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The days turn to weeks and eventually months, and you and Rya fall only more head over heels for each other. She turns out to be just as much of a pervert as you are, and many evenings see the two of you fucking passionately. You take turns being dominant, get into exploring fat-friendly porn together, and even occasionally involve food in your sexy times. Though she enjoys riding you, Rya has a particular weakness for "piggy style" sex, where you put her on hands and knees with food in front of her, then fuck her from behind as she eats. Occasionally she even wants to be tied up in such a vulnerable, hedonistic position.
The especially epic binges actually fall away to being date night or special occasion things, but neither of you is on a diet by any stretch. That said, you both make an admirable push towards something vaguely resembling fitness. You continue pushing the limits of your strength, and even as you continue to slowly pack on the pounds, a good portion of them are muscle. You ultimately wind up feeling good about your "strongfat" physique, with a sturdy build under lots of soft chub. Rya also makes good on her commitment to be less of a "cupcake". She works out on her heavy duty exercise bike almost daily, and even picks up a mild weight training program. She doesn't lose any weight, but soon moves shockingly well for a girl just short of 500 pounds, and is proud that she can fuck you to exhaustion when she's on top.
There is a strong, romantic bond between you two. You've never felt closer to anyone in your life, and Rya feels the same.
As the months march happily by, at some point you confess your love for each other. You start making plans to move in, though it'll be a while before your respective leases run out. You introduce Rya to your friends back in your old town, and she fits right in. None of them care a whit about her size, and they're glad that the two of you are such a great couple. Rya's confidence skyrockets, and she even picks up a few trendy, even slightly scandalous, outfits. She's particularly fond of a stretchy purple dress that hugs her every curve and particularly shows off her big belly, tits, and ass. She loves the way it grabs your attention, and you even see her smiling when she catches bystanders staring.
As the weather cools and the holidays approach, Rya agrees to meet your family for Christmas, and in exchange you'll meet Rya's family for Thanksgiving first. You're less nervous about meeting Rya's folks than vice versa, but she promises to back you no matter how your parents react.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Rya's folks live in a town a few hours North of Novaville, in a sleepy past-its-prime burg called Holdersbrook. You've been on more than a few road trips with your big girlfriend, but the ride up is still awkward. Rya assures you that there's nothing to worry about. "You're gonna get along with everybody just fine, especially Gramps. You're a great boyfriend and they'll see that right away. And besides, they're not going to hassle you about your weight – they accept me just fine, rolls and all!"
As much as you trust Rya, you're still nervous as the two of you ring the doorbell on her grandparents' squat yet cozy-looking place. The door cracks and a balding Colonel Sanders knockoff appears with an excited smile.
"Grampa!" Rya exclaims, rushing forwards and wrapping the older man in a hug. In short order, you're introduced to her grandpa, her grandmother (willowy, elegant, and oddly ageless), her mom Mandy (a plump middle-height brunette), and her uncle Frank (schlubby and rotund but clever and relentlessly cheerful). Rya's mentioned her maternal Caucasian family plenty before, but it's still remarkable how strongly her Chinese side came through. It's also remarkable that the entirety of her dad's family is apparently personae non grata, and you've wisely kept the topic shelved save for the very rare occasions when Rya broaches it.
From the moment of your arrival, the holiday is a veritable conveyor belt of food. You're not about to complain, and Rya's having a great time catching up with her folks. Come thanksgiving day, your offer of helping out in the kitchen is very much taken up, and you spend pretty much the whole afternoon scrambling from one half-made dish to another along with Rya's mom and grandma. Between taste-testing bites and running snacks to "keep your strength up", you're far from starving when the massive turkey finally emerges from the oven and lands on the dining table.
You would have sworn that the feast atop that table was far too much for the comparatively small gathering, but you quickly realize where Rya got her appetite. Though the family didn't initially strike you as big eaters, their "what happens at the table stays at the table" attitude is infectious, and you keep gorging yourself along with them long after you've unbuckled your pants. With no less than ten thousand calories of meat, carbs, and grease slowly working their way through your stuffed gut, you pick away at a plate heaped with desserts and lazily chat with Rya's relatives. The looming food coma eventually catches you and your girlfriend, and you waddle together into a guest room to slowly collapse onto a protesting bed.
The feasting isn't quite over the following day, but you take a break and wind up marveling at the old workshop room used by Rya's grandpa. The old man himself sneaks in to show you his favorite analog artifacts. He's a veritable encyclopedia on legs, and the two of you wind up spending hours fiddling with old gadgets and discussing old-school versus new-school engineering. Rya eventually crashes the geek session with a plate full of cookies, stashing them in a corner of the workshop that's relatively free of half-assembled electronics. The cookies don't even make it an hour, and you're grateful when the call reaches you for dinner, heavy on leftovers of course.
After a slow start on a Saturday and a heaping home-cooked breakfast, it's finally time for everybody to say their good-byes. Uncle Frank is headed back to his job as a construction foreman, tackling a set of builds around Northeaston. Rya's mom only starts her car after an extended embrace with her round daughter and "likely soon-to-be-son-in-law" and extracting a promise for more frequent phone calls. You deflect the "son-in-law" remark, and instead wish her continuing luck with her career counseling business. Rya's grandparents send the two of you on your way with a heap of leftovers, insisting it's "too much for just us", and re-iterate a standing offer of hospitality. The moment Rya puts her SUV into gear, you feel that peculiar blend of satisfaction and melancholy that comes from a happy visit well-concluded.
The next not-quite-month at the bottom of the year is kind of a punt, as it often is in your experience. Your days at work are spent listlessly picking at projects with collaborators who certainly won't respond until the next January, chatting with your co-workers, and accepting generous snacks and lunch runs from the "suspiciously skinny" contingent while humoring their obvious fat admiration. You never really were one to deny yourself good food, especially around the holidays, but since the Thanksgiving feast with Rya's deceptively hungry in-laws, it's been almost non-stop nibbling.
"I swear I can feel myself getting fatter lately," you playfully complain one evening with a glass of egg nog in your hand.
