Reward Story: Dorothea's Blooming Maternity

Here is our first reward story, a 4k long fic first person self-insert fic featuring Dorothea from FE:3H becoming your massive blob of a housewife throughout her first pregnancy! This one is actually very light on slob, but heavy on the weight gain!

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You watch from behind the velvet stage curtain as your fiance sings her final note. The opera house bursts into uproarious applause that lasts for nearly a minute on end. Dorothea, clad in a form-hugging crimson gown, sways her sumptuous hourglass figure over to you. Her immaculately coiffed chestnut hair falls in curving ringlets over her shoulders and down her back, glimmering in the soft, magically created overhead lighting. You smile warmly at your wife-to-be, congratulating her on yet another stellar performance. As the curtain hides her perfect, plum-shaped bottom from the crowd, she leans in and presses her soft, full lips against yours. Her breath is sweet, and you can feel heat radiating from her cheeks. As the long kiss ends, you whisper that it's time you go out and celebrate.

“First, why don't you join me in my dressing room?” Dorothea asks confidently, batting her long, dark eyelashes and matching your gaze with her brilliant emerald eyes. The Mystical Songstress takes you by the hand and leads you gently to her room, locking the door behind her. Her dressing room smells of wine and fine perfume. “Why don't we spend a little time winding down, first?” she purrs, pulling off her dress and showing off her flawless, pale curves in her tight undergarments. You unlace her corset and free her ample breasts, running your hands across their pleasantly smooth and yielding surface. You gently play with your lover's soft nipples, prompting a gasp of pleasure. “Oooh~“ she sings under her breath as your other hand travels down her hip and caresses the side of her ripe-looking buttock before you help her out of her crimson lace panties.

Dorothea turns to help you undress, and in a moment you're kissing sensuously on the comfortable, high-backed couch of her dressing room. “Mmm...Mmmfff~” she hums in pleasure, running her hand down your belly and stroking between your legs. You push yourself against her with a gentle thrust, entering between her spread thighs. You begin thrusting your hips, enjoying the sensation of her damp womanhood kissing your shaft on all sides. You kiss again as you cup her left breast, pumping your hips faster and faster. “More, darling, just keep going~” Dorothea urges, her bosom and hips jiggling from the soft impacts you're sending through her body. Moments blur together, culminating in an electric release. Dorothea's fingernails drag across your back as her hands clench in pleasure. You both pause, catching your breath. Sweat rolls down both of your bodies.

“Just lay with me a little, sweetheart. Then, we'll go have our dinner,” she promises, putting her weight atop you and guiding your head onto the expansive sofa's arm pillow. Her naked body weighs against yours, not uncomfortably heavy, but substantial.

---

You slide another four scrambled eggs in next to the pile of bacon and sausage your newlywed wife is eagerly forking down. “Thank you, honey!” Dorothea chirps between bites, licking a bit of grease off her rosy lips. “It must be the baby, I'm just so famished all the time!” She drives her fork into the buttery pile of eggs and scoops up a heap into her mouth, humming with pleasured approval. She is wearing nothing but a just-barely-translucent crimson lace nightgown, and you can plainly see the plump curves of her nipples pressing against the sheer fabric. The garment clings to her body; her already voluptuous figure has softened by at least 50 pounds. The bottom of the nightshift barely reaches the halfway point of her thighs, leaving an expanse of soft, squeezable flesh bulging against each other and the edges of the chair. You can see the full, shapely curves of her rounded rear pressing firmly against the back of the seat, begging for more room.

Dorothea puts a hand to her lips and lets out a brief, quiet belch. “I need to get to the opera house for practice, we're changing the repertoire today!”

You pour your wife some juice and ask her how long she plans to perform while she's carrying the baby.

“How will I fill all my time if I'm not practicing and performing?” she asks, smiling at you a little. “And don't say what I think you're going to say. Even my stamina has limits.” Winking at you and giggling, she sets her fork down.

