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When John had accepted Morgana’s invitation to Thanksgiving dinner he’d expected…well he wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it probably involved more people attending. As it was, he made his way to her palatial house at midday as she’d requested. The drive was short and only moderately uncomfortable in his strained wardrobe, his slacks pulled tight on his thighs and his shirt stretched to accommodate his growing paunch with a generous portion starting to press over the beleaguered belt.
Dressed as nicely as he could, given the new clothing restraints, he was surprised when Morgana opened the front door in only loose fitting shorts that left acres of thigh fat visible and a hoodie that seemed designed to stretch across her chest.
“Oh John, I thought I told you to dress comfortably for tonight.” Morgana said as she pulled him into a hug.
“Hey, babe. No your text said to dress nicely…where’s everyone-“
“Well this won’t do! Come! I have some sweats and shirts you can borrow.”
Whisked through the threshold, John was stripped of his strained clothing and shoved into a pair of loose fitting soft grey sweats and a t shirt that draped him.
“That’s better!” Morgana smiled before planting a long kiss on him. “Now! Let’s get you some dinner.”
If what she had laid out was a dinner, then John wasn’t sure he wanted to see what any kind of feast would entail. The table seemed completely covered in numerous dishes to an extent he could barely see the place settings.
“Are we expecting…” John paused, his nostril twitched. “Oh wow…”
The smell of the food would have grabbed him by the nose and floated him to his chair if it had been a cartoon. As it was, he found himself stumbling, quickly towards the table, Morgana slinking behind him. Before he knew it, he’d piled his plate high and began chowing down with gusto.
John leaned back in his chair, a soft moan escaped him. His stomach gurgled. Blearily he looked up and saw it was dark outside. Had he? He looked at the destruction wrought on the table. It looked like wild animals had broken in and ransacked the dinner. He moved to stand.
Strong hands on his knees pressed him back into his chair and he felt full lips wrapped around his member, slurping noises followed. He looked down and saw…a gut.
A large, round, taut boulder of flesh and food eclipsed his view of Morgana under the table fellating him. His breath came in gasps, the skin on his belly, and belly it certainly was, was stretched tightly and resembled the large heaving belly of a woman in her third trimester rather than someone that simply overate. The round heavy dome jutted out midway down his thighs and the feeling of at least one turkeys worth of tryptophan began to take hold.
With a bizarre feeling of impossible fullness and an expert working his shaft he started to drift off.
Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/interactive-story/item_id/2330104-Fat-Encounters-of-the-M2BBW-Kind/cid/U865RM87H-Happy-Thanksgiving-Means-Happy-Gorging
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