"All the better to survive the cold months," Rya retorts cheerfully and conspicuously nudges a plate of cookies your way. Perhaps all the snacking was to distract yourself from the growing dread of having to face down your family once again, definitely no skinnier than last year and this time with a quarter-ton of half-Asian girlfriend on your arm.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As seems to happen every winter, the major airports are fouled by snow, ice, and howling wind. It's times like this when Rya jokingly gloats that she's too cheap to spring for two tickets, and you're glad to be driving rather than flying, despite the daunting amount of road ahead. Three hours to Novaville, then a too-quick early Christmas gift exchange with your old friends, then another five hours to Blainesburg and your family by Christmas Eve.
You're slightly but relentlessly nervous about facing your grandparents, parents, sister, and an ever-shifting number of possible visiting aunts and uncles. They never liked Amber much, immediately and correctly sniffing her out as a disastrous influence in spite of your protests at the time. Of course they know about Rya, you've mentioned that she's "heavy", but only after effusively praising her wits, work ethic, and sweetness. Yet despite pre-loading your relatives with the most flattering picture of your big girlfriend possible, you have to actively redirect yourself away from wargaming hypothetical snotty or awkward exchanges. It's a little easier to stay serene when you take your shift at the wheel, guiding Rya's SUV along the lonely black strip cutting through the blanketed countryside.
But of course, the road doesn't last forever, and before you know it, you're turning past a familiar manicured stand of pine trees, rolling past a playground smothered beneath a pristine coat of snow, and finally parking snug behind your folks' dull-red pickup truck. It's clogging your grandparents' driveway along with a sporty white coupe (single wine-aunt Gina) and a faded black sedan (Uncle Doug and Aunt Chrissy) - looks like a full house. Rya closes the map on her phone and you switch off the engine, then the two of you trudge briefly through the cold.
"Nice place," Rya comments, taking in your grandparents' craftsman-style two-story brick home.
"They're probably going to have us staying upstairs," you warn.
Rya replies, "I'll be fine, you worry too much," and gives you a reassuring squeeze.
Returning her squeeze, you give her rosy-cheeked face what you hope is a confident nod, then take a quick breath and ring the doorbell.
Not three seconds later, the door flies inward and you're blasted with a chorus of welcomes and dragged out of the cold. You briefly lose track of Rya as you pass around exchanging hugs and warm greetings. First is your balding beaming grandpa, then grandma: white-haired, stick-thin and radiantly happy. As always, they're just glad you made it, and you get something about looking "professional" or "grown-up". Your parents push over next, and your mom grabs you, patting your back and commenting, "Oh, you feel solid!" Dad then takes his turn, wrapping you up and saying, "Glad to hear the new city and job are working out for you. You'll have to tell us all about it!"
Megan, your sister, has just finished saying something to Rya, then releases her and looks your way. The two of you exchange lightning-fast surveys over each others' physiques, then you step forward to embrace her. "Hey, dork. How was Germany?"
She squeezes you back, then lets go, pats your shoulders and replies, "It was amazing! I actually can't wait to get back over there!"
The traded pleasantries have a tense undertone, because you noticed your normally gym-obsessed sister now sporting a slight but unmistakably chubby belly. And she knows you've noticed, though you don't stick the knife in. Yet. A procession of Amber-era memories blitz through your mind – myriad moments when your sister made fun of your increasing weight or your at-the-time dogged defense of your evil ex. The trip down memory lane is over in an instant, and as you lock eyes with your sister, you just know that Meg has experienced a similar rapid reminiscence.
"I'll bet!" You reply cheerily. "You've gotta have tons of stories. I'm all ears!"
"Hey! Hey! Sorry I got held up a bit, but hiiii!" Fashionably late as always, tall, raven-haired Aunt Gina strolls into the cozy foyer sporting a toothy grin and slightly-too-small Christmas-themed casualwear. Gina beelines for you, nearly crushing the air out of your lungs, then you introduce her to your large girlfriend. Your flamboyant aunt is a bit gentler with Rya, then she pulls back and exclaims, "Oh! You are just so adorable, and some sorta tech genius too I hear? Anon's a lucky guy!"
Rya blushes at the attention and praise, but does a good job of taking it in stride. With Gina's effusive approval, your patient Uncle Doug and Aunt Chrissy finally step forward to make their greetings. Doug is a little awkwardly-built and always haggard-looking, while Chrissy is an elegant modelesque redhead, clearly out of Doug's league. You've never properly understood their dynamic, but the two of them have been married for almost twenty years, and always look perfectly content together.
Greetings finally exchanged, the group diffuses deeper back into the house, generally drifting towards the living room and the kitchen. Perhaps sensing the inevitable, Megan dawdles in the foyer for a second, then follows your lead away from the group and into a cluttered, under-used study.
"Been eating good, I see!" you say smarmily, delivering a gentle poke to your sister's softened stomach.
She swats away your hand and hisses, "Hey, back off. How about you mind your own business?"
You stand firm and give her a defiant look, "Nah, I don't think so. You gave me so much shit when I was blowing up, I think I've earned at least one freebie fat-shame on you."
Megan's face assumes an odd blend of hurt, anger, and maybe sympathy? "Asshole," she hisses, then blinks a couple times and wills away some looming tears, then replies shakily, "You weren't just blowing up. Your ex was deliberately fattening you up, and she was hurting you."
You open your mouth to retaliate, but your sister presses, steadier now but still keeping her voice down, "I was worried about you! Everybody was. It was so obvious that you were unhappy and that she was why!"
"And so you relentlessly made fun of my weight," you finally cut in.
Meg stutters briefly, "I- I... I couldn't just stand by! I had to say...something! Anything!"
A long moment, both of you struggling for momentum, and your sister continues, "But I just didn't know what..." She then locks eyes with you, unblinking and lips pursed yet restless.
You try to blend digging in your heels with some gentleness, "So now you know why that approach wasn't clicking with me?"
She stares past you, a hand drifting to her tummy seemingly on its own. She chuckles ruefully and says, "I suppose so."
"Megan..." you sigh, then after a moment, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come out swinging like that."
"It's alright," your sister replies, now sporting a slight grin. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for all the nagging and shaming. You've definitely earned a free hit." The two of you share a laugh, then she adds, "Just the one though! Or I'll tell mom!"
