40 for 40, Chapter 3: Treasure

Chapter 3 of 15 of my new weight gain/stuck story, 40 for 40. 

CHAPTER 3: TREASURE

Marion dressed in her most comfortable, elastic waist, jersey trousers and crop top, her house clothes as she’d never bare her fleshy midriff in public. Roger had taken the kids to the playground so she could clean. Roger was great with kids, cooking, dishes and laundry, but Marion’s definition of tidy was way more strict. She was the one who packed the suitcases for holidays or the car for road trips. She was the Tetris champion. 

So on the odd weekend, she’d kick everyone out of the house for the day so she could find a place for everything and put everything in its place. 

As she cleaned, she ran over the plan in her head. It made Marion nervous. She wasn’t 100% sure she could go through with it. It scared her, but in an oddly exciting way, like a roller coaster.

Dusting the dressers, Marion noticed her jewelry box, open, ransacked, “damn pirates.”

The kids had taken to burying treasure. Sometimes it was snacks, sometimes Marion or Roger’s phones, at worst, their car keys. 

Thankfully, the oldest pirate being only six, they were still very predictable in where they buried their treasure. Nine times out of ten it was in their pirate ship.

Their pirate ship was actually a playhouse built by Roger’s grandfather’s for his father. Over 75 years old, it was bigger than the kids’ beds, it was enormous, wooden, and took up the majority of the playroom. When Marion and Roger first talked about having kids, Roger had warned her that there was this family heirloom that they would have to make room for and he wasn’t kidding. Bolted to the floor and the wall, it was as if their house had been built around it. The only saving grace was that Roger’s grandfather had constructed the pirate ship so it could be transformed. When the kids get too old for it, it could be turned into a tiki bar, complete with lighted fish tanks. Before Marion and Roger had had kids, the pirate ship was set up in bar mode in Roger’s parents’ basement. Marion enjoyed drinking more than Roger, she looked forward to turning the playroom into a tiki lounge. 

There were four ways into the ship, 3 open portholes on the side and a trap door on the deck. Marion found none of the openings big enough. 

Marion poked her head into the porthole and immediately spotted the treasure in the far corner. She puller her head back out and started hands and arm first through the porthole. The old wood was worn and smooth. Her upper arms and her head passed through the hole at the same time, the fat on her arms squeaked against the wood. Her old cotton crop helped reduce the friction as she twisted and turned and pushed her boobs through. Getting her belly held her up momentarily and took considerably more pushing to force through. Once the majority of her weight was inside the ship gravity did the rest and she flopped onto the floor and slid her legs through. She laid there catching her breath, her hand on her heaving belly, “damn pirates.”

Inside the ship there was only enough room for an adult to sit hunched over, or move around on her hands and knees. She went through the treasure placing it up and out the trap door and onto the deck to collect when she got out: her jewelry, the remote to the stereo, and surprisingly, the three kids’ Christmas stockings! She thought they’d been packed away with the decorations weeks ago but here they were, and still full of candy! Having noticed no sticky handed evidence of the kids sneaking sweets, they must have buried them and then forgotten about them! “Finders keepers!” Marion sat back against he hull of the ship and rifled through the old candy. She ignored the cheap sugar sweets and went straight for the chocolates. She’d felt like she’d overdone things from Thanksgiving to Christmas. To save herself having to buy a whole new wardrobe, again, she unofficially banned chocolate after New Years. She’d needed a break to save her what was left of her waistline. 

But here, alone in the house, alone in the ship, finding chocolate was better than finding gold. Even though she’d been the one to ban it, she felt such relief in being reunited, as if everyone else had been keeping it from her. She lost track of time sitting there in the ship, methodically working her way through three giant chocolate Santas and a dozen chocolate snowmen. She felt stuffed, but immensely satisfied. She double checked the stockings to be sure she hadn’t missed anything good. She could toss the gross sweets into the kids’ lunch boxes, pack away the stockings and they’d never know the difference, “the perfect crime” she laughed to herself as she rubbed her belly.

The roundness and fullness of her belly brought back to mind her plan. 

Is this what Roger meant when he talked about feeding her? Because this wasn’t all bad. She wasn’t sure what Roger would be doing why she stuffed herself, was he going to feed her, as if she was incapable of feeding herself? was she supposed to eat while he fucked her? She’d never really put much thought into how Roger’s fantasies were supposed to work. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to concentrate on food and sex at the same time.

The pirate ship cleaned out, Marion poked her hands, arms and head back out the porthole, twisting and turning herself like a cork to pop her boobs through. “Oooof,” she exhaled, her boobs outside, she could feel her overfull belly press against the porthole. All she wanted to do now was lie down on the sofa and take a nap. She hung out the porthole, unmotivated for the uncomfortable task before her.

She planted her arms on the outside of the ship and braced her feet against the opposite end of the ship, like a runner on the blocks. With a final reluctant sigh she pushed with her arms and tried to heave herself out the porthole. Full of chocolate, her belly was a lot less forgiving on the way out than it was on the way in. Marion pulled and tugged with her arms, her feet inside slipping against the smooth wood. She’d always thought these openings were too small but what used to be a passing frustration now brought on a slight panic. Her fat squeaked against the wood, she jolted to a stop at the roundest point of her belly, out of breath “I might not be able to do this much longer, especially if I go through with the plan.” She was trying to put the thought of outgrowing the porthole off into the vague future, not wanting to face the fact that she was stuck right now. 

She felt like she was doing the most uncomfortable downward dog yoga pose with her hands and feet planted on the ground and middle up in the air, wedged in the porthole. 

With one hand she felt the roll of fat poking out of the porthole, she pulled at the fat on her side, squeaking it through the wooden hole. She blushed, she was used to Roger squeezing her belly but here she was fondling herself, trying to negotiate her fat through the hole, inch by inch. She swapped hands and worked on the other side, alternating love handles. 

Blood was rushing to her head, hanging upside-down as it was. She reached back behind her, grabbing the top of the pirate ship to lift herself up. It was more difficult holding herself up like this, but at least she wouldn’t pass out. 

It felt like she was making progress pulling her fat through the hole. She planted her hands on the side of the ship and switched back to her twisting, cork-from-a-bottle method. She thought the fattest part of her must have made it through by now, but her progress hadn’t gotten noticeably easier. 

Then suddenly, an expansive freeing sensation came over her, like when she unbuttoned a pair of jeans or unzipped a dress. Her belly burst forth from the hole, pouring out in all directions. Marion could breath easier, and smiled, it was all downhill from here. She wiggled her hips, twisting, the tightness caused her to lose her pants and ride down her underwear. She alternated side to side until they squeezed through and she slid down to the ground, pulling her legs behind her. She sat with her back on the ground and her legs up the side of the ship, her feet crossed on the porthole. She looked at her belly and rubbed the soft round form, “you’re going to get me into trouble aren’t you,” she said, giving her fat a poke.

She imagined this scenario would turn Roger on, it was kinda like his too-small jeans fetish, but she vowed not to tell him about it. She wasn’t ready for her misadventures in fatness to become a weird sex game. 

Marion reached back into the ship to find her trousers and put them back on. The elastic waist tugging on her fuller belly, she gave it a pat. She loved these comfy trousers, but they certainly wouldn’t fit 40 pounds later. She wondered if she hadn’t thought this through enough. She was losing her nerve, but with that came a contrary determination.