You smile back and promise you'll both find diversions as you prepare for the baby. You slink around her and bring your hands against her shoulders, gently massaging them while admiring the newfound plump jut your wife's chest had taken on since she'd started gaining her pregnancy weight.

Dorothea relaxes in your gentle grip, the tension in her shoulders melting away. You bring one hand around her body and take up her fork, spearing some bacon and bringing it to her lips. “I'm full,” Dorothea teases, taking a bite nonetheless. “But...the baby isn't...” she teases, opening her mouth for more. You continue to feed her until her plate is clear, finishing her third course of the morning.

“Ooh~” Dorothea sighs, stretching and drawing her already tight nightgown further up her body, highlighting her soft, roll-creased belly. “I need to get dressed. Care to help? I'm all sluggish, now...” She rises and plants a long kiss on your lips that tastes of cooking oil and her sweet breath. You follow her thickened, intensely jiggling thighs and rocking behind into your bedroom, where she peels off her nightgown reveals her full figure in all its abundantly plump beauty. The attractive cast of her face has begun to soften at the side profile as hints of a double chin have begun to form. Beneath her belly, her sex has begun to grow plump and puffy at its upper reaches, expanding the sensual area covered by a small patch of her vibrant chestnut hair. You can't help yourself; you press your body against her and pull her into another long, intense kiss, your fingertips savoring the generous heft and softness of her hips. You squeeze one overripe buttock, lifting and dropping its new heft.

“Not now,” Dorothea gasps, pressing her erect nipples into your chest. “I'll be late...”

Reluctantly, you release her and watch as your wife squeezes her thick, jiggly thighs into black, rose-patterned stockings meant for a much slimmer woman. The rose patterns bloom with pale, soft flesh. She pulls on a set of ill-fitting crimson underwear next, its sides digging into the plushness beneath her love handles. She pulls on a bra, hiking her milk-engorged breasts upward with great effort as the garment squeezes them together. “Do the clasp for me, hun?” Dorothea asks, turning around and presenting her soft back to you. You notice the slightest etchings in her skin that suggest rolls are beginning to bloom. As you clasp the bra, extra flab blooms over the edges of the straps. You remark that you're taking her to a tailor after her practice and buying her whatever she likes, including a few larger garments in expectation for her pregnancy.

“Thinking ahead, are we?” Dorothea teases, pushing her shoulders together and making her breasts bulge in her bra, nearly bursting the garment clean off her body. A hand goes to her soft belly. “I guess there will be more of me to love, soon. Now...help me into my dress; you're right, it's a challenge to squeeze into these days!”

---

From backstage, you marvel at your wife and how she’s changed over the course of 3 short months carrying a child. Indulging her cravings more and more by the day, you watched as your wife doubled her weight from her first month of pregnancy, growing well past 350 pounds. Now, she's become the very picture of a well-fatted opera Soprano. Her seductively cut but not undersized crimson gown pours over the rolling hills of her figure, showcasing the hefty twin hills of her bosom, her prominent, just slightly off-round belly, and the dizzying swell of her hips and expansively widened buttocks. Dorothea was widest just below her belt line, with outer thighs that could easily brush either side of a typical doorway. Her bare arms had grown soft, stocky, and squeezable, while her face had softened and swelled at the cheeks to recast her once-angular cheekbones. Her skin and long hair glowed with vibrant health from her pregnancy, and you can see beads of sweat sliding down her face and into the inscrutable depths of her heaving cleavage as she sings note after perfect note. You detect the slightest husky edge to her voice that wasn't there before, and her breaths between sung words are deeper, greedier, and more needy. She exhales to hit a high pitch, her bosom surging against her dress and looking for a moment as if it will simply burst her dress apart through overwhelming pressure.

Her performance finishes to explosive applause. She steps forward, breathing heavily and holds up her hand. “Thank you. You know each and every performance with the Mittelfrank Opera Company is an honor and privilege. However, I must announce that this will be my final show for some time; after much thought, I have decided I am retiring from the stage in preparation for the arrival of my first child.” With some effort, she bows, barely creating an angle in her back before fat rolls formed around her waist to pinch at her dress fabric. Another explosive round of applause and cheers washes over her as she turns and sways her way back to join you.

