November Story - Thanksgiving Stuffing (Ch. 3) (Patreon)

I saw Beth two times the following year when I turned seven. That year she married Uncle Joe. I remember bits and pieces of the wedding but it wasn’t like I got to see her that often that day anyway. I was mostly bored and restless. She did look wonderful though. Her dress wasn’t too flamboyant and for the first time ever I saw her without her glasses, since she wore contacts. She had her hair tied back and her face never looked more divine. During the reception, I hoped to see her bloated but she and Uncle Joe sat so far away from everyone else, and a wedding dress doesn’t exactly have a button or a zipper at the waist.

After the wedding, Mom told me “She’s your aunt now, you know? She’s Aunt Beth now.” I stopped to think about it. I never fully realized it before. Was that weird? She wasn’t directly related to me though. I didn’t dwell on it any further.

Thanksgiving happened and for the third time I eagerly opened the door for them. My enthusiasm stopped short when I realized that Beth was wearing black leggings. No belt, no zipper, no button, no hook. Just leggings. They walked right past me as I was dumbfounded and crestfallen. How would she show her belly in that?

I didn’t try to sit next to her that time. I sat in my usual seat. But this time she made the effort to sit next to me, smiling as she did so. I had to admit though, her ass was fantastic in those leggings. Those cheeks popped out and had more of a contour than before.

During dinner, Beth patted her belly and commented to the family, “I came prepared this time. See?” She tugged on the elastic waistband. She turned to me and said, “Jeans and dress pants are not for Thanksgiving. Right, Tommy?”

I didn’t answer.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, tilting her head.

I mumbled something incoherent. Her elastic waistband ruined the mood. I suddenly didn’t care about Thanksgiving anymore.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, “we’ll play a game as soon as we’re done eating!”

That comforted me at least.

An amazing thing happened that night. After having her second glass of wine, Beth failed to suppress a belch. It was hearty and loud. Uncle Joe laughed as did my dad. My mom not so much. But Uncle Joe patted her on the back and said, “She’s family now. She doesn’t have to hold anything back!”

Beth, a little flushed, patted her chest and said, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re married to my brother now,” Dad said. “Now none of us have to hold any bodily functions.”

Mom glared at him. He grinned sheepishly and said, “What? It comes with the vows! In sickness and in health, right?”

Beth laughed. “I’ve always had to hold in my burps for so long. They get pretty loud. I never mean to do it. They just happen that way!”

I cringed in my seat. I was feeling very…excited, as you can imagine. But an awkward excitement. I tried not to give myself away.

I wasn’t feeling my food, as usual. Mom made a black bean soup that year that I absolutely did not want to touch. I set it aside and hid it behind this big candle holder so nobody could really pay attention to it.

Beth saw this and hissed, “Eat your food! What are you doing?”

“But I don’t like it.”

“Your mother worked hard to make it. Eat it!”

“No.”

Beth sighed and shook her head. When she finished eating, we both went to my room to play Mario Kart 64 again. Along the way down the hallway, she let out another loud belch, not caring to suppress it this time or even apologizing. Her only acknowledgement of it was a low “Uff”. It was true – from then on, she let out her bodily functions in front of my family.

As I loaded up the game, she said, “You know your Uncle Joe and I got a Nintendo 64. So, I’ve been practicing. I bet you I can win this time.”

“No, you won’t,” I said.

Beth raised her brow. “Oh yeah? I bet you I can get first place in this first race. No matter what course it is.”

“What are you betting?”

Beth thought for a moment, thinking with her finger on her chin. “You have to finish the food your mom made.”

“What happens if you lose?”

“Hmmm. I don’t know. You decide that.”

My heart raced with excitement. This was perfect. The stars had aligned for me to do this. I was too shaken to speak coherently at first, so I mumbled some nonsense. Then, I gathered myself and said, “If you lose…”

A pause.

“Yeah?” she said.

“Then…then YOU have to eat my mom’s cooking.”

Beth seemed taken aback. Then she rubbed her belly. “But I’m so full already!”

“No. You gotta do it.”

She huffed. “Fine. But that won’t happen, because I’m going to win.”

I picked the most difficult course imaginable at the time – Banshee Boardwalk. The course had zigzags and barely gave you time to turn properly without people passing you. That, and the lack of railings ensured you a frustrating time as you accidentally fell off.

But I was a seven-year-old gamer kid. My procedural memory was top notch as I grew up playing that game. There was no way Beth could beat me.

Minutes into the race, Beth maintained 2nd place – right behind me. I started to get nervous when she actually passed me and reached 1st place for the second lap. I glanced at her at the corner of my eye – she was grinning.

Fuck. I had to do something. My desire to make her eat all my food endowed me with super-human concentration. I made those turns earlier than I normally would, taking the risk of falling off.

