It’s date night, and we go out for an early dinner to one of our favorite spots, a casual local place with decent food for decent prices. As usual, you pick out an appetizer, finish your entree and mine too, and we skip dessert in favor of driving through somewhere on the way home to get you a sugary drink you can dip on for the rest of the evening.

When we get home, I watch you as you get out of the car and head inside. By the way you are moving, I can tell you are full, but I know you’re not at capacity. A little later, you’ll probably let me feed you more while we cuddle and watch a movie. In anticipation of this, I stopped by the store earlier and grabbed a carton of ice cream and a few things to assemble a basic charcuterie board for us to share.

I head to the bedroom to change into something more comfortable. You follow me there and open my dresser drawer, pulling out the filmy nighty that opens in the front that you like me to wear. You toss it my way and tell me, “Put it on.”

Realizing the night may be heading a different direction than movie cuddles and snacks, I wiggle into it and then bring out a shirt I picked up for just such an occasion. It’s at least a couple sizes too small for you, and you struggle mightily to button it across your fat belly as I watch with bated breath, knowing you’re playing up the struggle a little for me. Finally, it’s buttoned. It gapes open between the buttons, your flesh showing through the creaking fabric.

With a smug grin, you plop down on the bed, and a button goes flying. My breath hitches, and I watch you push out your stomach, trying for a second button. You lean forward a bit, and the second button gives way, your belly surging out of the now much larger opening in the shirt. You look at me for approval, and your gaze draws me like a magnet. I straddle your lap, carelessly ripping the shirt open the rest of the way, the remaining buttons scattering. The shirt has served its purpose.

Our lips crash together. I push on your shoulders until you lay back on the bed, pulling me over with you. Your hands settle on my hips, pulling me closer to your body. I start to slowly grind against you, feeling you harden against me. 

“What do we have for dessert, baby girl?” I hear you ask through the fog of desire clouding my brain.

“I got you some ice cream,” I reply.

“Perfect,” you say.

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