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Part 1
The kitchen of the young Stevenson family smelled of freshly ground coffee and the pleasant scent of air freshener, which hung like a light haze in the air, mixing with the warm steam from the pot. At the stove stood a blonde in tight pink leggings and a light sweater, bending slightly forward to carefully pour boiling water. Her long hair fell in soft waves down her back, and the fabric of the leggings clung so tightly to her round hips that the eye almost stuck to them by itself.
— Good morning, Miss Homemaker, — came a man’s voice from behind her, leaning against the doorframe and lazily covering a yawn with his hand. With the other hand he scratched not far from where his “morning wood” was. — So, how’s it going, making something tasty?
The blonde at the stove didn’t even turn, just took a deep breath as if gathering strength, and replied:
— Good morning, Mike. I’m making oatmeal, — her voice sounded restrained, but there was irritation in it. — It’s good for us.
She put the kettle back and finally threw a quick glance at her husband, still standing there with a smug grin and a noticeable bulge under his shorts.
— And could you at least cover yourself, please? — she added, stirring the porridge. — It’s already hard enough for me to get used to this body, and you act like a teenager.
Mike (until recently Michelle) snorted without moving.
— Why cover myself? Just look at yourself. In those leggings… — he waved his hand in the air, outlining her curves. — Honestly, Em, if I were you, I’d be happy.
Emma (once Eric) noisily set the spoon aside and spun around to face him, brushing back the long hair that kept falling over her breasts. The movement made her curves under the light sweater bounce even more than she expected.
— So that’s how we’re talking now? — she put her hands on her hips, standing in a defiantly feminine pose that made her shiver inside. The leggings stretched even tighter, and her breasts pushed up against the thin sweater.
Mike smirked and lazily scratched the back of his head.
— Oh, here we go, — he drawled, with a lazy look, as if already preparing not to listen.
Emma pressed her lips together, staring straight at him.
— Here we go? Are you serious? I’m here in the kitchen first thing in the morning, hair getting in the way, tits getting in the way, leggings squeezing me everywhere they can… — she slapped her palm against her thigh, making her wide hips ripple under the pink fabric, and to her own shock she realized how that must have looked from the side, especially when she caught her husband’s eyes.
— Don’t stare! — she shouted, feeling heat rush to her face in an instant.
But Mike didn’t even blink. On the contrary, his grin grew wider. He tilted his head to the side, as if deliberately checking her out even more, his gaze lingering on her breasts, on the line of her waist, on her hips that in the pink leggings looked almost provocatively revealing.
— Actually, that used to be my body, — he dragged out the words, savoring each one, — And you liked it when I—
— Now it’s mine! — Emma cut him off sharply. — And I hate these tight clothes! As if it wasn’t enough that my ass is like an elephant’s, everything’s still highlighted!
She yanked the hem of her sweater down, as if that would change anything, but the fabric only pulled tighter over her breasts.
Part 2
Mike bit his lip to...Full story (17 500 characters - 5 parts + add. images) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon