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![[TF ditty] Holiday Cheer-Up!](http://d.furaffinity.net/art/ebikiyo/1674796229/1674796228.ebikiyo_december_ditty_jim_2022_icon.png "Click to change the View"){kind=icon}
[TF ditty] Holiday Cheer-Up!
Ditty for the month of December for Jim!
One of two direct Christmas gifts this year! This one is addressed to Pokemon Hybrid Trainer Jim Boom and Sarisa Oliera, from my OC Maude Moss.
To Jim and Sarisa,
I heard the winter’s going to be cold down south this year. Instead of getting you some new coats, I got something that might take the edge off the cold. You’ve been on plenty of adventures this year, some with high stakes, so take a snow day off work and enjoy each other’s company.
At least one of you will end up superbly round.
Always yours,
Maude
“Well, it is snowing…” Sarisa concedes cheerily, glancing out the window.
Pokemon Hybrid Trainer Jim follows her gaze, peering between her viera bunny ears. The neighborhood outside is covered in a pale sheet of snow nearly a foot deep. Covering cars, accumulating on tree branches and powerlines, lining roofs, smothering sidewalks and driveways and gleaming bright, as snow tends to in wee morning twilight.
Funny how Atlanta only does winter weather two ways: bone-shiveringly miserable, or a picture perfect, sleigh bell-ringing noëlle. The witness protection program at OCCINTEL probably didn’t take winter aesthetics into account when rehousing them in the Sun belt, but every so often, when the weather’s just right, freezing rain will turn to fluffy snow.
Twas a pleasant surprise, especially this season, for a pair of transformation consultants who’d never seen Southern gothic look this merry before.
“Mmmh.” Jim shakes his head. He chuckles, sipping from a mug of cocoa. “Well, I guess we have to open it if it’s from Maude, huh?”
Sarisa weaves out from under him, delivering a quick peck on the cheek on the way out. “Guess so~,” she replies in a decidedly teasy mood. “What’s the chance ‘take the edge off the cold’ is change-y in nature?”
“Buh! Whatever it is, you can open it. I’m good.”
“Awww!” Sarisa sticks out her tongue, then giggles. “Fine. Let me play canary for you~.”
To that, Jim shrugs, grinning gamely at the implications involved. “Hey, it’s not like it’s a bomb or anything.”
The present is actually a little mundane-looking. Too mundane to be a deadly, whimsical TF-weapon anyway. It’s a shoebox done up in tacky wrapping paper. The paper is speckled with chubby bears and topped with a stick-on ice blue bow. Sarisa handles the taped edges with care, the dark-skinned rabbit cutting them with a sharp fingernail. The paper unfolds like a nesting doll, and when she lifts up the lid…
“Oh blimey!”
Jim blinks. “What?”
“Cookiiiies~!” Sarisa squeals, holding the box up approvingly. “Oohhh, fuck, and I was already craving sugar. Wonderful.”
She shows him - a box full of Dutch butter cookies. Specially made and somehow oven fresh, lightly steaming with heat. They come in three different shapes - all of which happen to be ursine. Polar bears predominate, with black bears and grizzlies here and there.
Jim hesitates. Mostly out of envy. They look really tasty - and fattening. The right shade of baked golden brown that’ll put on pounds if you eat too much of it.
He shakes his head, chasing the appetite out of his head with a broom. Better to be responsible about this. He gestures at the phone in his pocket, his expression soft. “Cool. Just be careful not to dig into them right this minute, okay? I need to call the office to make sure we won’t be called in after Christmas. You know, in case this storm gets any worse, or Maude baked something too strong-”
CRUNCH.
“Hhgghmm?” Sarisa looks up. Her cheeks are covered with crumbs. “Whah’d yu shay? Itshh shoo good…”
Jim stares, disbelieving. She didn’t even last five seconds. “You just. Ate one of the cookies.”
There is a pause. If it was any more pregnant, it’d be rushing to the maternity ward.
