Chapter 1

She awakes to the sound of muted camera clicks, her mouth dry as the Sahara. The overhead light is intense, leaving black spots floating in her vision. A shadowy figure stands across from her, and she blinks rapidly, trying to get a good look at the person (...thing?). It is a man, she realizes, with a camera cradled in his hands; he looks down at it, repeatedly tapping a button, no doubt looking through the photographs. Anxiety builds low in her stomach, and her heart rate picks up, palms sweating.

Something nearby begins to chime, as though responding to her sudden rush of fear, and the man looks up in mild interest. When his eyes find hers, he smiles and sets the camera down on a small desk. "Well, look who's up," he drawls, sidling up to her.

She flinches away, but the motion is severely limited by the padded cuffs circling her wrists. The man steadies himself and slows his movements, the smile never abating. If anything, it takes on an hungry edge, and she swallows hard, tears welling in her eyes.

"Who are you?"

When he is close enough, he reaches out and strokes a lock of hair away from her face. She flinches, as though he has struck her outright, and he tries not to pout. "I'm Jackson," he answers, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. (In time, he thinks, there will not be room for him to do this.) "You're Mallory, right?"

She nods, shaking hard. "W-what do you want from me? Where am I?"

A sort of sad smile tugs at his mouth, and Jackson takes her hand between both of his. "Well, sweetheart, here's the thing. Graduate school costs an arm and a leg. Seeing as though I'm not to keen on selling mine--" She whimpers, tears starting to stream down her cheeks, and tries to scramble away from him. When he recognizes the implication in his words, he startles and his eyes go wide. "Oh God, no! Mallory, I'm not going to...holy shit, no."

Cautiously, he edges closer and warps an arm around her, tugging her back to the middle of the bed, so she doesn't hyperextend her shoulder trying to get away. "Nothing like that," he assures her firmly.

"T-then what? Force me into prostitution? Are you my pimp now?" she spits. Even though her words are bold, teeth bared, she is still shaking, cheeks red and splotchy from tears.

"No, sweetheart. That's so tacky." He tightens his arm around her slightly, his fingers wandering to the dip of her waist. Sighing quietly, he strokes the skin there, until she shivers. "We're just going to add a couple inches to your waistline." (Of course, he may have edited out the word dozen, but the principle was still the same.)

Mallory jerks uselessly in his grip, whipping her head to stare at him incredulously. "You're ***ing kidding me. You're absolutely insane."

"Actually, it's not that bad of a business venture, if you're neat about it, and don't mind kidnapping and plump girls." Smiling fondly, he taps her nose gently. "Unfortunately for you, I don't mind."

She begins to cry again, and Jackson sighs and disembarks the bed, glancing up at something she cannot see. When he reaches the desk, he opens up a notebook and jots something down, pursing his lips slightly. A low number. They have time, though. And there are so many requests; she is practically a walking dollar sign.

"What is that?" she asks, voice taking on an edge of hysteria. "What did you write?"

"Your weight."

Her sobs pick up, and Jackson fights the urge to roll his eyes. It wouldn't be so bad, really; he would take good care of her. It wasn't like he was insane or depraved or anything -- he just really needed the cash. Leaving Mallory to cry, he prepares the first request, which was to determine the capacity of her stomach. While it would bring him $350, he was also interested to see what he had to work with.

With the weight gain shake prepared, Jackson brought her a full cup of it. "Here," he offers, proffering the cup. Thankfully, she is secured rather well to the bed, so he doesn't have to sidestep swinging hands. "Mallory, I don't like being rough. Will you just drink it please?"

Mallory shakes her head furiously, and Jackson sighs, reaching to pinch her nose closed. Immediately, she opens her mouth to breathe, he puts the glass to her lips and tilts it back. Although she tries to spit it back out, his hand it insistent, and he watches her throat work with the first swallow. As much as he wishes she would, Mallory does not become more docile with the increasing amount of shake in her belly, which has started to bloat.

The closer he nears to two liters, the more distressed she seems to become. She begins squirming in her bonds, still drinking but trying to shy away from the glass. Jackson pulls away the glass, and she pants for breath, from the combination of being able to breathe though her nose again and the pressure in her belly, no doubt. Jackson studies her rounded belly, which has grown significantly from its original flatness. He prods his fingers along it, and finds there is still quite a bit of give.

"Please, no more," she whines, when she sees him return to the desk.

"Just a little more," he insists, bringing back another glass of the shake.

When he is satisfied with the fullness of her belly, she is panting and whimpering, red-faced. Her stomach arcs impressively, shining slightly with fullness. Humming his sympathy, Jackson cradles her bloated belly gently between his hands and then gives it a light shake. She cries out in pain, and he shushes her, rubbing gently. The gentle motion seems to soothe her, and she burps several times, before falling into a slightly fitful slumber.

With a pep in his step, Jackson flips off the camera and writes down her capacity, in liters and pounds, in the notebook, as well as her emotional climate. This was going to be far more fun than he had hoped.

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A/N : If you have any requests, please feel free to put them in the comments or shoot me a message.
Also, the story will pick up; some backstory needed to be added.