Between restrained chuckles you retort, "Just one after everything? That doesn't seem fair."
Megan sticks out her tongue and smugly declares, "Because I'm your little sister, and you've gotta be nice to me."
You roll your eyes but laugh along. A breath later you return to the topic of the moment, "So... did you meet a feeder over there yourself, or...?"
Her face flashes with annoyance and she delivers a limp punch to your shoulder. "Ass," she hisses, fighting a laugh.
"But no. Self-inflicted. Entirely too much good food and booze over there." Your sister bemusedly pats her modest potbelly and adds, "My only hope is for spring so I can get outside and do something other than eat!"
"So I'm NOT going to ask why you can't work out now and instead ask you about the dining over there," you reply with a pointedly smug grin.
Megan fumes momentarily but smiles, wordlessly acknowledging your cleverly malicious compliance to your brand-new bargain. "Well, in brief, it's fucking amazing. The traditional and local stuff is great of course, but I'm a total sucker for doner kebab. Some of my German colleagues complain about all the kebab shops, but they'll gladly scarf the stuff down all the same."
"I don't know how any of them stay skinny!" She laughs. "Every meal is so rich, and extensive happy hours after work on most days! It'd be rude to say 'nein', you know!"
In moments, your mind's eye is awash in visions of schnitzels, sausage, pretzels, and the incongruous meat log of a good greasy doner. Your stomach rumbles. Maybe you should have had a more substantial lunch.
"Maybe Rya and I could make a little trans-oceanic trip..." You joke.
"You can get all that German stuff, and good doner, right here in the states," She theatrically sighs.
"Yes, and?" You airily retort, "It's not authentic," infusing the final word with a massively pretentious performative accent.
She sighs again, "You WOULD plan a big trip just for the sake of dining..."
"I missed you, Megan," you reply, deflating the goofy vibes.
"I missed you too, Anon. C'mere."
She wraps you up in a tender hug and pats your back. "Tell you what," she says as you break apart. "I'll offer an olive branch. You don't mention my weight, and I won't mention yours. In fact, I'll stick up for you if anybody else is shitty."
"Heh. Deal. And I'll cover for you too. But you know there's no such thing as kinship when it comes to Grandma's brookie bars."
Megan flashes a toothy grin, "What's wrong? Worried that I'll be more competitive this year?" She pats her barely-rounded midriff again in what must be a goofy attempt at intimidation.
Whatever banter you were going to lob back dissolves as you hear a gentle-yet-firm knocking coming from behind. You and Megan whirl around to behold Rya standing in the doorway and filling most of it. "Am I interrupting anything?
"Sibling business," Megan answers for you. "But we just wrapped up!"
"Come get some snacks! Your grandma made these amazing cake-ball things!" Rya says cheerily.
You say, "We'll be there in a sec."
Rya nods and waddles off, definitely sensing the situational undertone.
Turning back towards your sister, you bounce your eyebrows and joke, "Holiday calories don't count, right?"
Megan ignores your quip, instead saying, "I like her."
"Oh?" You reply, "But you just met."
"Mom and dad have been filling me in over the months," your sister explains.
"Even though Rya's big?"
"Anon, that's not important. What is important is that it sounds like she's great for you. Also," Megan adds, "She has a good vibe, and I can immediately tell that she adores you."
You look away and grin, hoping you're not blushing, "She's... Really something amazing. I'm really glad we crossed paths."
"Aww! See what I mean! Look how happy you are!"
"Damn, I'm all figured out," you complain jokingly.
Megan strides up and pats your shoulder, "C'mon, let's get some snacks. I don't think I care if the holiday calories count or not!"
Exiting the study alongside your sister, you quip, "All the better to stay warm through those European winters."
"Maybe I could get on board with your way of thinking," she jokes, then the two of you turn the corner towards the buzzing kitchen.
Aunt Gina is off to one side, nursing a glass of white wine and chatting with Uncle Doug and Aunt Chrissy, who also have something that looks boozy. The grandparents are cooperating in the kitchen, that is to say grandma's doing most of the work and grandpa occasionally hands her a tool or ingredient. Somehow Rya is the last thing you spot, settling in on paired dining chairs and facing down your parents. Dad's leaning in with a rapt look, and Mom's just returning to her seat as well.
"You're really too nice," Rya giggles at your mom. "You didn't need to get that extra chair for me. I can do stuff, you know!"
Your mom replies graciously, patting Rya's chubby forearm, "You're a guest, and you should be comfortable."
"Did I miss something?" you ask with a chuckle, trying to cut through the ambient noise.
"Just me taking up extra space as always," Rya replies with a grin. She nudges a plate of sweet-looking treats your way as you pull out a chair and sink down.
Your butt has barely touched the chair when your dad is pointing at you. "Beer?" he asks solicitously. Not even a beat after you've nodded and said "surprise me", he repeats his question at Megan, who's just set down next to you.
"Gimme some proper American macro-swill," your sister replies with a laugh. "Lots of it too, so I can really appreciate the good stuff over the pond!"
"You got it!" Your dad replies cheekily, then rises and slinks towards the fridge.
Rya nudges the plate of snacks again, and this time you help yourself to a golf-ball-sized wad of frosted and dense red velvet cake. Megan also takes one, immediately chomping it in half.
You take a bite too, savoring the heavy, rich sweetness that sticks to your tongue without being cloying. As you nibble at the cake ball, your dad returns, depositing a coozie-wrapped can of Doors in front of you and your sister. Megan immediately cracks into her can, you do likewise, and finally your parents resume their gentle inquisition of Rya.
"So you were saying that you're kind of a night owl?" Your mom asks.
Rya hesitates for a moment, swallowing to clear her mouth, "Yeah! Actually, it might be hard to believe, but I'm actually fully charged with only four hours or so of sleep a night."
Dad cuts in with a mock scoff, "Nahhh. Really?"
"Yeah, really!" Rya giggles, but holds firm. "Been tested and everything. Never caused any issues."
A sip of beer, and she continues, "The extra time has been great for my job."
