Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
~BHM, Extreme Eating, ~~WG - A Turkey Day appetizer.
Devon sank into the wing chair as his wife closed the bedroom door. Grunting with effort, he put his sock feet up on the footstool and struggled to get the button of his jeans undone. It took some doing, and he had to arch back to unfasten the button and slide down the zipper. Unconsciously, he stuck his hand into his underwear, attempting to ease the pressure on his gut.
Was he ever full. His aching belly protruded tautly, sticking straight up, or out, depending on your angle. A groan escaped him. Alice looked over from where she was, on the bed, propped up on a stack of pillows.
You all right?
Mmm, Devon groaned. Thanksgiving when I was growing up was never like this.
I know, Alice said, laughing. You always went to your grandmothers and she was a lousy cook.
I love her, but shes lousy and lazy in the kitchen. Thanksgiving was always about seeing everyone. Dinner was just dinner. Nothing special, no one overate Ive been deprived of a great tradition. He massaged his engorged gut, which was firm and hard, no give at all, no room at the inn. He belched. Oops.
Better out than in, they said together, and Alice laughed. In a minute she was asleep.
Devon was way drowsy, dopey and satiated, but too full to sleep just yet. Instead he reclined in a food-induced stupor, reflecting on just how much he had eaten.
The meal had begun with crab cake appetizers, an unusual choice but a longstanding tradition for Alices family, who always gathered at the weekend house on St. Michaels, Maryland. Devon hadnt had good crab cakes very often and devoured three. No, four. They were small.
By then, Alices dad had finished slicing the turkey and the platter was squeezed onto the table already crammed with dishes. Alices mom announced that dishes would be passed clockwise, to avoid confusion, and they were off to the races.
Devon, entranced by what looked like a ton of good food and a proper Thanksgiving dinner for once, piled his plate high. White and dark meat, stuffing, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, squash casserole, green bean casserole, rolls, crescent rolls, plum compote, corn, creamed peas, a little more gravy. Conversation rose and fell as plates rapidly emptied, including Devons. He hadnt quite realized just how much food he had piled on, and was aware that he was getting stuffed, but it was all too good and he wanted more. He let out his belt a notch and took seconds on everything, including a big mound of stuffing, which was especially good. More gravy and he dug in, savoring the creamy sweet tangy smooth mouthfuls as sensation followed sensation. Mmmmmm.
He was really getting full, he could feel it. His stomach was stuffed to capacity and his waistband was starting to pinch. He discreetly wiggled a thumb along the waistband, trying to make some more room. As he looked down he could see his belly starting to bulge, distending his shirt. Whoa, that was a full stomach. Everything was so delicious, though, that he wanted another bite, another, another. He knew he was full, but just had to keep eating, wow, it was good. Potatoes and gravy slid down, another mouthful of the creamed peas, a smooth cold slick of cranberry sauce, the rich flakiness of a buttered crescent roll.
His plate was empty again. How had that happened? Dishes were being handed around and he joined the others in piling his plate, perhaps not so high this time. He was really awfully full. He shifted in his chair, feeling the heavy sag of his midriff and the tug of his shirt. He glanced down. His belly was visibly protruding now, well past his waistband, which was sending fairly urgent signals. Come to that, his stretched stomach was doing some signaling about being filled past capacity. He could feel it groan and grumble -- but his mouth was begging for another taste of everything. His belly was heavy and warm, pulling at his sides as it began to sag. He was stuffed to bursting, another bite and he would pop, but there was still food on his plate and he wanted another taste of turkey and gravy, another swallow of green bean casserole, another smooth finish of plum compote, another another another.
He had consumed at least a dozen rolls, a pint of potatoes, a really embarrassing amount of stuffing, four or five thick slices of cranberry sauce, how much turkey had he made disappear? What a pig, but it was all so delicious he couldnt help it, the tastes and contrasts just made him want more, but finally the meal was ending.
His eyelids heavy, fluttering, he shifted in the wing chair in the bedroom, coaxing up a belch. Alice turned in her sleep and murmured.
He remembered then the sensation of trying to move while being so very full. He awkwardly wrestled the chair back -- he seemed to need a little more room to maneuver -- and tried to stand. Oof, that was hard. He didnt rise very far out of his seat. The sheer weight of his engorged gut, distended and bloated, dragged him down; his center of gravity had shifted, and standing up was going to take some effort. Carefully he braced himself on the table and pulled upright. Oof. He was vertical, but it hurt too much to straighten up. His stomach ached and his back was stiff, but he was half-stoned with the pleasure of satiation and the heavy warmth of his full and rounded belly. He was oh, so full, but it felt good despite the ache, the sag, it was really a new sensation. He waddled after Alice down the hall to the guest bedroom, where he had made it to the chair.
His head jerked and he snorted. Must have dozed off. He blinked. Alice also was coming to, her nap a short one. She sat up and untousled her hair, smiling at Devon.
All right?
Ate too much, Devon admitted. Got a belly ache. He pressed a hand to his ballooning gut, which swelled roundly forward, his shirt edging upward. He tugged at it, but it slid up again.
Here, Alice said. She helped him to his feet, producing a grunt of effort, and guided him toward the bed. Slowly, responding to the aching slosh of his overloaded stomach, he eased into a reclining position. Alice sat next to him and gently began massaging his distended belly. Oh, that felt wonderful.
Cant believe how much I ate, he mumbled. Pig.
Shh, Alice soothed. Thanksgiving. Everyone does. Shh.
She continued to massage his bloated tummy, and Devon finally surrendered to sleep.
