and she groaned, flushing further.
In turn, a hand crept over to Andrew. Patted his chest. Tripped south. Slowly, like a new tourist, the hand mimicked his movements. Tara poked his navel, laid a palm on his grumbling belly, tender and distended. She pressed.
Ow. Dont, he begged. Taut as his skin was stretched against his bloated midriff, the pressure really hurt. She eased off, then laid her hand, without pressure, on his swollen gut again. She discovered his member, already half hardened, and gently tugged.
Hello, he mumbled. Carefully, carefully, they turned onto their sides. Tentatively he attempted a docking maneuver. Their hugely full stomachs were in the way. He couldnt effect entry. Tara started to giggle, and he ineffectually tried to hush her. Finally, wordlessly, she turned so her back was to him. He hitched closer and felt another mind-boggling surge of arousal. He couldnt have borne the light pressure of her hand on his full stomach, but the feel of that same stomach pressed tight against her back, his free arm cradling her swell of bloated and aching belly, almost took his head off. He entered. Tears splashed onto his hand.
Good, Tara managed. Dont stop.
He didnt. Their intimacy was languid and fierce at the same time, arousal surging in wave after wave as he pressed his tender gut to her back and held her own stuffed tummy.
At last they subsided, slid apart, and Tara laid her head on Andrews chest.
That was the best sex anyone has ever had in the history of the world, she murmured. Hic!
Andrew smiled at the hyperbole as well as at the punctuation. Maybe we should have sex after eating more often.
Really, really big dinners, Tara added.
Whatever Andrew was about to say next went unsaid as they heard Mrs. Merton call out that the pie was ready.
Ooohhh, Tara groaned. Hic! I caaannnt.
Andrew had tugged his shirt back on, but he was still so full that there was no hope of getting his jeans fastened. He smoothed the shirt down over the gap into which his bloated abdomen swelled, hoping it didnt look too bad. Grunting, he helped Tara up and helped her struggle back into her clothes.
There you are, Mrs. Merton exclaimed. I was about to send out a search party.
Just a little piece, okay? Tara said, smoothing her hair. Im still full.
Nonsense, Mrs. Merton clucked. Pie and ice cream go down easy.
She handed Tara and Andrew each a plate overflowing with massive slices of pumpkin pie and vanilla ice cream, and they sat with the others around the table.
Andrews belly, though freed from the constriction of the now-snug waistband of his jeans, was still stuffed to bursting. Sitting upright put unwelcome pressure on his midsection and he barely restrained a groan as he settled into his chair. He couldnt swallow another bite. As if in a dream, he watched himself lift a spoonful of pie and ice cream, felt it slide into his mouth and felt it slip down his throat. The sweet spicy cool silky mouthful trickled into his achingly packed stomach, soothingly coating everything. Oh, that was good! It was making his full belly feel better somehow. With less reluctance he slowly spooned another mouthful.
Tara was holding her rounded tummy with one hand and eating with the other. With each bite she closed her eyes and a soft moan escaped her whether in pain or pleasure Andrew couldnt tell. Maybe both. Tara matched Andrew bite for bite. No telling where she was packing it away the hem of her top had inched farther upward and a crescent moon of belly, distended and round, peek-a-bood above her overworked slacks.
More, Mrs. Merton urged, and refilled their plates. Oof. Andrew was starting to feel a little faint. He wondered if it was medically possible to burst. He was sure he was about to find out. Unthinkingly he pressed a hand to his belly, which like an overinflated balloon, miraculously seemed to be inching out out out without quite popping.
Amazingly, his plate was empty. So was Taras. Their gaze met. Wordlessly but not without grunts of effort they hauled themselves from their chairs. Andrew, at least, was far too full to straighten up, but Tara leaned back, hands on the small of her back, balancing the unaccustomed weight of her overloaded stomach. The crescent moon was waxing. He could see more of her delectably rosy middle. Andrew followed Tara, puffing with effort, down the stairs and back to their nest.
Slowly, perspiring, they undressed. They both lowered themselves carefully back onto the quilts, where for a space they lay, dopey and satiated, gently rubbing their swollen and aching bellies and moaning quietly. Their groans were punctuated by an occasional hiccup or belch.
Then Andrew found himself rubbing Taras belly. And Tara found herself rubbing Andrews.
A year later, it was with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes that Andrew sat down to Thanksgiving dinner with his fiancees family. The food had been sublime last year, and he had been vaguely sorry that he could not hold as much as he would have liked. This year would be a different story, he was sure.
He and Tara had already survived their arrival and the surprised greetings from the others. Some of the comments had been diplomatic, others less so, but it was no more than they had expected. In the intervening year, they had delighted in slowly and lovingly feeding each other full stuffed ready to burst and in the languid, passionate, incomparable intimacy that had followed. Why had none of the many books on the subject of coupling ever mentioned the pleasures to be found in sex on an achingly full stomach? There was simply nothing like it, and Andrew and Tara had been delighted to discover that it was a pleasure that did not diminish over time.
Of course, neither had their bodies. Tara had gained 70 pounds and now carried 210 pounds of creamy flesh on her 56 frame. Her face was rounded and rosy, with apple cheeks and a soft chin which Andrew loved to nuzzle. Plump arms, dimpled elbows, and soft hands with round little fingers. Her breasts swung ripely in their silken hammock, and below them her torso flared pearlike, a teardrop of softness punctuated by her navel. Her hips flowed luscious and round, a lyric swell leading to the full heart shape of her bottom, packed into jeans that were deliberately too snug.
Andrew had added 75 pounds to his once-slight 510 frame and was now pushing 250, a weight he fully expected to reach before Christmas. (Hed promised her a treat if he got there in time, and he wanted the treat so much it was as much for himself as for her that he strove for this goal.) He too wore too-snug jeans on purpose and had laboriously tucked in his shirt. His boy-next-door face was now fuller around the eyes and cheeks, and when he ducked his head a second chin swelled. His pecs, still firmed by exercise, remained hidden below an overlay of suet that slid onto a belly that cushioned his middle, a well-inflated spare tire. His elbows joggled against his plump love handles when he walked, and when he sat his steadily increasing waistline folded into two thickly creased rolls. When he had eaten his fill, however, it distended to a firm dome of belly crested with a slit of navel. That was when other things firmed up as well. He could hardly wait to descend to their basement nest.