Staving off a scoff of your own, you stuff the rest of the cake ball into your mouth. Though Rya does work hard, you could probably count the number of times she's put in more than forty hours a week. Late night is her game time, though you suppose that the extended leisure hours might help with stress management.
"Obsolete languages, huh..." Your extrovert dad thinks aloud. "What, like FORTRAN and COBOL?"
Rya swallows a bite of cake ball and answers, "Yes and yes! Though more of COBOL, since I tend to work on quote, business, projects rather than scientific projects."
Mom must've gotten bored, because she's started a side conversation with your sister. Questions about Germany, naturally.
Dad replies to Rya, "Wow. I didn't think anybody still used those languages."
"Dad, I had to learn a bit of FORTRAN for my job. A lot of our design programs actually use it under the hood," you cut in.
"Old tech has a way of sticking around," Rya backs you up.
Taking a moment to think, punctuated by a long sip of beer, your dad eventually asks, "So what's the weirdest project you've dealt with so far?"
Rya giggles, "Oh that's easy. It's the one that involved floppy disks."
A pause for effect.
"Five-and-a-quarters. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a drive for those these days?"
Dad laughs at the revelation, and starts regaling Rya with some of his own experiences with tech that was bleeding edge back in the day. You're not really feeling much of a fit in either Rya's or your sister's conversations, so you finish the rest of your beer and prepare to make yourself a bit useful. Patting Rya's soft shoulder, you say, "Hey, I'm gonna slip away for a sec and bring the luggage in."
"Ok. Do you need a hand?"
"Nah, I can probably get it in just one trip." Another shoulder pat for good measure, then you add, "I'll be back in no time."
Everybody else at the table watches you get up, and you proceed across the kitchen to your grandparents.
"Hey grandma," you say to the wiry old lady obsessively working on a pan of scalding roux. "You've got me and Rya in the usual upstairs room, right?"
"Yep," she replies, not looking up from the temperamental concoction in her saucepan. "Same room as usual. Hope it's still ok!" She laughs.
You laugh back, "It'll be perfectly fine. Just wanted to check before I filled it with our stuff."
Grandpa finally turns to speak, "Do you need help bringing your luggage up? If you need to change anything in the room, you just have to ask." He's practically tripping over himself to be gracious.
"Really, it'll be fine," you re-assure your elders. "Thanks as always, I'll be back in just a bit."
With that, you slip out of the bustling common area, dodging the gazes of your aunts and uncles, and step back into the dark, chilly evening. You move carefully, avoiding a driveway ice patch you noted on the way in, then open up the SUV and start removing luggage. You strap the duffel bags around your shoulders, setting your core and balancing the wobbly extra weight. Next you extract the pair of boxy roller-equipped bags and close up the car. Covered in luggage, and with another suitcase in each hand, you waddle your way back up to the house, moving easily despite the considerable added mass. You briefly set down one of the rollers to open the front door, slip through, then close it with your meaty hip and proceed up the stairs. The stairs finally extract some heavier yet measured breathing through your nose, and you're very relieved to settle the suitcases around the guest room.
The room is just as you remember it, very plain white-painted furnishings yet still having a certain air of calmness and comfort. Considering the bed for a moment – it's smaller than what you're used to, but still sized for two adults. It's not the dimensions that give you pause, though... But surely your grandparents knew there'd be two plus-sized people sleeping on it? You flex your shoulders and start back down to the buzzing kitchen, trusting that your elders assigned you a bed that can handle your fat ass plus your girlfriend's supersized ass.
The dining area is a whirl of activity when you saunter back in, as your grandparents are gathering the family before dishing out dinner. Rya and your parents are where you left them, along with your spot next to Rya, though Megan has shifted to be at the end of the long table left of Rya. Aunt Chrissy has taken Meg's spot and is gazing into the kitchen with restrained excitement. Uncle Doug is next down the line, putting him next to your grandfather's spot at the head of the table. On the other side, Aunt Gina has settled in next to your mom with a refilled glass of wine. The two women are immediately cutting up and joking, and next to Gina is a spot conspicuously reserved for your hard-working grandma.
And of course, piled up on the table between all your kin is another holiday feast, altogether not that different from the Thanksgiving meal prepped by Rya's family a month ago. Turkey and ham, a boatlike bowl of stuffing, another huge bowl of mashed potatoes flecked with bacon and herbs, a pile of roasted acorn squash plus a deep dish of softened butter, yet another wide pan overflowing with green bean casserole, and finally a veritable pyramid of fluffy dinner rolls. With the food steaming and situated, your grandparents finally take their seats, and after a moment to get comfortable, your grandpa takes the chance to briefly don the "family patriarch" mantle.
"I'm always glad to see when anybody can make it out here for the holidays, and this year was a good turnout! We have a new face this year, Rya – was it? - and I for one hope she'll be a regular."
Already slightly pink from the beer, Rya's cheeks darken a bit more and she grins pleasantly.
"And with that, let us give thanks..."
Grandpa leads the family through a quick pre-meal blessing, then he gives the word to dig in. As a cozy clatter of dishes and mobilized servingware erupts around you, Aunt Chrissy takes a moment to nudge you in the ribs. Normally on the standoffish side, the hungering grin she wears at the moment speaks volumes. "It's a good thing Santa's sleigh is already loaded," she quips. "Because I am about to get a bit naughty at this table!"
"There's nothing bad about enjoying a good meal with family," you reply evenly, spooning out a generous glob of mashed potatoes.
Aunt Chrissy grins back, and her mousy husband Doug affectionately squeezes her slim shoulder. "Just save some room for dessert, hun."
"Oh, there's always room for dessert," she replies, licking an errant blob of gravy from a dainty thumb.
Rya finds a moment in all the activity to pat your thigh and slyly get your attention, near-silently mouthing "What were you ever worried about?"
You don't get a chance to respond properly, instead digging into the holiday feast and immediately getting lost in the cascade of rich, savory comfort. Grandma takes pride in masterfully roasting the holiday turkeys, and this year is no exception, the meat being so rich and soft it barely needs gravy. Of course you still drench the meat and potatoes in the indulgently greasy stuff anyways. Being in the moderating presence of your family (and not egged on by your ex's too-kinky mindgames), you manage to not completely slide into a gluttonous haze, though the ham was such a perfect blend of salty and sweet you had to actively suppress an urge to grab directly from the serving platter.
