chapter 5

In the following three weeks, Mallory puts on fifteen pounds. Her breasts take some of the weight, straining her top that has almost retreated up, past her round belly. She smiles more, all shy and hesitant, and makes specific requests for food. Sometimes, he requests are messy, requiring Jackson to sit closer.

It dawns on him, when he's feeding her a particularly large burrito. Her hands are in their natural, bound position on the armrests of the chair. She's only finished half of it, but her belly is straining and she's chewing slower, obviously pained. After a mental tally, Jackson decides that she can finish it later.

When stands, brushing his fingertips down her arm, as has become his custom, Mallory catches his fingers, tugging lightly to get his attention. "Don't you want me to finish it?" Jackson narrows his eyes, trying to find dishonesty or some kind of scheme, but her eyes are wide and earnest and curious.

Even though he's a little worried about her overdoing it, he slowly feeds her the last half. It takes nearly forty-five minutes, but she finishes. Her cheeks are blotchy and red, her mouth grimacing, as she swallows the last bite. She punctuates the swallow with a low groan, shifting her hips forward, to put the least amount of pressure on her engorged stomach. Jackson rubs her tummy as gently as he can, while still helping. Something warm and soft suddenly rests his head, little puffs of warm air skirting across his scalp. Although he stiffens, Jackson realizes quickly that it's her cheek.

The affection takes him by surprise, but he can't help but grin down at her bloated belly. Her tenderness is tangible relief and tingling excitement all at once. He likes her, always has. Now that she has warmed to him, everything will be so much more fun.

Idly, he wonders how much weight he can put on her in a week. His customers are quite interested to know; requests and funds flow in.

. . .

The first two days are groundwork. He keeps her stuffed to the brim almost constantly with weight gain shakes, to start to stretch her belly and prepare her body for the coming days. He works strategically, changing flavors and textures often, to keep her interested and drinking. She pushes herself further every time, eyes on him, wanting to please, and he shows her his pride and affection freely. Her belly is hard and straining each time she slips away into sleep, and Jackson rubs out some of the ache while she slumbers.

Days three and four, he rewards her with all her favorite foods -- caramel pecan cinnamon rolls, creamy pasta, crispy chicken, and even manages a couple more shakes. When Mallory glares at him, more exasperated than angry, Jackson only smiles and kisses her forehead. Her shirt takes a permanent position above the arc of her belly and below her breasts.

By the end, he can tell she is pretty miserable. The final three days, he cooks for her, and she loves it at first, appreciates his thoughtfulness. Until she doesn't. Oh, the food is delicious, as always, but it never seems to stop. As soon as the intense ache stops, he puts a straw between her lips or pops half a cookie into her mouth. Her jaw grows tired, but she wants to please him, so she eats as much as she can. It's always more. The idea doesn't concern her as much as it used to. She wonders how big Jackson wants her, but the thought is idle; she cares little and less.

There is no real way to tell how much she's gained, visually or numerically, because she's always full and bloated. After her final feeding of the week, Jackson lets her rest for as long as she wants, which ends up almost being eighteen hours. He doesn't mind so much; he's pushed her hard this week, and she deserves a break.

Around three p.m., Jackson steps into Mallory's room. Although he knows she is not full of food anymore, her stomach is markedly larger, the size it would have been a week ago, after a stuffing. Her belly has started to expand at the sides, as well, rather than only forward. She tips the scales at 180, 12 pounds up from the beginning of the week. Jackson tamps down the wild surge of arousal and steadies himself to rouse the girl.

She blinks awake when he kisses her temple and smiles at him groggy, yet expectant. Jackson's eyes draw to the soft, fatty part of her lower belly that has grown quite a bit. He takes it between his fingers and gives it a light pinch.

"Look at this pretty belly," he sighs, stroking its softness. There is just enough room to slip his fingertips beneath, and he bounces his fingers, watching her belly jiggle. "Look how gorgeous that is. All jiggly and soft and new. Your thighs do it, too, when you walk."

"I know," she says hesitantly.

"You've got the beginnings of stretch marks, too." He feels for the aforementioned marks, smiling to himself.

"I know." Her voice is quiet.

Jackson looks up at her abruptly, smile gone. He hadn't meant to upset her. Slipping his fingers from beneath her lower belly, he rests his hand against her waist. His fingers sink in slightly.

"It's not your fault," he reassures. "You've never done anything more than I've asked." Half a lie; better than a whole lie.

Mallory stares at him, something shifting within her. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't, really. However big she got, it would be *his* fault -- his forceful hand, his gentle encouragements that are harder and harder to hate and resist. He is fattening her; she does not need to take responsibility. The relief of it almost knocks the breath from her lungs.

Her stomach growls.

- - -

A/N: If you have a request, feel free to message me, or put it in the comments. The scene I mentioned in the last chapter hasn't come yet; I thought there needed to be something beforehand.
However, I'll give a small sneak peek: an adventure and some humiliation for our favorite growing piggy.