Sarisa looks up at him. Maintaining eye contact as she slowly extracts another cookie out of the shoebox, opens her mouth, puts it between her teeth and bites it cleanly in half.
“This is a free country, Jim,” says she. Her lips purse. It’s undeniably smug. “Last I checked.”
“Sarisa no.”
“Sarisa yes!”
Jim lunges. Sarisa hurriedly stuffs handfuls of cookies in her mouth before he can manage to wretch the box away, spilling a half dozen butter bears on the throw rug in the process.
The damage had done. Not so much the carpet, at any rate. Sarisa wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her bomber jacket and cradles her belly with a big, stupid grin on her face. “Aaaahhhh~. They even went down warm.”
Jim’s understandable shock is already tempering off to begrudging disapproval. “Great,” he grumbles, kneeling to pick up the debris. “Now you’ve done it.”
“It’s fiiiine,” Sarisa replies, lazily waving her hand. “It’ll be fine.”
“Those were meant to share.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Over the holidays!”
“What are you Implying?”
“That’s-” Jim pauses to center himself. Deep breaths. “You ate half of the box without even checking to see what one might do to you.”
Sarisa scoffs - before pushing down a burp. “I’ve handled worse, I’m sure. You don’t get to be a blue mage without running headlong into danger, darling~.”
She stops. Her eyes widen, surprised.
“Dear, did I just-” Another pause. This one a little more concerned. “Did I just say darling in a weird voice?”
Jim carefully sets the shoebox on the table. “Yes,” he says, with hesitation buried his voice. “You did. Are you feeling okay?”
Sarisa looks down at herself, running her thumb over her cocoa-colored belly. Her cheeks redden. “Now that you mention it, dearie, my stomach feels really…”
GuuUuUurgle…
“... warm all of a sudden?”
That sound couldn’t have come from anywhere else. Sarisa winces, puffing out her cheeks as a conspicuous pressure begins to build inside a stomach that feels much fuller than it did seconds ago. One might call it an abundance of holiday cheer.
“Oooohhh...” Sarisa groans, shifting in her seat, trying to get comfortable. Her belly wobbles with an audible strain, tensing up before a surge of weight bloats it outright, spilling over her belt and straight into her lap. An adipose wave, by any other name. “Mmmfh. So tight.”
Then an angry litany of pops sounds off from her jeans. The pressure is moving down, sinking into her hips. Unfortunately, there’s no room, and no time to make it. Before long, the denim seams fray open, tiny holes opening up and down her upper legs, fat puffing out them, unbidden, uncontrollably. The process chunk-ifies her thighs and accumulates in her rear, so much and so quickly, it forces a loud -RIP- to cleave them open. “Aah-”
But at least now, the pressure is gone. “Aaahaaa~” Sarisa breathes easy, sinking into the cushions a hundred pounds and change heavier. “That’s so much better…”
Jim looks understandably worried. “Hey. Hey, you don’t look so hot there.”
“No no, it’s just… mmgh-” Sarisa tries to force a response, wincing to get through it, but only succeeds in making her nose pop forward, swelling into a big, black triangle with whiskers. “Feeling a bit pent up.”
Easy for her to say. Her tongue lolls out as she takes a swig of air, growing longer than it ever reasonably sure. A crinkle and wrinkle of her nose makes it stretch, yielding a full, pointed snout, while the smacking of her lips turns them black as chimney soot. Her cheeks flush with the kind of Christmas merriment you can only get when you’re really, really eggnog drunk, and from the heat comes dimples, jowls, then sprouts and splotches of thick, bushy fur.
Extremely fluffy fur, I might add. Fur the color of the shoebox’s bow, which if you’ll recall, is a cool ice blue.
That clever girl.
“Uhhh.” Jim backs away, immediately unsure of what to do. Go get the TF aid box from under the kitchen sink? Try to soothe her and take the edge off? Neither of those options seem right.
“Jim, darling, I’m fffine! Mhmhmhm~ Please, dear!”
Sarisa throws her hands out to him. The digits wibble, exploding one after the other with fat claws and fatter finger pads.