As you start to finish your first plate, you do notice that you're unsurprisingly on the fastest pace, though perhaps not by much. Everything is just so good! You really want to cut loose, but you're painfully aware of the optics should you be the biggest eater at the table from the get-go. Trying to slyly stall a bit, you grab a nearby bottle of wine and offer to hand out some refills, getting several takers, though not including Gina this time. Moments later, you catch Aunt Chrissy spearing a new and very thick slice of turkey breast and transferring it to her plate. Megan forks a fresh cut of ham and asks Rya to pass the acorn squash, making sure to give you a conspiratorial wink. All around the table, everybody is grabbing seconds and is showing few signs of slowing down.
"What was I ever worried about?"
Rya gives you another sly thigh-pat when she spots you reloading your plate, and it takes all your restraint to not react when her hand creeps upwards and swiftly caresses your junk. Her teasing aside, the meal is thoroughly enjoyable, and you're having a great time reconnecting with your relatives. Focusing on conversations has the important secondary benefit of keeping you from losing yourself to your indulgent urges. Though your family seems to be feeling accepting this year, they aren't Rya's folks and you know better than to go full hog-mode around them. Rya seems to be eating with some self-consciousness as well, smoothly matching your pace, and you in turn softly benchmark against Aunt Chrissy's pace. For her part, Chrissy has unveiled a genuinely unexpected appetite; she could be keeping up with you and Rya for one of your date night binges.
Suddenly you're pulled from your too-self-aware rabbithole by Rya sliding a slice of acorn squash onto your plate with a grin. Somewhere in the cozy buzz you kept a rough track of your intake, probably around three plates' worth and right on par with Aunt Chrissy's cheat meal. As you dig into the cinnamon-sweet chunk of the squash you regard the other scant morsels cluttering your plate. The scattered remnants represent everything served, and you finally become aware of the warm swollen feeling in your belly – you're not as full as you could be, but you're full enough, and probably about as full as would be polite.
Grandma and your mom have abruptly vacated their seats, but in moments return with fresh serving dishes bearing pumpkin pie, ice cream, more cake balls, and of course the coveted brookie bars. Everybody around the table breaks out into noises of mingled anticipation and satiation, yet chunks of sweets immediately start going onto plates. Your sister conspicuously catches your eye then reaches for a notably large brookie bar, just as previously threatened. At your request, Rya brings the dish your way then you take two, staring down Megan.
Biting into the chunky treat, it's all you can do to keep from making sexual sounds. The thick, buttery-chocolatey base of the brookie gives way to a paving of white chocolate and peanut butter chunks, sturdy enough to crumble satisfyingly against your teeth yet soft enough to devour swiftly. A moment later you realize you'd closed your eyes, lost in savoring the amazing dessert.
Despite the vocal (halfhearted) protests and the distraction of small conversations, the stock of desserts erodes quickly under your family's assault, so you make a point of sampling at least a bit of everything else. You mow through four more cake balls, not having had much of a chance to sample them before dinner. It turns out they were a blend of red velvet, chocolate, and white cake interiors, and all of them promptly dissolve into warm happiness inside your tubby gut. There is a slight flash of disappointment when you realize that the pumpkin pie was store-bought; it is very good, admittedly, but you can't help but notice the subtle tang of artificial flavorings. God knows you're all too familiar with the flavor profiles of mass-produced junk food, but you inhale the pie in short order too, finally hitting that first twinge of overstuffed satisfaction.
You don't even remember eating your second brookie bar, but you suddenly find yourself staring down Megan across the serving platter. One chunk of the divine dessert is left, and the table is silent. All eyes are on you and your sister.
Megan takes the initiative, maybe creating an opening for you or maybe just genuinely cutting loose tonight. "Last brookie bar – anybody want it?" She asks solicitously.
A chorus of "no"s and groans from around the table, except for you.
"Split it?"
Megan doesn't answer right away, but Gina cuts in, "How about that old trick from when you were kids? Anon splits it, but Meg picks the halves."
Chuckles around the table, and this time you join in. "Sounds good to me."
Your sister nods as well and nudges the platter close. For the barest instant, you consider scarfing down the whole treat yourself. Good sense swiftly wins out, however, and you carefully set about splitting the chocolaty bar down the middle. The whole family seems to be watching with quiet amusement as you work, but you tune out their attention, instead noting individual crumbs and chocolate chunks that spall out of the growing rift. Once you've split the coveted treat, you snag those errant sugary bits, distributing them to even out the halves. Uncle Doug quips about every bit being too good to waste, and you finally pass your handiwork back towards Megan. She makes a show of surveying the two halves (they are very even to your eyes), and finally makes her choice with a theatrical flourish.
Knowing she still holds the table's attention, Megan nibbles at her dessert bar, and instead of passing the platter back to you, she looses a faux-evil cackle and reaches for your brookie chunk. Only after a wave of gasps and protests does Megan shift into a light giggle and declare, "just kidding" before passing back your dessert for real. You join in with the relieved chuckles and force yourself to savor the final bit of the brookie bar. By now, the bites land heavy atop the servings you've shoveled into yourself, and it's about all you can do to refrain from your customary post-meal belly rubs.
The feast finally concluded, everybody makes an attempt at some small talk, mostly to stave off having to bus the remaining dishes for a time. Obligation does eventually win out, and one by one your relatives all pile up their dirty dishes next to the sink then slowly migrate to the living room. You and Rya of course tag along, looking for the sturdiest spots on one of the older-than-you couches and gingerly settle in. The furniture seems to hold up, though your couch rather conspicuously is left with some open space. Grandma and grandpa are the last to arrive, shuffling over to paired armchairs and setting down together.
Wordlessly, Grandpa then raises the TV remote and powers on the set, an ancient CRT almost as stubborn and die-hard as he is. The picture slowly crackles to life then to clarity, then your grandfather flips over to one of the family channels, just in time to catch some of the early scenes of "It's a Wonderful Life". Your extended family settles in around the old classic, cozy and comfortable, exactly the same as every other time they're able to meet up. Rya takes the "ritual" in stride, easily grokking the situation and settling in with the classic seasonal schmaltz. Everybody is obviously taking the chance to just relax and digest after dinner, so it's easy for you to settle in too. All of you take turns picking at or joking about the periodic ad assaults disrupting the movie, but for all the moment's flaws, it's just plain nice.