Then, I realized that she didn’t know a trick. She didn’t know that you could hold a green shell or a banana peel behind you – blocking any shell from hitting you. She tried to hit me after I passed her, but when the red shell bounced off my banana peel, she cried out, “Wait what?”

I passed the finish line.

I dropped my controller and hollered.

The commotion made my mom poke her head in. I had never made so much noise playing a video game before. She said, “What’s going on in here? Tommy, you didn’t finish your food!”

Without saying anything, I ran into the dining room and fetched the bowl of black bean soup. I passed Mom on the way back to my room. She called out, “Wait don’t eat in your—oh, forget it.”

Beth hesitated before digging into the black bean soup. It was filled to the brim with beans and some rice – an average bowl of about 12 ounces.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s do this.”

“Watch me beat mirror mode!”

Beth ate slowly, painfully. She had to take a couple breaks to stop and breathe, sometimes to burp. I started to notice that her shirt started to ride up her belly. Despite wearing leggings, that elastic waistband still had a limit. She stopped a third time to groan and pull down her waistband a bit to breathe.

“Oh my God…” she heaved. “I’m so full. I don’t think I can do this.”

“You have just a little left! A bet’s a bet!”

She grinned weakly. I thought she was going to throw up for a moment. Instead, she let out her most raucous belch yet.

BRRRRRAAAAAAAUuuuuuuuUUUUUUUrrrrrRRRRRRPPP!

I saw bits and pieces fly out of her mouth. Jesus Christ, everything about that belch was terribly manly and disgusting. But the look on her face after she let that out was divine. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“Ohhhh. There we go. That made some room.”

She didn’t bother with the spoon and chugged the last bit of black bean soup by bringing the bowl to her mouth. When she pulled back her head to down it, a surge of excitement coursed through me again.

She made sure to lick the bowl clean. When she realized I was staring, she laughed, “that was so messy. Ugggh. Okay. There. Done.”

She showed me the empty bowl.

I nodded, impressed.

“Ohhhhhhh,” she moaned. She laid down on her back. Her belly bump really did make her look pregnant. She was so bloated that her belly looked like a hill protruding past her shirt and leggings. Being able to see her belly button was such a turn-on.

“Ugggghhhh,” she moaned again, tongue lolling. “I don’t think I ever ate this much at Thanksgiving before. I feel so full I could die.”

Without asking, I reached out and patted her belly.

Beth winced. “No, Tommy. Stop. It hurts when you do that.”

She pulled down her shirt to cover her belly. That didn’t help, because in seconds her shirt rode up again. She gave up trying to lower it.

I played video games for maybe an hour with her passed out right next to me with a bloated gut. Nobody came in to check on us. I felt giddy, but fought the intense urge to just reach out and pet her belly. I had to respect her wishes. Still, being there watching it was good enough for me.

Beth groggily woke up and murmured, “What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty.”

She groaned trying to get up. She couldn’t even sit up because her belly weighed her down. She had to roll over on her side and get up that way.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” she said hastily.

I gave it five minutes before sneaking out into the hallway to the bathroom door. She had turned on the fan, so there was noise on the forefront. I was about to give up eavesdropping when she then farted out loud.

PRRRRRP!

A massive trumpet-like blast, loud enough to overcome the fan, albeit briefly.

She sighed.

Then – another fart!

And another!

She let off a total of around ten farts, each short but distinctly loud. Her sighs and groans after each one hit the right spots for me. I took some weird pride in it. I got her to eat those beans and stuff herself silly and run to the bathroom. I had a power, a sneaky power. Sneaky and innocent. Poking her belly and getting her to be gassy. But to her, it was all oh so innocent.

“Tommy?”

I jumped. Mom stared at me from the other end of the hallway.

“If you have to use the bathroom you can go downstairs, you know.”

I blushed, and rushed to the basement to pretend to use the bathroom there.

When it was safe to come out, I snuck upstairs around the living room towards my room.

Mom stopped me suddenly. She said, “You like hanging out with Beth, don’t you?”

I froze with a deer-in-the-headlights look. I glanced side to side. “Uh. Yeah. She’s cool.”

Mom nodded. “She’s nice. Yes.”

She went back to the living room. I thought that was a bit weird, but shrugged it off.

The morning after Thanksgiving became as memorable as actual Thanksgiving. Nobody felt like eating much, especially Beth. That morning after she ate all those beans, she hogged the hallway bathroom farting away and shitting bricks. I heard her enter the bathroom early in the morning, so I snuck by listening to her cacophony of farts and groans.

I rushed back to my room when I heard her washing her hands. When she passed by my room, I opened it ajar to take a peek. She often wore these small sweat shorts with a tank top as pajamas. She scratched her butt like a guy. Before entering the guest room, she stopped and subtly leaned to the side.

PPPPRrrrRRRRrrrrrrBBBbbbBttttTTt!

I smirked, closing my door.