You congratulate her as she holds out her plump arms and pulls you into her embrace, smothering you in her heaving, warm plushness. You wipe a tear running down her plush cheek away with all gentleness, and ask if this is really what she wants. Her brilliant emerald eyes meet yours, and she nods slowly.

“I'm not crying because I'm sad...well...” Dorothea brushes her hair out of her face. “I am sad, but I've never been happier, too. I've spent so long chasing approval, trying to appease my audience, appease the nobility...people who have only ever cared about how I can entertain them. You really don't care about how well I can sing, or how famous I am...you just want to be with me. I love you. So, so dearly.” Another set of tears falls from her eyes. “Sorry, I know this isn't like me, I'm just so overwhelmed...”

You pull your wife into a loving embrace and hold her, letting her sob into your shoulder and squeeze herself against you. Her quiet sobbing turns into a pleased giggle. “We're going to be seeing a lot more of each other now. You've got me all to yourself~“

You stroke Dorothea's beautiful, silky hair, and ask her what she'd like to do now. “I'd like some help squeezing out of this dress!” she jokes, patting her generous belly. If she hadn't put on about 250 pounds, you might have been able to see the gentle swell of her pregnancy at this point. “Then...the baby's hungry. I'm hungry.”

You suggest a tour of all the finest restaurants in Enbarr and watch your wife's eyes light up.

“You always know exactly how to delight me, you know that?” Dorothea laughs, rubbing her eyes. “Oh, I can't start with the waterworks again...come on, let's go to my dressing room.” She takes you by the hand and leads you offstage for the final time in her career.

---

“Honey, are you home?” Dorothea calls from your bedroom. “I was starting to worry...I finished dinner, but I think I might pass out if I don't get something to nibble on again soon!” she urges. You hurry into the room with four baskets loaded with fine pastries on each arm, and two more in your hands. Large folding tables flank your upsized bed, laden with empty plates.

“Oooh, I can already smell them~“ Dorothea half-moans, pushing her hair away from her eyes and stroking the upper fold of her gelatinous gut. In the preceding eight weeks, you watched as your wife's appetites became ravenous, then utterly insatiable; she rarely spent a moment without food in her hands, and even started begging for sweets during your lovemaking. She grew from simply fat to the largest woman you've ever seen in your life by a wide margin. You watched as belly swelled and drooped even as its middle reaches bulged with gravidity, her breasts engorged, her hips blossomed to the point where double doors were a requirement, and her rear became a pair of gelatinously bulging hillocks one could rest a tea saucer upon and not spill a drop. As her weight rocketed past 750 pounds, her footfalls became heavy and laborious, and lately she's started requiring your help to get out of bed. 

The striking, angular cast of Dorothea's face has been utterly remade by her excess avoirdupois. A thick layer of extra blubber fills in her neck, her chin little more than a kissable dimple at her jawline. Her arms look burdened to the point of ungainliness, and her thighs have grown enormous enough to dominate your double-sized couple's bed. “Honey, feed me. I'm tired...” Locking eyes with you, she raises her arms to stretch, letting their bulk shift with gravity while giving you a blatant look at the swollen, lightly vein-shot, jiggling casks of her breasts. Her white nightgown clings diaphanously to her swollen, puffy nipples and areolas, whose rosy-plum coloration filters through the thin barrier of cloth covering it.

You oblige, stripping your clothes down to your undergarments and setting your sweets onto the tables next to your wife. You pluck a cream puff from the basket and bring it to her eager lips, letting her slurp and lick at your fingers after she's done. “More~” she begs, running her plump fingers down your back encouragingly. You pick up her feeding pace, taking a sweet bun and slice of double fudge cake in either hand and letting her take rapid, alternating bites. She brings her palm to her lips and releases a little belch, batting her long eyelashes at you before opening wide once more.