The next two or so hours march by surprisingly quickly, and when the credits roll, a yawn spills out from you, and you're not the only one. Chrissy and Doug are the first back on their feet, retiring for the evening to their guest room. Your mom bows out shortly after, but only after extracting a hug from you and Rya. Aunt Gina and your dad are going back and forth over a barely-civil politics discussion, and your urge to leap in is only quashed when Rya pats your arm and quietly says "I'm tired".
Taking the hint, you haul yourself to your feet, Rya manages the same with surprising dexterity, then you gift a round of hugs to your dad and your relatives, then finally haul your fat self and your fatter girlfriend upstairs. Rya immediately beelines for the bed and begins cautiously settling herself on the protesting mattress as you stop to close the door. In the intervening moments, she's already unbuttoned her jeans, and with a grunt she unzips the fly, letting her bloated belly surge free. She groans with mingled exhaustion and contentment, rubbing her gut and soothing the reddish marks left by her too-tight waistband.
"Fuck, I've been dying to do that since dessert," she moans. "Figured your folks weren't ready for the full superfat experience though, so I behaved."
You chuckle, "I appreciate it, but you know it wasn't you they were worried about."
Rya gently presses into her blubbery flanks and looks up at you, "Anon, are you really still worried about what they think?"
"Nah. Just making a little banter," you reply easily, and even mean it yourself.
Rya just grins back at you as she continues to massage her stuffed belly. The day's exertions finally hit you too, so you undo your pants and feel your own bloated gut surge outward and sigh in relief. As you massage your swollen middle and wonder how you ever managed to fit all your flesh into those pants, Rya whispers, "Hey."
Glancing over, Rya's looking up at you with wide eyes and a sultry grin. She's already managed to get her shirt off, and is unhooking the night-black bra holding up her abundant tits. The moment after her delightful fat breasts flop free, she gropes at her side and produces a small leafy sprig. Dangling the small cluster over her head, you recognize the unmistakable shape of mistletoe, as if Rya's arch-mischievous expression wasn't hint enough. Trying not to laugh, you ask, "Where on Earth did you get that?"
Some annoyance leaking into her grin, Rya shoots back, "That's what you're worried about? Just call it Christmas magic, babe."
Momentarily at a loss for words, you just laugh again, and she beckons, "Your auntie said it herself, it's too late for Santa to change the list if we're naughty. C'mere, give me a kiss then help keep me warm tonight..."
Without another word, you step forward and wrap your arms around Rya's warm, soft chest and press your lips against hers. Her plump arms ensnare you and gently start dragging you down as her tongue caresses yours. Mindful of the old bed, you move slowly, cautiously setting first one leg onto the creaky mattress and then the other, then you finally let Rya engulf you in her soft, fleshy embrace. She fumbles with your shirt before you just peel it over your head, then shimmy out of your pants. You then haltingly help work Rya's pants down her chunky legs and toss them aside. Once the denim settles on the floor, you bow to an impish urge and tickle one of her socked feet. Rya bites her lip to suppress laughs and swats angrily but clumsily at your hands.
"Couldn't resist," you concede, then slowly sink back into her.
It takes only seconds of exploring her lips and rolls for your cock to be stiffly tenting your boxers and poking into Rya's plush thigh. You moan-exhale as she locks eyes with you and snakes a plump hand down between your soft bodies, teasing your cock through the thin fabric. In answer, your hand traces up a warm melon, down her chubby flank, then follows the fold where her belly meets her hip, slowly being swallowed by creamy blubber and feeling for the humid heat of her womanhood. A sharp breath tells you that you've found it, and you start tracing gentle circles with your middle fingers. Rya moans into the crook of your neck, her intoxicating corpulence ebbing and flowing as you steadily caress her desire hotter and hotter.
"Please," she begs in a whisper. "Go deeper..." You drag your fingers up the sodden spandex stretched over her mons, find the rim of her panties, then dive your fingers under, retracing your path along her dewy skin, finally sliding effortlessly into her slick slit. Well-acquainted with her luxuriously abundant folds, you easily slip your way to Rya's clit and resume your ministrations. You're rewarded with a slow breath of heavenly satisfaction, and a shift in her bulk as a leg pulls wide, granting you better access to her depths.
You know better than to change up something that's working, so you continue steady circular strokes of Rya's clit. She's doing her best to stay quiet, muffling her breaths and moans into your shoulder and pulling you tight enough to practically meld your chub. A telltale twitching and pulsing around your fingers as Rya reaches the point of no return, then you slide you fingers into her up to the knuckle and she buries her face into a pillow to keep her rapture from scandalizing the whole house. You continue stroking her slick walls, keeping Rya in heaven for a few seconds longer, but soon enough, all too soon, she grips at your wrist and you grant her a much-needed reprieve.
She gazes through the ceiling, plush chest rising and falling as she gradually finds her breath. You gingerly roll to the side to let her cool better, and you lick your intrepid fingers, savoring the clean mucid texture of her juices, tinged sweet by the day's indulgences. Leaning back, you chuckle into Rya's ear, "You taste good, like always."
She widens the grin on her rosy face, hums happily, then lays a plump arm across your chest. "Because you always touch me good," she whispers back.
Struggling a little, you lean over and plant a kiss on her cheek. Rya reciprocates, turning to line up with your mouth, and giggling while hungrily nipping at your lips and tongue. "Mmm, I do taste good. So are you ready to give me my real dessert?" she asks in a smoldering tone.
"Always ready for you, honeybun. Sure you got enough room left?" You tease.
"Anon," Rya coos, pointedly patting your overfull stomach. "You silly little piglet. How do you think I got so fucking fat?"
A hitch in your breath and a fresh pulse of need to your cock stymies whatever retort you might have had.
"Because I've always got room for more," she whispers. "Think dirty thoughts for me, baby. I want you to really fill my mouth with your cum."