“Gyah!” The sound makes Jim stiffen up.
Sarisa notices the reaction, turning her hands over to see what’s wrong. By then, it’s too late. As she blinks, intoxicated by a heady sense of comfort and the something beneath - an aged bliss - the palms bloat with swelling, and a fine coat of the same plasters over the tops of her hands and the crevices between finger joints, growing into full and bappy paws before she has a chance to think of a response. “Oh gosh.”
Sarisa jiggles as she drunkenly watches fur travel up her arms. Snout turning, jowls jiggling slightly, as she takes the enormity of what she’s becoming. “Oh gosh, oh cheez’um crow. Well darn, I must really be swelling up, huh?”
“Not just there,” Jim soberly informs her. “Everywhere. Look, let me get the kit…”
He tries to leave - but Sarisa grabs his hand, squeezing it.
“No no no, dearie, don’t! I’m still-” she pauses to let her rabbit ears shrink all the way down to rounded fluffers, differently themed. “Your momma’s still here. Err. I am. Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Are… are you sure?”
It’s difficult for him to nail down what this voice is that keeps coming out of that overweight face. Such a warm, inviting tone, and aged like peppermint and holly, and old butterscotch. Like a ghost from Christmas past, breathing ancient life into her speech. It matches how she looks - growing more homely and heavy all over, gaining what must have been twenty or thirty years worth of weight and age in minutes of accelerated growth spurts.
Even the glasses crystallizing on the bridge of her snout seem a century out of place.
That’s it! A century out of place. Jim knows the accent and the tone because he’s heard it before. Old mom-speak, sourced directly from the descendants of Scandinavian immigrants in the upper midwest. The platonic ideal of a heavyset ladyfriend curled up in an armchair in front of the fireplace. It’s no wonder why she sounds so charming all of a sudden.
She’s turning into a MILF!
Of course, he’s the not the first one to reach this conclusion. Sarisa hums plaintively, inviting him to sit in her plush, cozy lap. “Please? The tummy ache’s gone, dearie, and it feels like I have a lot more love to give right now~”
Now it’s Jim’s turn to blush. He nods hesitantly, sliding onto Sarisa’s thigh.
“That’s it,” she coos to him, steady and reassuring. “Let old Sarisa have a look at you~”
He lets her touch, albeit with a little apprehension still left. “And you were worried about those cookies~,” she chides, brimming with warmth all over. From her paws to her cheeks to her doughy belly folds, everything about her is comfort.
“Yes, and I still am…” Jim protests, but it doesn’t get far. As soon as her paws lift up his chin, his frown gets wibbly, and his face falls, burying in her chest. “But. Maybe we’ll worry about it later…”
It must have been the magic at work, some kind of winter illusion playing with his senses, but straddling the softness of her leg and letting her paws touch his face, and pads mash his cheeks, Jim feels his anxieties thaw out, his shoulders slacken. Past those glasses, hidden inside the lens, is Sarisa, the sum total of her. She’s in there. Granted, Jim knows she’s being refracted, that while large and fluffy like, her identity is being transposed through a prism, warped to inhabit a far, far cuddlier shape than Maude had intended, sending them a whole box of tainted butter cookies.
But even so. It’s still Sarisa.
He knows this, feeling her, wrapping his arms around her squishy mom belly, smelling the rich scents in her fur, gingerbread and pine needle and beneath it, rich, concentrated mom. The unmistakable, indescribable scent of a fully-grown woman.
It’s Christmas morning in his head.
“Still with me, dear?” she asks, tilting her head.
Jim pulls his head out from the fluffy bush between her breasts and rests his chin on it. “Huh? Yeah, I’m. I’m having a great time…”
Sarisa giggles, tittering at his naked affection for her. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ve come down with something serious.”
“No, just. Biiiiig.”
“Mmhmmhmh~ Biiiig indeed…”
She leans in, laying a his on his crown. His feet kick idly, happy.