“I think I'm getting my energy back,” Dorothea teases, stroking the puddinglike hill of thigh flesh she's built up. “I can eat while you enjoy yourself...I want to watch you melt into me~” she whispers, biting her lower lip and spurring you to shift down her body. Your senses are overwhelmed by the scent of her perfume as you lift and gently lift and push back her excess belly flesh, careful not to put any undue pressure on the firmer curve of her mid-abdomen. Her sex has become a gelatinous hill of its own right, quaking softly from your touch with its fuzzy coat of chestnut hair.

You kiss your wife on her other pair of lips, taking in the sweet taste of her before playing with her with your tongue. You can hear her moaning with her mouth full as she begins to take huge, chomping mouthfuls of bites from the pastries you've brought her. Cream runs down her chins as you enter her, thrusting your hips and sending gelatinous waves through the ex-singer's heavy, soft body. Everything quivers from her legs to her chin, and your eyes can't pick a place to settle on until you find yourself gazing into Dorothea's eyes.

“That's it~” she gasps, licking her fingers as you pick up the pace, luxuriating in her soft, tight, damp warmth. You release soon after as your wife shudders with pleasure. Slowly exiting her, you cuddle up next to her and pull your arm around her soft, roll-creased neck, planting your lips on her cheek as she continues to eat.

---

You watch as the four large draft horses you've purchased set themselves in motion, their powerful forms pulling along the custom-made metal chassis of the carriage you'd commissioned. As your driver turns onto the streets of Enbarr, Dorothea lets out a contented sigh from her cushioned seat next to you.“It's wonderful to get some air; this is the best birthday gift I've ever gotten, darling!” You lean in and accept a loving kiss from your wife, your body sinking generously into her more than 1,200 pounds of body weight.Her breath tastes of cocoa from the large goblet of drinking warm chocolate and cream she’s been guzzling.

 A simple but well-tailored sleeveless crimson gown is draped over Dorothea's ample form, its sheetlike capacity drawn tight around her thighs and chest. You can tell the custom brassiere she ordered just a week ago is already growing tight on her; her breasts, each the dimensions of a kilderkin cask, are looking compressed into a sweaty cleavage valley you could hide your entire forearm within.

Even as enormous as she's grown eight months into her pregnancy, you can still see the slightest hint of curving firmness above your wife's truly expansive hip line, the hints of her gravidity surging forward against the significant apron of downward flowing blubber that now makes up her waistline. You've found yourself falling in love with your wife's smile all over again as her face continues to widen and grow engorged with fat. Reshaped but far from being unrecognizable because of her brilliant hair and eyes, you find yourself gazing at her as her significant extra chin blubber wobbles with each miniscule bump in the road.

Around you, you can see the citizens of Enbarr stopping to stare at the ex-songstress. The general bustle of the capital city of the Adrestian Empire seems to hush as you pass as merchants, travelers, guards, and laborers alike stop to catch a glimpse of Dorothea's expansive femininity wobbling about in your double-wide, six-wheeled carriage. “Where should we stop to eat first?” Dorothea asks, gently squeezing your hand to let you know how quickly the fullness from the queenly breakfast you'd spent hours preparing for her was subsiding.

You suggest the marketplace, and Dorothea smiles in agreement. “Ooh, we can have a little of everything from all of the vendors there!” she exclaims, licking her damp, rosy lips in anticipation, one hand resting protectively on the crown of her pregnant belly.

Merchants are quick to catch on, and before you know it you are surrounded by people offering the finest cuts of fried meat, freshly served fish, and still-warm sweets from every angle. You hurry to hand out gold, which you have in no short supply thanks to your own efforts as well as Dorothea's old performance rates before the city's nobility. Meanwhile, Dorthea plucks a serving here and there, sampling and cooing with pleasure. You spend over an hour watching your wife accept meal after meal as the stalls' stocks of prepared foodstuffs dwindled.

Letting out a cute “-Hurph!-” of a belch and fanning in front of her face with no shortage of flabby movement from her limb,, Dorothea smiles at you. “Why don't we go to a proper sit down restaurant now? Before the lunch crowds file in everywhere!”