"With you around, how can I think anything but dirty thoughts?"
She grins, licks her lips, and rolls over you in a semblance of delicacy. The mattress sags beneath the concentration of bulk, but holds, and Rya slides downwards, kissing your soft flesh first with her warm chub, then with her greedy lips. In seconds she's pinned your legs underneath her straddling thighs, hips, and blanketlike belly, and she crouches forward, gently grasping your cock through your boxers. The sheer amount of your view blocked by her voluminous bottom half is astonishing, and without any conscious action, "God, your ass looks so amazing and huge from this angle," slides out of your mouth. Rya replies by arching her back, looming her ass over the two of you like a pale mountain.
You're almost surprised when she pulls your boxers down and dives forward, sliding your throbbing cock into her slick, hot mouth. As her tongue and inner cheeks slip all over your shaft, you suppress a moan and writhe in place, the struggling mattress making noise on your behalf. Rya shoots you a glance as she takes more of you in, and despite the angle and her activity, you can tell she's grinning. A moment later though, your eyes cross as Rya really begins her work, gobbling you down to the base and quietly working her whole mouth and throat against you. Her lips tighten against your rod and she draws back, sucking and licking all the way but not releasing your head. She holds it firmly but gently with her lips and rhythmically strokes her hot tongue up and down, savoring the lines of your glans.
Then without warning she slides back down again, the stimulation causing you to reflexively clench a hand into the sheets. Your free hand finds its way to the back of Rya's head, enmeshing your fingers in her silky dark hair and gently encouraging her as she bobs up and down. You close your eyes and roll your head back, quickly getting swamped in the sensations of Rya's work. Up and down, up and down, up and down, slowly but steadily speeding up, your grip on Rya's hair steadily getting tighter and more desperate.
It's almost a surprise when the rapturous pulses you know so well thrum through your cock, narrowing your world down to the tower of need engulfed in Rya's mouth. A moment later, you cum. Your body twitches in time with your ropes and you grit your teeth and gasp through your nose as you float with exhilaration, Rya's gluttonous moans and audible gulps spurring you to give everything you have for her. And eventually you do. Your girlfriend's hospitable mouth is every bit as pleasant as before, but a clench in your junk says that you've properly drained yourself.
You detangle your fingers from Rya's hair and pat her head, signaling that you're satisfied. She lets your cock slide free with a quiet wet pop, then plants one last kiss on the tip. A streamer of cum mixed with drool leaks from the corner of her mouth as she looms over you and grins. She looks positively divine as you float in your endorphin haze, a primordial incarnation of femininity, abundance, and comfort.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The next thing you see is a messy pile of blankets, bathed in a wan light. You next resolve a cascade of dark hair and a chubby pale shoulder. It's morning already – Christmas morning!
You shake Rya awake, who murmurs grouchily until you remind her what day it is. Still groggily but immediately in better spirits, the two of you pull on some comfy clothes and shamble on downstairs, where your tireless mom and grandma have started some breakfast. Over a few minutes with coffee, toast, and eggs, the rest of your relatives filter in and eventually relocate to the living room and the tree.
As the youngest in the house, your sister Megan is as usual volun-told to be the designated gift distributor. The bounty under the tree is smallish, a rather far cry from the grand exchanges you remember from your childhood, but the shiny paper and cheery tags are heartwarming all the same. Most of the gifts are within the various marriages: your grandparents gifting each other fun and comfy house clothes, your mom and dad granting each other travel books in anticipation of a big anniversary trip, Uncle Doug gave Aunt Chrissy a fine necklace, and in return he got a fancy smart watch. Aunt Gina brought a fistful of gift cards for everybody, conscientiously matched for everybody's favorite restaurants, and paired with more general online shopping credits as a bonus. Gina definitely gave you a wink when you slyly discovered a Dunkin Donuts gift card hidden under some Amazon credit. Your and Rya's combined offering is much the same as Gina's, plus some cute personalized messages.
Megan's selection was the most unique: a collection of the most obviously kitch figurines and tchotchkes from her posting abroad. She was pretty loose about who could pick what, but she was insistent that you and Rya accept a particular piece. With a grin and rolled eyes, you unwrap a lovingly-crafted double figurine depicting a plump, pie-faced couple in lederhosen. The ceramic duplicates are just a touch too small for their clothes, showing a cheeky touch of tummy or cleavage, and the tiny figures embrace each other festively and are holding up comical tankards of foamy beer. It's right when you notice the glazed hair on each figure (blonde for the man and black for the lady) that Megan offers a slightly-abashed explanation. "I swear it's the hair that made me think of you two!"
When the giggles subside, you thank your sister and everybody else for their gifts, and the formality of the Christmas moment gives way to renewed relaxation. It's late morning, and everybody seems to self-organize into small chat groups. You bounce from conversation to conversation for about an hour when your stomach declares that it's now about lunch time. Breaking from the sitting room, you help your grandma set up a sort of homemade sandwich bar, with a selection of bread, toppings, condiments, and a bowl of leftover turkey meat from the night before. The group of your relatives migrates towards the food as you work, and soon, lunch is just kind of happening. You stack together a respectable pile of turkey breast with some lettuce, tomato, and provolone with a healthy wave of mayonnaise and mustard, then sit at the sturdy old table once more to eat. Socializing flows almost unbroken the whole time, and once your sandwich disappears, you put away a few handfuls of potato chips too.
As the morning flies into the early afternoon, you're chatting with Gina about some legal cases she's been involved in when you're accosted by a sudden gripping of your shoulder. The culprit is your dad, wearing workout clothes, a small grin, and an expectant expression.
Your mother immediately protests the implied request, "Alan, it's Christmas! You can afford to take a day off!"
It's all you can do to not roll your eyes as your father replies with a breezy yet dogged tone, "Well I don't want to take a day off. Besides, it'll only be a bit. Whaddya say about pumping some iron, son?"
As if you actually have a choice.
"Yeah, lemme get changed and I'll meet you in the basement in a sec," and you hope your irritation didn't worm into your reply.
You excuse yourself from the table, toss your paper plate, and trudge upstairs to look through your bags. Rya's sitting on the bed and thumbing through her phone, probably checking emails, and looks up at you with confusion. "Something up?"
