chapter 4

Martin had first met Mort when the latter had been working as a chef at a small local cafe. That night, when he and Gwen went to the apartment next door, Mort greeted them with surprising news.

"Would you believe I'm opening my own restaurant?" he said, beaming, as he offered them a plate of finger food. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Martin took several mini queches and spring rolls.

"Morty that's amazing -congratulations," he said, speaking with his mouth full, trying to cover his lips.

"Cool," Gwen said simply, sipping her wine.

"It's a bit of a dream come true, I must admit." Mort went on, waving a hand flippantly. "Of course, you're always welcome for a treat on the house," he added, smirking. "You poor thing, look at you. Why, there's nothing left of you!"

Martin blushed. "That hardly true... my gosh, you sound like the old ladies at work."

Mort threw back his head with laughter; even Gwen couldn't repress a smile.

"Well, Mort's not wrong, y'know" she said. "It was his brother's doing, Mort. You know -Chad."

"Oh of course." A look of wry recognition flickered across Mort's pretty face. "He's the one who warned you what a bad influence I am." He looked very pleased about this, and set the platter aside without taking anything for himself. Like always, he seemed to exist primarily on alcohol and cigarettes.

"Well that's thinly disguised homophobia," Gwen said bitterly.

"Oh goodness no, it wasn't that," said Mort, chuckling and lighting a cigarette; "why I'm the least PC person you could hope to meet -it's all fine and dandy to be a fag these days, you know; but to be a bit on the chubby side, well--" He pulled an exaggerated face; "I think Chad and I had a little disagreement about that."

"That bad, eh?" grinned Gwen. She was unable to dislike Mort quite so easily, knowing that he had stood up for Martin this way.

"Oh no, no." Mort waved his cigarette dismissively. "Nothing that would make the cut of a daytime soap, honey. I simply made the point that I was quite the thinnest person there, and I owe it all not to diet and excersise, but to late nights, a few too many parties and substituting sugar for -well- powder of another kind, you know. Thus, our darling Martin, whom Chad loved to accuse of being unfit, was far healthier than me. I hope to be dead by fifty! Of course, Chad couldn't disagree, so he just got angry." He laughed.

Martin blushed, clearly not wanting to be reminded of this memory. "Morty, please don't even joke about that," he said quietly; "you know I worry about you... and- and besides, Chad was right, I was kind of fat."

"Honey, I'm only TWENTY-NINE, remember," said Mort, winking and tapping the side of his nose. "Plenty of years left! And you know, you're such a lovely boy, how could you blame me for wanting more of you?" he smirked. "I'm not letting you out of here while you can still button your pants. Now," he said briskly; "sit, both of you. I have the soup in the cooker and it's best served fresh. Sit, sit, sit!"

Martin was blushing pink as he and Gwen sat side-by-side at the dinner table, and Mort bustled into the kitchen to fetch the first course.

"How much of that story was bullshit?" Gwen asked, leaning close to him.

Martin smiled reluctantly. "None of it, really. I mean, except probably Mort is a bad influence for me... I--"
But he cut himself off, shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought.

None of this was new to Gwen, of course. But it seemed to be only now, months later, that Martin was beginning to feel like he could discuss the relationship with a bit of distance.

The dinner was exquisite. After soup with fresh bread, Mort served lasagna, pumpkin salad, and a salted caramel cheesecake with vanilla bean ice cream for desert. Gwen tried a bit of everything, but could not finish any of it. Mort pushed his own food around on his plate like usual, but forced extra helpings of everything onto Martin, who was in a state of food bliss throughout dinner, and a food coma by the end.

As he ate, he was barely aware of Mort talking his way through his plans for the restaurant, politics - whatever. All the mattered to Martin were the heavenly tastes, the feeling of filling his stomach. He barely even realized how much he was eating; it seemed a day of near fasting had caught up with him tenfold.

"No, no, I'm totally stuffed, I can't eat one more bite," he said at last, as Mort tried to force a third slice of cheesecake upon him. "It was so delicious... I've really missed--" but again, he cut himself off, not wanting to commit to what he had been planning to say.

But Mort seemed satisfied. Smirking, he announced that he would box up the rest of the cake for later, and rose from the table.
Gwen looked across at her friend. Martin was rubbing his hands over his tight midsection, breathing through his mouth. He was so full that he was breathing shallowly, a light coating of sweat on his face.

"I'm sorry Gweny," he muttered, panting a little; "I made such a pig of myself..." He pressed his hand to his mouth, repressing a burp. "You know I always eat when I'm nervous... and I didn't have much during the day... urph...I can hardly move."

"Martin, why are you even apologizing to me?" Gwen asked, cocking a slender eyebrow. "I'm not Chad."

"I know," sighed Martin. His eyes had a glazed, blissful look that Gwen saw far too seldom from him. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, while Mort bustled about in the kitchen. Martin rubbed his hands gently over his flat but distended stomach, helping the food to digest a little.

A moment later the front door opened, and Sherry entered. Gwen repressed a groan, as Mort's voice happily exclaimed: "Oh if it isn't my darling Sherry Cherry!"

He emerged from the kitchen, and kissed her on the lips. Sherry was a huge woman, easily over 150kg. Most of the weight she carried in her thighs, ass and belly, which was divided into a small upper roll, and a huge lower one, which bumped against her thunder-thighs when she walked.

"Bloody tough day at work!" boomed Sherry in her usual loud, uncouth way. "Something smells great! You save some of that cake for me?"

"Don't you two go anywhere!" Mort added over his shoulder to Martin and Gwen.

Martin stared determinedly down at his knees, while Gwen muttered 'Jesus' under her breath. Yet her eyes followed Mort and Sherry as they made their way back into the kitchen, Mort moving slowly to keep time with Sherry's waddle.

"I'll give them a hand," Gwen said, snatching up the remaining plates. She followed Mort and Sherry, but did not go into the kitchen. Instead she hovered just outside the door, eavesdropping.

"Honey, I didn't just save you some cake, I made another just for you," Mort was saying to Sherry with a purr in his voice, sliding his arm around her. He could not reach fully around her waist, but Gwen saw his fingers slipping between the creases of one of her back rolls, clearly visible beneath her skin-tight shirt. Her huge belly, which she had tucked into the tops of her tights, wobbled ostentaciously beneath the base of her shirt.

"Wow," said Sherry, evidently beholding the cheesecake, though Gwen could not make out anything around her girth. "I'm starved - think I'll eat the whole thing."

"You LOOK starved," Mort teased, holding her from behind, and running his hands over the sides of her belly-hang--the furthest around her that he could reach. "What do you think you're doing, turning up in these tights, mm?"

"I like to torture you. 'Sides, everything I own is tight, isn't it? Tighter since I met you..."

"Not tight enough," purred Mort. "And you're not eating this cake, honey, until I am free to fuck you from behind while you do."

"Deal. So long as I get to eat these leftovers while I wait," said Sherry. Mort muttered a reply, and they kissed passionately. Gwen had known, of course, that Mort liked fat people, but seeing it so overtly made her feel both uncomfortable, and somehow intrigued.

She rapped upon to door to announce herself, pretending she had just showed up. Sherry had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed, but Mort merely smirked, not removing his hands from Sherry's rolls.

"Hey," said Gwen. "Um, thanks for tonight. But Martin and I are going to head off."

"So soon?" Mort looked genuinely disappointed.

"Yeah. Work tomorrow for both of us. Slave to the man," said Gwen.
She deposited the plates on the counter and returned to the dining room. Martin had already collected his coat, looking anxious and slightly hurt. He was eager, despite his painful fullness, to remove himself from Mort's apartment and the presence of the happy couple.