Kissing your wife in assent, you tell your driver to move deeper into the city. The carriage starts up again, sending a heaving jump through the great expanse of your wife's thighs and her closely-constrained breasts.

You return to your home after nightfall. Dorothea leans her head against you groggily, finally glutted from a full day of nonstop gluttony. You stroke your beloved's hair and relish the look of satisfied contentment on her face. She guides your hand onto the lower apex of her gut and you feel the stirrings of your child within her. “I feel so...complete...” Dorothea sighs, gazing up at the stars with a pleasured calm. “Tonight, I just want to hold you,” the songstress insists, nuzzling your neck. “But you know, honey...” she whispers. “I think you've been spoiling me a little.”

---

You gingerly set your 3 month old daughter down in her crib and cover her with her blanket. Dorothea watches from her bed, one hand pressing into the ripe melon of her cheek fat in admiration of your parenting. You've eschewed a bed of your own, opting to fill your bedroom with large cushions across the entire floor to accommodate your wife's ever-expanding size; weighing in at over a ton, you wouldn't have been able to squeeze in next to her on even the largest of commissioned furniture.

With her other hand, she reaches to the side and guzzles from a heaping bowl of heavy cream mixed with liquified sugar and strawberry juice. Each of her breasts have become heaping bags of milky fat that rest heavily atop a profound hill of midriff blubber. Rolls thick enough to hide a dagger in indent her flabby back and flanks, and her love handles form drooping caverns all their own. Your wife's lightly cellulite-speckled rear rises up behind her, crushing a different set of cushions than her thighs or belly. Her superlatively massive hips span almost half the width of the medium-sized room, and you're sure that with time you'll be forced to renovate the entire wall away to give your wife access to the rest of her home and outdoors. Dorothea's ankles and wrists are swallowed by wheels of excess flesh, her digits puffy and ungainly. Her entire body is pudding-soft, but has piled up atop itself so much that it appears to have a certain firm density to it. Pale stretch marks indicate the thousands of places her skin has stretched to accommodate the countless meals she'd consumed through her pregnancy.

“I love the way you look at me,” Dorothea purrs, inhaling deeply to catch her breath from speaking. Viewed at once, her figure seems to be losing its feminine shape in favor of something more abstracted, like she is gradually transforming into a unique, fleshy landscape that defies what you'd consider human curves. “If you've always liked me big, you should have told me once we started seeing each other! Maybe I would have started indulging sooner...I was smitten with you from the start, you know that?” she giggles as she lifts a heavy, trembling arm and brushes her hair back from her sweaty forehead. “Come here,” she beckons, one thick, flab-swollen finger curling away from you.

You oblige, pressing yourself into your wife's thousands of pounds of naked femininity. You relish her warmth, and how her body receives yours no matter where you put pressure. “I love everything about us. I love holding our daughter, I love feeding her and rocking her to sleep...I want more,” she blurts, smiling with eager embarrassment at you. “I mean, Wouldn't it be nice to have a big family? When they start to grow up, the house will be filled with life and joy, and I can teach all of them to sing...” Dorothea's beautiful eyes are distant and rapturous. An obvious blush spreads across her cheeks. “I loved carrying her. I loved having your baby growing inside me,” she admits, leaning forward for a sweet-tasting kiss. “And I think I want to start soon....I...I want to start now.”

With a kiss, you promise to oblige her, guiding her massive body onto her back so that she can part her massive roll-creased legs. You tease the plump mountain of her sex, running your fingertips down its generous, eagerly damp surface area. Dorothea tries to help you, pulling her belly blubber up and back as you lift its lower bulk. You are utterly swallowed by her nethers, and it takes some effort to get into a motion your wife registers as pleasurable. Once you've found it, however, you fall back quickly into pleasant instinct.

When the deed is done, you find yourself cradled between your wife's enormous breasts, breaking a sweat from her overwhelmingly soft body heat. You feel sleep approaching, and begin to doze off to the sound of your wife whisper-humming a lullaby for you and your daughter.