"Yeah, my dad's being a pain in the ass and wants to work out with me."
"But it's Christmas!"
"That's what my mom said, yet here we are," you chuckle derisively and tug some mesh shorts free of a tangle in your duffel.
Dropping your fuzzy pants, you kick out of them and add, "We all know what this is about," briefly gripping your plump belly with both hands.
Rya watches quietly but does say, "Anon, you're a grown-ass man. You can say no if you want."
"I want to make a point," you spit while hiking the mesh shorts into place. "Old man thinks I've gone soft, but apparently he missed all those phone calls where I gloated about increasing my PRs."
You smack your ass hard, jiggling the superficial pudge but easily thumping into the sturdy meat beneath. "Sure, I've put on a lot of weight. I'm fat. But I'm not just fat. And maybe squatting a small car will finally get that through his head."
Rya sets a soft, warm hand on your forearm, cooling your mounting temper. "Anon, I know better than to try and talk you out of this. But just be careful, ok?"
Inhale. Slow exhale, and you set your hand atop Rya's. "I'll be ok, but thank you. I'll also keep it short. Also I don't think I could actually squat a car, even a small one..."
Her expression is difficult to parse as she simply replies, "Ok."
With that, you emerge from the bedroom and pull on some shoes, then whirl your way into the basement, waving off surprised expressions from your relatives. Moments later, you've tromped down the stairs and arrived in the rougher, unfinished part of the basement. Your grandfather years ago set up an old-school but well-equipped home gym in the space, and you probably owe a good chunk of your beefiness to summer afternoons spent sweating down here.
Your dad is dicking around on his smartphone when you arrive.
"So what'd you have in mind?" Snaps him out of his reverie.
Quick stretches, some perfunctory calisthenics to get the blood moving, then you're on to the rugged old weight bench and the battery of dumbbells. Dad blows through a round of ten reps with a 30-pound weight, then offers you the iron. You wave him off, going instead for a 50. It takes some focus, but you keep a steady pace and breeze through a set with one arm, then the next. Then you swap places and eventually work through a full trio of sets, trying to ignore your dad watching you like a hawk. After the curls, your arms are pleasingly warm and tight, and you feel invigorated.
"Not bad," your dad offers in a tone that's somehow simultaneously appreciative and patronizing.
"Squats," you reply, with a nod in return.
Dad again takes the lead, directing you to mirror his plate selections, all told totaling 250 pounds if you tallied it correctly. The squat rack made you nervous as a gangly teen, since it lacks any modern convenience like a safety bar. The last few years you've approached the scaffold with considerably more confidence, however. Your dad takes his place underneath his burden, getting his shoulders all lined up, and you dutifully take your place close behind to spot. The bar comes up, dad crouches down, and then rises. Nine more times, then he settles the bar on the crosspieces and finally seems to take a breath.
"Want to finish out your set, or do you want me to swap in?" You ask.
"Go ahead and (phew) go in."
"Make it 500," you order evenly.
"You sure?" is your old man's reply, after another deep breath. "I... don't know if I can really spot that much."
"I'll be fine," you retort while aligning a massive padded weight belt, basically the only piece of kit that's actually up-to-date. You tightly cinch the heavy band around your gut, relishing the feeling of stability and steadying yourself for your daring flex.
The extra plates go on with no further words, and you take your place beneath the slightly-sagging bar and grip the knurled steel.
A breath. Double-checking your stance. Adjustment. Another breath. And then you lift, the bar sinking into your meaty shoulders, and you step away from the rack.
Your legs and core immediately tighten and warm, then you inhale through gritted teeth and carefully sink. Beneath your chub, your legs and core transmute to iron, and fire flashes through your veins. Your breath exits as a growl, and you steadily return upright, minding your knees. Then you do it again. And again, for a full set of ten. Upon your final rise, you're definitely feeling close to your limit and gladly accept your dad's help in docking the bar on the rack. A satisfied grunt, a deep inhale, and an exhalation that seems to drain the all the tight fire from your body, leaving only endorphins.
You pull off the belt and take measured breaths, letting your body recover, and your dad finally chimes in. "Damn, son. Good job. I thought you were bluffing."
"(pant) Heh, maybe a little, but I did tell you I'd kept working out. Plus, basically every day is leg day for me."
That gets a small chuckle. "I know you've been doing good, but I guess your old man just had to be sure."
A mix of emotions bubbles up amidst your post-exertion glow. Annoyance that your word wasn't good enough. Appreciation of being looked out for. And unexpectedly and unmistakably, pride. Not just in this moment of athletic triumph, but just in general. Pride in the general arc of your life, and yes, even your upsized body. All of this passes in the barest moment.
"Thanks, dad. I guess life's just too long to be the same person for all of it, heh."
Somewhat less convinced this time your dad replies, "I suppose so? Hey, we'll keep this short today. Call it good after a set of bench press?"
"Sounds good. Just so you know, I will be getting another sandwich afterwards though!"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You do in fact enjoy a second lunch on that Christmas day, and even manage to laugh about it a little. The rest of the day and the remainder of your visit is thankfully slow-paced and cozy, the perfect chance to catch up with your relatives and make some fresh memories. Rya clearly fits right in, just as Megan said she would just the day before. The manifest wholesomeness of your relationship can't help but further win over your extended family, and by the final dinner with all of you together, grandma even felt comfortable enough to joke about making extra desserts for the sake of you, Rya, and your sister. The three of you jointly felt it'd only be fair to hold your elder to her offer, though of course it was a little early to immediately be making plans for the next year's holidays. The end of the visit came sooner than you'd like, and once the teary good-byes and hugs had been exchanged, you were again rolling through the frigid countryside, the world still blanketed in white. During the long quiet stretches at the wheel of Rya's SUV, you have plenty of time to think, and you make a perhaps forced, but pleasing connection. You're definitely starting to dig life in the fat lane, and having Rya as your ride-or-die co-pilot certainly makes it even easier. Thinking back to the day when you finally walked out on Amber, you never could have predicted your life would have gone the happy way it has, but you couldn't imagine changing a thing.