chapter 12

I gave Dixon instructions that there should be all sorts if temptations left out for Wendy to tuck into whenever she wanted. Sweeties, chocolates, cakes, tarts, savoury pastries. She was to be given extra large portions at all mealtimes and if she wanted seconds, she should be indulged. Wendy's appetite had to be catered for.
After all her fat, was my sustenance.

I'm not sure if Dixon understood me correctly because he did not carry out my exact instructions.
Up until that point, I had not used any of my powers upon Dixon. There was no room for disobedience. If he did not like what I was doing, he could go home, but he would have to fork out for his own passage.
I decided to give him one chance, with him under my influence to see if he would change his ideas.
I wished I had done it earlier.
With Dixon's will in my hands, he did exactly what I told him to. He stopped his complaints and even his little gripes. He got on with his work with a new found enthusiasm. His only job was to attend to Wendy's appetite.
He started to get up extra early to create a culinary masterpiece for her breakfast. He was to make sure she ate until she could eat no more.
Then, he had to concentrate on creating her lunch. After stuffing her full for lunch, he would do the same for dinner. His new life revolved around Wendy's eating. Volume was not all there was to it, either. If Wendy wanted to eat a fondant fancy, she would get half a dozen. If she wanted a burger, he would get her a burger... with fries and a shake and as many other accompaniments as he could think of. Any requests for healthy food would be ignored. Wendy had to eat fat laden food and lots of it. Then it had to be followed up by sweetened fatty food.

By the end of the week, Wendy was complaining about her corset being too tight again. Her double chin was back, her buxom breasts stood out more. When she came to see me, I could see the full effect her week of indulgences had sustained on her body. By the time, I had sucked my fill, the signs of her indulgences had disappeared. I encouraged her to eat even more, to push her to the extreme. Perhaps, she could get Dixon to eat a bit more too.

And so an ongoing competition began in the kitchen between Dixon and Wendy. Who could eat the most chocolate eclairs in half an hour. Who could devour the most calories in a day?
My everyday needs were not met to my exacting standard, but I did not complain. Dixon's attentions had new priorities and I was not going to get in the way.

Wendy's figure would put on about half a stone in a week, then quickly lose it. As a consequence, my own clothes had tightened and I'd had to start wearing a larger size. I had all sizes of outfits in my wardrobe to cater to this, but it had been a long time since I had been in my current size.

Dixon was bigger too, but he did not have an expanding wardrobe as I did. His shirts were tight and wrinkled. Riding up a little higher every day. The buttons gaped and struggled to come together. I'm sure some days he simply left them undone and hid the evidence under his waistcoat. His waistcoat was longer, but that too was tight and wrinkled. When he bent over the absence of his shirt was evident as fat tried to escape through at every opportunity.
His trousers were too tight as well. The reinforced seams were strained. They were so tight, he struggled to sit and bend in the middle. It would not be long before his trousers gave up altogether.
Yet he could not resist finishing the last of the bacon in the pan, dripping with grease and fat.

I had Wendy find him some more relaxed, modern clothes to wear.
Wearing a stretchy tee shirt with jeans, showed off the size of his newly formed paunch. He was starting to get fatty chest swellings as well.

A few weeks later the chest swellings were proper man-boobs. He had rolls of fat on the side of his waist, thickened buttocks and thighs his paunch hung over his trousers. If he had to raise his arms for any reason, his tee shirt rose up to show flesh.

Meanwhile Wendy ate just as much as he did and stated the same.

The same cannot be said of me. I appeared to eat nothing, yet my weight was soaring ever higher. My skin stretched more than it had ever stretched before to accommodate my growing size.
I outgrew even the largest garments In my wardrobe, until Wendy put me in stretchy tee shirts and track suit bottoms.
It felt liberating to be able to move without restriction from my clothing, but simple things such as climbing stairs without feeling breathless was becoming difficult.

Dixon hated being cooped up in the house all day. He started exploring around the town, especially in the evenings. He found the welcome of an English pub. His favourite was the Granby, just a few streets away. It was very traditional with it's roaring fire and friendly welcome, but he said the warm beer took a bit of getting used to.
It couldn't have taken him that long to get used to the warm beer, because within his first week of finding the Granby, he came home drunk.
Of course the pints of beer he'd consumed were all empty calories and by the time he had walked home, he had worked up a huge appetite.
Wendy told me she had gone into her kitchen to find an enormous mess of cupboard half open, broken egg shells and grated cheese on the bench, greasy pans left lying about.
Dixon slept late that morning. It wasn't an unusual occurance in my residence as we all kept late hours, but Dixon slept even longer. He woke in a temper, pale and hungover and hungry for the most greasy calorific food that Wendy could make for him.
Nevertheless, later that afternoon, he was off out again to the Granby, or some other pub to do it all again.
It became a regular occurance. Sometimes he'd stay out until the early hours after visiting RAW, the local night club and consuming even more booze.
I accompanied him once, but once was enough. Indeed, I had to leave early because I could not stand the way the over loud music banged in my ears. I realise that this is the modern way, but there are certain 'improvements' that I shall never get used to. I was only there for an hour and my ears continued to buzz until the next day!
I was not impressed by what I saw there anyway. The young girls, all in their early twenties wore obscenely short dresses. Some of them wore trousers, but they were so tight that they were just as bad. Some might as well have gone there in their underwear their clothing was so scanty. It was a wonder they did not catch their death of cold when they headed home in the cool sea breeze.
Their shoes had heels that were so high that they struggled to walk in them, yet, they danced provocatively on the dim dance floor lit with so many coloured spinning flashing lights that it made me feel quite dizzy to look at them. (The lights, not the girls).
The customers not dancing were determined about one thing. They needed to get as drunk as possible. They were not happy unless they could barely stand.
Dixon told me it was common to preload. That is to start drinking hard spirits at home before they even started to get ready for their night out. Perhaps they were already drunk when they chose their outfits for their night out. That would explain why they were so scandalous. Cocktails were popular because they got you drunk quicker. Shots were considered to be even better. Competitions as to who could drink the most the fastest without falling over or passing out were popular.
I could not understand the youngsters' mentality. What was so bad in the world that you had to block it out with so much alcohol?
I'd seen and suffered hardship in my own life. Why were so many young people getting so drunk that they could easily be exploited by street robbers or even rapists.
Alucard had always advised me to stay away from trying the flesh of alcoholics. He said he could taste it in their blood when he drank it. He said if he drank too much, it made his head swim and he would not feel himself. A little drop of red wine every now and again was enough for anyone.
So although Dixon's body was very tempting for me to divulge in as he swelled and expanded, I left him completely alone to his drunken debauchery.