“What do you want to do with this ton of fluff, darling? Cuddle? Kiss? Make our own baked goodies? Go to church?”
Jim thinks about that. He slumps slightly against her, kneading her belly without thinking about it. The pleased rumblings in her chest make it hard to stay focused on anything in particular. Anything at all, really.
“... I think… wait.”
“Hm?”
“... I think I know what we can do.”
And so it’s decided, with daylight still out, that games ought to be played.
Games like snowball fights.
“INCOMING-!” Jim shouts.
Sarisa jiggles pre-emptively, but she’s too heavy to dodge. A snowball flies from the embankment, clapping her in the belly.
“Ohh!” she exclaims, startled by the noise if not the lack of a sting on the backspin. As it turns out, having a gargantuan mom-belly is good for absorbing snowballs. She hasn’t felt one yet! And probably won’t, with a fur layer this thick.
Across the lawn, Jim pokes his head out, blowing raspberries. She huffs with mock exasperation. “Ugh, there you are! What a rascal you are, hitting me with a cheap shot!”
He ducks back down before a ball can tag him back, instead smacking into the oak tree on the neighbor’s side of the line where his head used to be.
That isn’t enough to make her quit. Sarisa kneels down, scooping up snow in her paws and rolling another slugger. “I’ll get you, dear~”
“Eventually!” Jim shouts back. “But not today!”
“Ehuhuhu! I see you back there!”
“Oh damn, fuck, please miss- ow! You got me!”
“Mhh! Don’t even know my own strength! Hahaha~”
And so it goes. Nimble Jim jumping between bushes and flowerbeds, packing snowballs, and heart-happy Sarisa bear waddling in circles, soaking up his shots and throwing them ten times stronger.
Not a bad way to spend Christmas day, is it?
Check out the doc here!
https://docs.google.com/document/d/.....it?usp=sharing
[central]Special thanks to:
-- My ditty patrons: Eman230, Jim Boom, Loewen and Nia --[/central]
As well as my 1, 5, 10 and 20 dollar patrons. Without you, this wouldn't have been possible!
Posted using PostyBirb
One of two direct Christmas gifts this year! This one is addressed to Pokemon Hybrid Trainer Jim Boom and Sarisa Oliera, from my OC Maude Moss.
HOLIDAY CHEER-UP
--A Ditty for Jim--To Jim and Sarisa,
I heard the winter’s going to be cold down south this year. Instead of getting you some new coats, I got something that might take the edge off the cold. You’ve been on plenty of adventures this year, some with high stakes, so take a snow day off work and enjoy each other’s company.
At least one of you will end up superbly round.
Always yours,
Maude
“Well, it is snowing…” Sarisa concedes cheerily, glancing out the window.
Pokemon Hybrid Trainer Jim follows her gaze, peering between her viera bunny ears. The neighborhood outside is covered in a pale sheet of snow nearly a foot deep. Covering cars, accumulating on tree branches and powerlines, lining roofs, smothering sidewalks and driveways and gleaming bright, as snow tends to in wee morning twilight.
Funny how Atlanta only does winter weather two ways: bone-shiveringly miserable, or a picture perfect, sleigh bell-ringing noëlle. The witness protection program at OCCINTEL probably didn’t take winter aesthetics into account when rehousing them in the Sun belt, but every so often, when the weather’s just right, freezing rain will turn to fluffy snow.
Twas a pleasant surprise, especially this season, for a pair of transformation consultants who’d never seen Southern gothic look this merry before.
“Mmmh.” Jim shakes his head. He chuckles, sipping from a mug of cocoa. “Well, I guess we have to open it if it’s from Maude, huh?”
Sarisa weaves out from under him, delivering a quick peck on the cheek on the way out. “Guess so~,” she replies in a decidedly teasy mood. “What’s the chance ‘take the edge off the cold’ is change-y in nature?”
“Buh! Whatever it is, you can open it. I’m good.”
“Awww!” Sarisa sticks out her tongue, then giggles. “Fine. Let me play canary for you~.”
