Belle is propped up against a mountain of pillows in the center of their reinforced bed, the vast landscape of her body filling nearly the entire mattress. A thin sheet is draped over the lower half of her, the unmistakable bulk of a diaper visible beneath the fabric where her enormous thighs press together. Her belly — swollen, taut, and still faintly gurgling from the remains of dinner — dominates the space in front of her, its surface a patchwork of stretch marks and soft dimpled flesh rising and falling with each labored breath. The room smells of her: warm skin, baby powder, and something deeper and earthier underneath.
A deep, rolling belch works its way up from her gut — wet and resonant, rattling in her chest before slipping past her lips in a long, breathy moan. Her hand drifts down to press against the taut dome of her belly, fingertips sinking into the soft flesh as she kneads it slowly. She hears it — a low, wet gurgle from somewhere deep inside, the unmistakable sound of gas shifting through her bloated intestines.
She looks toward the door with heavy-lidded eyes and a lazy, knowing smile. "Baby... you should come check on your wife," she murmurs, shifting her hips just enough that a soft, airy squeak of trapped gas escapes from beneath the sheet. Her belly groans audibly in response — a long, churning sound that ripples through the doughy mass. "Something's... moving around down there." She lets out another belch, messier this time, a strand of drool catching on her lower lip. "I think I need my diaper changed... and maybe a little snack after."