chapter 2

When Mallory wakes, she feels...normal. There is no pain, which she vaguely remembers from before her slumber. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, she reaches to push her hair from her face. Something jangles and stops the movement abruptly, and memories of last night come rushing back. With wide eyes, she looks down to her belly and finds it flat, a surprising feat.

Jackson sits at her bedside, one foot propped on the opposite knee, a textbook in his lap. He looks up at her curiously, then smiles. "Morning, sunshine," he greets.

"Please," Mallory says, voice breaking. "Please, Jackson, just let me go."

Frowning, Jackson tucks a bookmark into the binding of the book and closes it. He sighs and shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Sweetheart, I think you know I can't do that."

"I won't tell anyone," she insists, bordering on frenetic.

He shushes her and pours a glass of water from a nearby pitcher. Cupping the back of her head neatly, he offers her the glass, but she twists to avoid it, pressing her lips together.

"It's just water." (And appetite stimulant, but she didn't need to know that.) She sniffs experimentally, then takes a long gulp, which turns into her noisily finishing the entire glass. Jackson pets her hair and hums his approval, filling the cup again. "Good," he praises, when she begins to sip again. "I should have given you some water last night, but I didn't want to overdo you."

Nudging the glass away with her chin, Mallory shoots him an incredulous look. Unable to help it, Jackson chuckles, and pats her hand gently.

"It'll get easier, don't worry."

As much as Mallory likes the idea of there being less pain in her belly, she doesn't quite know if she likes the implication. Can't stomachs stretch? It would hurt less, because her stomach would be able to take more food, right? And more food meant more calories, which would translate directly into inches on her waist, which he seemed to be keen to do.

"You said this was something like...business, right?" Mallory asks, fighting back tears.

"Mhm," Jackson agrees, tilting his head.

"So--so you have to have demand, right? For you to even start to supply?"

Jackson smiles, highlighting a dimple on his left cheek. "Yes, exactly."

"And who's doing the demanding?" She doesn't want to know; she hopes he won't answer, but morbid curiosity keeps her listening.

"There's a certain clientele that like big girls. What some of them like even more is watching girls plump up. Sometimes, they have particular requests, that suit their fantasies or their kinks, and are willing to pay handsomely for them to be fulfilled. Others don't, but just want to watch. And by starting out small, I can appeal to the most people, pulling in more as you grow."

"You're a ***ing psychopath," Mallory insists.

Brows furrowing, Jackson glances at the floor, then frowns up at her. "That was hurtful."

"I'm not going to apologize."

"That's all right," he assures, getting to his feet. "How about we get some breakfast in this tummy, hm?" He taps her stomach, which shows the slightest signs of softening around the muscles she had built.

Despite her burning hatred, Mallory's stomach gives a little noise of agreement, and she scowls at Jackson as he leaves the room. While he is gone, she tugs at the bonds; she bends down to get at them with her teeth, but her arms are too far away, attached to the railings. Actually, the bed is rather large, confusingly so; she wonders why he had gotten such a wide bed. Dread rushes through her, and she answers her own question: to give her room to grow.

When Jackson returns, she is hiccuping around her tears, sniffling pitifully. Concern written on his face, Jackson goes to her side and pulls a kerchief from his pocket. Gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he dabs gently at her face.

"It'll be less, I promise." Less at once, that was. If she was going to gain any weight, he would have to work her metabolism into submission, first.

"I hate you."

"That's all right."

Jackson reaches for the cart and pulls it closer, and Mallory's stomach rumbles again, in response to the heavenly scent wafting from the plates. Milk, bacon, eggs, donuts, mangoes, pastries...It's so much, she hopes he doesn't expect it all to go into her stomach. Regardless, she can't help what catches her eye: a round, soft-looking cinnamon roll that oozes caramel, topped with pecans.

Grinning as he cuts into the cinnamon roll, Jackson starts the mental tally. 1,000 calories and 47 grams of sugar per bun. She moans when he pops the fork into her mouth, then promptly blushes, and he knows he has found a treat food for her. It will be a wonderful incentive, later, to encourage her to eat more, even when she's already very full.

Eager for liquid, she drinks down a tall glass of whole milk, and Jackson's eyes trail to her stomach, which has started to poke out very slightly. As he pops a piece of mango into her mouth, he wonders how long it will take before her clothes start to become snug. It had been a request from one of his customers, to watch her slowly outgrow her clothes, and Jackson could not say he wasn't attentively watching for that, as well.

When he is satisfied with what has gone in her belly, just over 2000 calories, she is tiptoeing into 'overfull' territory. Her breathing is just slightly shallower, her eyes lidded, as her body begins to digest the food. He pats her rounded tummy gently, and she whines in reproach, trying to shift away, but the movement just makes her moan in discomfort.

Seated on the edge of her bed, Jackson rubs her tummy rhythmically, until she falls asleep, wondering just how big she will get, and thinking about the day when her stomach is soft and malleable in his hands. The appetite stimulants will kick in sometime in the coming days or weeks, and he will see the fruit of his labor.

. . .

A few hours later, Jackson returns from class, a bag of food in hand. Mallory lies in bed, scowling at the wall, but looks to him when he enters the room. It was rude, he soon realizes, to leave her without any kind of entertainment.

"I'll put a TV in after you're through with lunch," he offers.

"I thought you didn't have money."

"I have a TV; i'll just move it down here." He sets the bag of food on the table next to the bed and unloads the styrofoam container.

"Do you like Panda Express?" Jackson asks, pushing a full fork to her mouth. In lieu of a response, Mallory glares and then eats the proffered food. When her face scrunches up from the heat of the chicken, Jackson pops a straw into her mouth.

She is surprised and a little disconcerted when he pushes the last, spicy honey soaked pineapple into her mouth. Yes, her belly is round, causing mild discomfort from being overfull, but the food is gone, and she is not dreadfully pained. Is her stomach stretching already? Jackson strokes his fingers through her hair absently, as she finishes the rest of the soda, and then puts the empty cup to the side.

"Are you ever going to let me up out of this bed?" she asks quietly. He has permitted her to use the ensuite bathroom, but only for a couple minutes.

"Eventually," he agrees with a nod. "Once you've calmed down a little."

"What does that mean?"

Jackson tilts his head, considering the question. Logically, he knew he would need to let her up and move around soon, before she got too big, because he didn't want her muscles to atrophy too badly. (He has plans for her, several months down the line.) Yet, not too soon, because there was something to be said about watching her get accustomed to bearing her new weight, all at once.

"It's something we'll play by ear," he settles on, finally.

"How convenient for you."

"You'll have free reign of the room, eventually, Mallory. I promise." Whether or not she utilizes it, at that point, would be a different matter. "As I said, I'm not cruel."

"Just a businessman," she finishes bitterly, nostrils flaring.

Jackson echoes the sentiment with an impish grin, offering her part of an egg roll. By his calculations, he has tucked over 4000 calories into her little belly already, and the sun hasn't even set. He has attacked her metabolism, today, with fast food, whole milk, and cola, and it will fight back mightily, for a while. Eventually, though, he will come out the victor, and her pretty, flat stomach will yield to soft fat and begin to grow. Her shirt will retreat upwards, revealing more and more belly flesh, which her jeans will tighten around, giving her the most delightful little muffin top. At that point, feedings probably will be more painful, as her belly won't have much room to swell, but he could adjust accordingly, if he had to.

He simply couldn't wait.

- -

Again, if you have any requests, feel free to leave them in the comments or shoot me a message. (I genuinely appreciate all the messages I got from the last chapter; they were all so amazing and I love hearing your feedback!)

Next time: a few weeks later...