To that, Jim shrugs, grinning gamely at the implications involved. “Hey, it’s not like it’s a bomb or anything.”
The present is actually a little mundane-looking. Too mundane to be a deadly, whimsical TF-weapon anyway. It’s a shoebox done up in tacky wrapping paper. The paper is speckled with chubby bears and topped with a stick-on ice blue bow. Sarisa handles the taped edges with care, the dark-skinned rabbit cutting them with a sharp fingernail. The paper unfolds like a nesting doll, and when she lifts up the lid…
“Oh blimey!”
Jim blinks. “What?”
“Cookiiiies~!” Sarisa squeals, holding the box up approvingly. “Oohhh, fuck, and I was already craving sugar. Wonderful.”
She shows him - a box full of Dutch butter cookies. Specially made and somehow oven fresh, lightly steaming with heat. They come in three different shapes - all of which happen to be ursine. Polar bears predominate, with black bears and grizzlies here and there.
Jim hesitates. Mostly out of envy. They look really tasty - and fattening. The right shade of baked golden brown that’ll put on pounds if you eat too much of it.
He shakes his head, chasing the appetite out of his head with a broom. Better to be responsible about this. He gestures at the phone in his pocket, his expression soft. “Cool. Just be careful not to dig into them right this minute, okay? I need to call the office to make sure we won’t be called in after Christmas. You know, in case this storm gets any worse, or Maude baked something too strong-”
CRUNCH.
“Hhgghmm?” Sarisa looks up. Her cheeks are covered with crumbs. “Whah’d yu shay? Itshh shoo good…”
Jim stares, disbelieving. She didn’t even last five seconds. “You just. Ate one of the cookies.”
There is a pause. If it was any more pregnant, it’d be rushing to the maternity ward.
Sarisa looks up at him. Maintaining eye contact as she slowly extracts another cookie out of the shoebox, opens her mouth, puts it between her teeth and bites it cleanly in half.
“This is a free country, Jim,” says she. Her lips purse. It’s undeniably smug. “Last I checked.”
“Sarisa no.”
“Sarisa yes!”
Jim lunges. Sarisa hurriedly stuffs handfuls of cookies in her mouth before he can manage to wretch the box away, spilling a half dozen butter bears on the throw rug in the process.
The damage had done. Not so much the carpet, at any rate. Sarisa wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her bomber jacket and cradles her belly with a big, stupid grin on her face. “Aaaahhhh~. They even went down warm.”
Jim’s understandable shock is already tempering off to begrudging disapproval. “Great,” he grumbles, kneeling to pick up the debris. “Now you’ve done it.”
“It’s fiiiine,” Sarisa replies, lazily waving her hand. “It’ll be fine.”
“Those were meant to share.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Over the holidays!”
“What are you Implying?”
“That’s-” Jim pauses to center himself. Deep breaths. “You ate half of the box without even checking to see what one might do to you.”
Sarisa scoffs - before pushing down a burp. “I’ve handled worse, I’m sure. You don’t get to be a blue mage without running headlong into danger, darling~.”
She stops. Her eyes widen, surprised.
“Dear, did I just-” Another pause. This one a little more concerned. “Did I just say darling in a weird voice?”
Jim carefully sets the shoebox on the table. “Yes,” he says, with hesitation buried his voice. “You did. Are you feeling okay?”
Sarisa looks down at herself, running her thumb over her cocoa-colored belly. Her cheeks redden. “Now that you mention it, dearie, my stomach feels really…”
GuuUuUurgle…
“... warm all of a sudden?”
That sound couldn’t have come from anywhere else. Sarisa winces, puffing out her cheeks as a conspicuous pressure begins to build inside a stomach that feels much fuller than it did seconds ago. One might call it an abundance of holiday cheer.
“Oooohhh...” Sarisa groans, shifting in her seat, trying to get comfortable. Her belly wobbles with an audible strain, tensing up before a surge of weight bloats it outright, spilling over her belt and straight into her lap. An adipose wave, by any other name. “Mmmfh. So tight.”
