chapter 8

When at work, Martin still insisted on wearing his 'skinny' pants, even though they were growing more and more uncomfortable by the day. He kept telling himself that it would be silly to buy new ones, because as soon as the month was over and Gwen had had her fun, he was going to lose the weight he had gained.

By the end of the third week, however, he found himself undoing his pants whenever he was sitting at his desk, not simply when he was full.
An embarrassing moment came when he was heading to the bathroom and forgot to button them again--something that one of the ladies in the office was kind enough to point out to him. Martin returned to his desk in humiliation, even though he knew his collegue had only been trying to save him from any real embarrassment.

No sooner had he sat back down, however, than he found himself face-to-face with Mort, who was standing on the other side of the teller's window. Mort was dressed in crisp white pants and a pale pink shirt, a pair of oversized sunglasses perched upon his forehead.

"I want to make a deposit," he said, in such a suggestive way that Martin immediately felt himself blushing.

They made the transaction, then Mort added: "Honey, why don't you pop by the restaurant this arvo after work? I have a little something for you." Not giving Martin time to respond, he took his receipt and left.

*

Martin was slightly nervous when he arrived at the restaurant. It was just past five, and the restaurant was not yet open, though most of the staff where there to prepare for the evening.

Diego greeted him perfunctorily when he entered, and told him that Mort was in the kitchen. Martin crossed the room, and poked his head into the kitchen; Mort beckoned for him to come in.

The kitchen smelt amazing. Huge pots of slow-cooking beef ragu bubbled on the stove; bread was crisping in the oven. Mort was currently at work slipping freshly-made panacottas out of their moulds onto dessert plates to go into the fridge.

"This all looks incredible, Morty," Martin said, feeling a twinge of pleasant anticipation in his stomach.

"Why thank you, honey," Mort replied. "Now, the reason I ask you here: I thought, whatever is the use of giving you free food if I receive nothing in return, hmm?"

"Er... what do you mean?" Martin asked nervously.

"I'd like you to sample my little creations and tell me what you think. These ones are not yet on the menu. I greatly value the opinion of a palate like yours." He smirked.

"Oh.. um, yeah sure I'd be delighted," said Martin. Somewhat uncomfortably, he added: "I'm guessing Gwen mentioned I'm not really on the diet anymore..."

"Oh we might have exchanged a word or two," Mort said cagily; "but in her defense, honey, I surmised quite as much myself the other evening. Life is much too short to deny yourself, Marty honey. Take a seat right here," he then ordered, ushering Martin to a small table he had set up in the kitchen, evidently with just that purpose in mind.

Happily, Mort ladled huge portions of ragu and carbonarra into two bowls, and set both in front of Martin, dusting the pasta liberally with cheese.
"Eat," Mort whispered seductively, handing him a spoon.

Martin did not need to be told twice. As the pasta was still a bit too hot, he began with the rich, thick ragu, dipping buttered bread liberally into the sauce. It was delicious, and sunk heavily into his belly, weighting him down into the padded chair. Martin undid the button of his pants, rubbing his belly as he ate, in such a state of food bliss that he didn't even care that Mort was watching.

"Mmm good boy," Mort purred when Martin had finished the first bowl. "Now this one." He pushed the carbonara in front of him, the outline of his erection obvious through his pants as he stood next to Martin.

Though he was already full, Martin ate, sighing with pleasure at the thick, rich decadent pasta--even heavier and fattier than the ragu. He had to shift himself back a little in his chair, unable to lean forward as his belly became packed tight with food. But he wanted to please Mort. He could barely finish it, and for a moment feared he might throw up.

Gradually though, the pain receded and he felt the wonderful contentment of a food coma. He did not care that his pants with undone, a large V of belly flesh on display for Mort.

"That was amazing," Martin sighed.

"Honey, I need a little constructive criticism," Mort chuckled. "Which would you recommend as tonight's special?"

Martin repressed a belch, and said after a moment: "I think the carbonarra. Some of the beef was a little tough, sorry. It was still amazing though," he added hastily, as though fearful of offending him.

Mort merely laughed. "The carbonara it is then! Don't worry, honey, I'm not afraid of a little constructive criticism."

The door of the kitchen swung open, and Diego entered. His black eyebrows arched at the sight of Martin and the two huge empty bowls beside him. Martin tried to zip up his pants, but it was useless--he was just too stuffed. A look a mild disgust crossed Diego's face. He turned back to Mort: "I opening restaurant now?"

"Of course honey. Trot along," said Mort. "Nevermind us!"

As soon as Diego had left, Mort said: "So, can I request your services again on Thursday?"

Dazed and blissed out, Martin merely nodded.