chapter 6

Over the ensuing weeks, Martin accepted each biscuit and piece of slice Fran offered him at work. Soon a saucer, perpetually covered in crumbs, took up permanent residence beside his work-station, so that Fran could deposit a treat on it whenever she walked passed.

Martin made little changes at first: sugar in his coffee; chips with his lunch, instead of a salad; a snack in the afternoon. It all felt so natural, so good, simply giving in to his appetite whenever he felt like it.

For her part, Gwen knew that it had taken very little encouragement to get Martin to give in--she just hoped that he really would benefit from it emotionally.

After two weeks, Martin noticed his pants beginning to feel tight when he was sitting down at his desk. He dug his thumb under his waistband, tugged his shirt up a little, and noticed an angry red mark on his soft white flesh.

He hadn't weighed himself since making his deal with Gwen, but it was clear that the changes were beginning to take their toll. Just then, Fran appeared behind his and Naomi's desks; Martin quickly lowered his shirt.

"Want to try a fudge brownie, my dears?" she asked kindly, beaming at them. "They're a new recipe; tell me what you think!" Without waiting for a response, she set a brownie down on Martin's plate, and handed another, wrapped in a napkin to Naomi.

"Oh -thanks Fran, these look amazing!" said Martin, as Fran bustled away.

Naomi giggled. "I don't want this! They're so fattening!"

"Oh... um, if you're sure, I'll have it, Naomi," said Martin. Naomi passed him the brownie, clearly pleased to rid herself of the temptation.

The brownies were heavenly, bursting with fudge and cream, thick and dense. Martin moaned softly as he ate them, the pressure on his midsection gradually increasing.
The brownies made him thirsty, so he excused himself briefly to 'grab a coffee' from the cafe next door. He didn't get a coffee, though, but a large vanilla thickshake.

On his way back to his desk, thickshake in hand, he met Fran in the hallway.

"How were the brownies, dear?" the old lady asked.

"Oh, so good, Fran. I don't know how you do it!"

Fran beamed. "You're too kind, Martin. Here, have a second, dear." She opened her tin. Martin hesitated barely an instant.

"Thank you."

Back at his desk, he sipped his thickshake and nibbled on the brownie, feeling heavy and content all over. But as the heavy, almost solid thickshake slid down into his stomach, the pressure of his waistband became unbearable.
With a sigh, he discreetly undid his top button; his fly slid down of its own volition, so great was the pressure from his distended abdomen. He shuffled a little closer to his desk, hoping Naomi wouldn't notice anything.

He continued to sip his thickshake as he worked at his computer, his hand occasionally slipping downward to rub his stuffed belly. It was beginning to curve outward now when he was full, and he liked the way it felt against his hand. On the desk beside him, his phone vibrated: a message from Gwen:

Hey. Mort's restaurant opening tonight. What you say we take him up on that 'eat for free' promise? Pick you up after work? x

Martin smiled, and texted back:
sure. But I think I have to go home to get changed first. Pants are getting SO tight! x

*

In the gym locker room after yoga class, Gwen grinned at Martin's message, feeling, in spite of herself, a warm tingle in her loins. He had been holding up his end of the deal better than she had imagined; she didn't even mind sitting through tedious rom-coms in return.

She glanced at her own reflection in the mirror, dressed in yoga pants and a sports bra, her abs defined, her figure slim but womanly. Somehow, the idea of Martin stuck in the office, eating from boredom, while she worked out in the gym, made her feel very naughty, and somehow closer to him than she had ever felt before.

She wouldn't have noticed his weight gain if she hadn't been paying such close attention. But last night she had glimpsed little love handles forming over the waistline of his pants when he had reached for a glass in a high cupboard, and his shirt had slipped upward. She noticed a new, small roll of flesh when he sat down, becoming more prominent when he was full.

*

"Oh my gosh," Martin said that evening, as they were preparing to go to Mort's restaurant. "I've gained five kilos, Gweny. I'm up to eighty-three." He was standing on the scale in the bathroom, wearing a dressing gown after his shower. "No wonder my pants were tight."

"Sounds like an excuse for a shopping trip to me," said Gwen, trying not to sound too excited.

"Yeah, maybe... at this rate I'll probably be like ninety-five kilos before this is over!" He leant over the basin and peered into his reflection. "I guess I can live with that..."

He dressed an old pair of 'fat' jeans that he had worn last year, and they left for the restaurant.