Then an angry litany of pops sounds off from her jeans. The pressure is moving down, sinking into her hips. Unfortunately, there’s no room, and no time to make it. Before long, the denim seams fray open, tiny holes opening up and down her upper legs, fat puffing out them, unbidden, uncontrollably. The process chunk-ifies her thighs and accumulates in her rear, so much and so quickly, it forces a loud -RIP- to cleave them open. “Aah-”
But at least now, the pressure is gone. “Aaahaaa~” Sarisa breathes easy, sinking into the cushions a hundred pounds and change heavier. “That’s so much better…”
Jim looks understandably worried. “Hey. Hey, you don’t look so hot there.”
“No no, it’s just… mmgh-” Sarisa tries to force a response, wincing to get through it, but only succeeds in making her nose pop forward, swelling into a big, black triangle with whiskers. “Feeling a bit pent up.”
Easy for her to say. Her tongue lolls out as she takes a swig of air, growing longer than it ever reasonably sure. A crinkle and wrinkle of her nose makes it stretch, yielding a full, pointed snout, while the smacking of her lips turns them black as chimney soot. Her cheeks flush with the kind of Christmas merriment you can only get when you’re really, really eggnog drunk, and from the heat comes dimples, jowls, then sprouts and splotches of thick, bushy fur.
Extremely fluffy fur, I might add. Fur the color of the shoebox’s bow, which if you’ll recall, is a cool ice blue.
That clever girl.
“Uhhh.” Jim backs away, immediately unsure of what to do. Go get the TF aid box from under the kitchen sink? Try to soothe her and take the edge off? Neither of those options seem right.
“Jim, darling, I’m fffine! Mhmhmhm~ Please, dear!”
Sarisa throws her hands out to him. The digits wibble, exploding one after the other with fat claws and fatter finger pads.
“Gyah!” The sound makes Jim stiffen up.
Sarisa notices the reaction, turning her hands over to see what’s wrong. By then, it’s too late. As she blinks, intoxicated by a heady sense of comfort and the something beneath - an aged bliss - the palms bloat with swelling, and a fine coat of the same plasters over the tops of her hands and the crevices between finger joints, growing into full and bappy paws before she has a chance to think of a response. “Oh gosh.”
Sarisa jiggles as she drunkenly watches fur travel up her arms. Snout turning, jowls jiggling slightly, as she takes the enormity of what she’s becoming. “Oh gosh, oh cheez’um crow. Well darn, I must really be swelling up, huh?”
“Not just there,” Jim soberly informs her. “Everywhere. Look, let me get the kit…”
He tries to leave - but Sarisa grabs his hand, squeezing it.
“No no no, dearie, don’t! I’m still-” she pauses to let her rabbit ears shrink all the way down to rounded fluffers, differently themed. “Your momma’s still here. Err. I am. Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Are… are you sure?”
It’s difficult for him to nail down what this voice is that keeps coming out of that overweight face. Such a warm, inviting tone, and aged like peppermint and holly, and old butterscotch. Like a ghost from Christmas past, breathing ancient life into her speech. It matches how she looks - growing more homely and heavy all over, gaining what must have been twenty or thirty years worth of weight and age in minutes of accelerated growth spurts.
Even the glasses crystallizing on the bridge of her snout seem a century out of place.
That’s it! A century out of place. Jim knows the accent and the tone because he’s heard it before. Old mom-speak, sourced directly from the descendants of Scandinavian immigrants in the upper midwest. The platonic ideal of a heavyset ladyfriend curled up in an armchair in front of the fireplace. It’s no wonder why she sounds so charming all of a sudden.
She’s turning into a MILF!
Of course, he’s the not the first one to reach this conclusion. Sarisa hums plaintively, inviting him to sit in her plush, cozy lap. “Please? The tummy ache’s gone, dearie, and it feels like I have a lot more love to give right now~”
Now it’s Jim’s turn to blush. He nods hesitantly, sliding onto Sarisa’s thigh.