Thanksgiving Nap
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Devon sank into the wing chair as his wife closed the bedroom door. Grunting with effort, he put his sock feet up on the footstool and struggled to get the button of his jeans undone. It took some doing, and he had to arch back to unfasten the button and slide down the zipper. Unconsciously, he stuck his hand into his underwear, attempting to ease the pressure on his gut.
Was he ever full. His aching belly protruded tautly, sticking straight up, or out, depending on your angle. A groan escaped him. Alice looked over from where she was, on the bed, propped up on a stack of pillows.
You all right?
Mmm, Devon groaned. Thanksgiving when I was growing up was never like this.
I know, Alice said, laughing. You always went to your grandmothers and she was a lousy cook.
I love her, but shes lousy and lazy in the kitchen. Thanksgiving was always about seeing everyone. Dinner was just dinner. Nothing special, no one overate Ive been deprived of a great tradition. He massaged his engorged gut, which was firm and hard, no give at all, no room at the inn. He belched. Oops.
Better out than in, they said together, and Alice laughed. In a minute she was asleep.
Devon was way drowsy, dopey and satiated, but too full to sleep just yet. Instead he reclined in a food-induced stupor, reflecting on just how much he had eaten.
The meal had begun with crab cake appetizers, an unusual choice but a longstanding tradition for Alices family, who always gathered at the weekend house on St. Michaels, Maryland. Devon hadnt had good crab cakes very often and devoured three. No, four. They were small.
By then, Alices dad had finished slicing the turkey and the platter was squeezed onto the table already crammed with dishes. Alices mom announced that dishes would be passed clockwise, to avoid confusion, and they were off to the races.
Devon, entranced by what looked like a ton of good food and a proper Thanksgiving dinner for once, piled his plate high. White and dark meat, stuffing, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, squash casserole, green bean casserole, rolls, crescent rolls, plum compote, corn, creamed peas, a little more gravy. Conversation rose and fell as plates rapidly emptied, including Devons. He hadnt quite realized just how much food he had piled on, and was aware that he was getting stuffed, but it was all too good and he wanted more. He let out his belt a notch and took seconds on everything, including a big mound of stuffing, which was especially good. More gravy and he dug in, savoring the creamy sweet tangy smooth mouthfuls as sensation followed sensation. Mmmmmm.
He was really getting full, he could feel it. His stomach was stuffed to capacity and his waistband was starting to pinch. He discreetly wiggled a thumb along the waistband, trying to make some more room. As he looked down he could see his belly starting to bulge, distending his shirt. Whoa, that was a full stomach. Everything was so delicious, though, that he wanted another bite, another, another. He knew he was full, but just had to keep eating, wow, it was good. Potatoes and gravy slid down, another mouthful of the creamed peas, a smooth cold slick of cranberry sauce, the rich flakiness of a buttered crescent roll.
His plate was empty again. How had that happened? Dishes were being handed around and he joined the others in piling his plate, perhaps not so high this time. He was really awfully full. He shifted in his chair, feeling the heavy sag of his midriff and the tug of his shirt. He glanced down. His belly was visibly protruding now, well past his waistband, which was sending fairly urgent signals. Come to that, his stretched stomach was doing some signaling about being filled past capacity. He could feel it groan and grumble -- but his mouth was begging for another taste of everything. His belly was heavy and warm, pulling at his sides as it began to sag. He was stuffed to bursting, another bite and he would pop, but there was still food on his plate and he wanted another taste of turkey and gravy, another swallow of green bean casserole, another smooth finish of plum compote, another another another.
He had consumed at least a dozen rolls, a pint of potatoes, a really embarrassing amount of stuffing, four or five thick slices of cranberry sauce, how much turkey had he made disappear? What a pig, but it was all so delicious he couldnt help it, the tastes and contrasts just made him want more, but finally the meal was ending.
His eyelids heavy, fluttering, he shifted in the wing chair in the bedroom, coaxing up a belch. Alice turned in her sleep and murmured.
He remembered then the sensation of trying to move while being so very full. He awkwardly wrestled the chair back -- he seemed to need a little more room to maneuver -- and tried to stand. Oof, that was hard. He didnt rise very far out of his seat. The sheer weight of his engorged gut, distended and bloated, dragged him down; his center of gravity had shifted, and standing up was going to take some effort. Carefully he braced himself on the table and pulled upright. Oof. He was vertical, but it hurt too much to straighten up. His stomach ached and his back was stiff, but he was half-stoned with the pleasure of satiation and the heavy warmth of his full and rounded belly. He was oh, so full, but it felt good despite the ache, the sag, it was really a new sensation. He waddled after Alice down the hall to the guest bedroom, where he had made it to the chair.
His head jerked and he snorted. Must have dozed off. He blinked. Alice also was coming to, her nap a short one. She sat up and untousled her hair, smiling at Devon.
All right?
Ate too much, Devon admitted. Got a belly ache. He pressed a hand to his ballooning gut, which swelled roundly forward, his shirt edging upward. He tugged at it, but it slid up again.
Here, Alice said. She helped him to his feet, producing a grunt of effort, and guided him toward the bed. Slowly, responding to the aching slosh of his overloaded stomach, he eased into a reclining position. Alice sat next to him and gently began massaging his distended belly. Oh, that felt wonderful.
Cant believe how much I ate, he mumbled. Pig.
Shh, Alice soothed. Thanksgiving. Everyone does. Shh.
She continued to massage his bloated tummy, and Devon finally surrendered to sleep.