“That’s it,” she coos to him, steady and reassuring. “Let old Sarisa have a look at you~”
He lets her touch, albeit with a little apprehension still left. “And you were worried about those cookies~,” she chides, brimming with warmth all over. From her paws to her cheeks to her doughy belly folds, everything about her is comfort.
“Yes, and I still am…” Jim protests, but it doesn’t get far. As soon as her paws lift up his chin, his frown gets wibbly, and his face falls, burying in her chest. “But. Maybe we’ll worry about it later…”
It must have been the magic at work, some kind of winter illusion playing with his senses, but straddling the softness of her leg and letting her paws touch his face, and pads mash his cheeks, Jim feels his anxieties thaw out, his shoulders slacken. Past those glasses, hidden inside the lens, is Sarisa, the sum total of her. She’s in there. Granted, Jim knows she’s being refracted, that while large and fluffy like, her identity is being transposed through a prism, warped to inhabit a far, far cuddlier shape than Maude had intended, sending them a whole box of tainted butter cookies.
But even so. It’s still Sarisa.
He knows this, feeling her, wrapping his arms around her squishy mom belly, smelling the rich scents in her fur, gingerbread and pine needle and beneath it, rich, concentrated mom. The unmistakable, indescribable scent of a fully-grown woman.
It’s Christmas morning in his head.
“Still with me, dear?” she asks, tilting her head.
Jim pulls his head out from the fluffy bush between her breasts and rests his chin on it. “Huh? Yeah, I’m. I’m having a great time…”
Sarisa giggles, tittering at his naked affection for her. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ve come down with something serious.”
“No, just. Biiiiig.”
“Mmhmmhmh~ Biiiig indeed…”
She leans in, laying a his on his crown. His feet kick idly, happy.
“What do you want to do with this ton of fluff, darling? Cuddle? Kiss? Make our own baked goodies? Go to church?”
Jim thinks about that. He slumps slightly against her, kneading her belly without thinking about it. The pleased rumblings in her chest make it hard to stay focused on anything in particular. Anything at all, really.
“... I think… wait.”
“Hm?”
“... I think I know what we can do.”
And so it’s decided, with daylight still out, that games ought to be played.
Games like snowball fights.
“INCOMING-!” Jim shouts.
Sarisa jiggles pre-emptively, but she’s too heavy to dodge. A snowball flies from the embankment, clapping her in the belly.
“Ohh!” she exclaims, startled by the noise if not the lack of a sting on the backspin. As it turns out, having a gargantuan mom-belly is good for absorbing snowballs. She hasn’t felt one yet! And probably won’t, with a fur layer this thick.
Across the lawn, Jim pokes his head out, blowing raspberries. She huffs with mock exasperation. “Ugh, there you are! What a rascal you are, hitting me with a cheap shot!”
He ducks back down before a ball can tag him back, instead smacking into the oak tree on the neighbor’s side of the line where his head used to be.
That isn’t enough to make her quit. Sarisa kneels down, scooping up snow in her paws and rolling another slugger. “I’ll get you, dear~”
“Eventually!” Jim shouts back. “But not today!”
“Ehuhuhu! I see you back there!”
“Oh damn, fuck, please miss- ow! You got me!”
“Mhh! Don’t even know my own strength! Hahaha~”
And so it goes. Nimble Jim jumping between bushes and flowerbeds, packing snowballs, and heart-happy Sarisa bear waddling in circles, soaking up his shots and throwing them ten times stronger.
Not a bad way to spend Christmas day, is it?
Check out the doc here!
https://docs.google.com/document/d/.....it?usp=sharing
[central]Special thanks to:
-- My ditty patrons: Eman230, Jim Boom, Loewen and Nia --[/central]
As well as my 1, 5, 10 and 20 dollar patrons. Without you, this wouldn't have been possible!
Posted using PostyBirb
Category Story / Transformation
Species Polar Bear
Size 1012 x 1012px
File Size 129 kB
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