chapter 7

6.
I didn’t see Paula leave. All I could do to keep the discomfort at bay was to rub my belly and focus on breathing. When I awoke I was alarmed to find myself in a bed. I had been laid on my back and wrapped in fleece, still naked, and to my surprise as I went to sit up a pressure on my torso forced me back down. At first I assumed it was Abram, he seemed to enjoy bossing me around, but as I looked down and saw a convex bulge under the covers I knew it was my own overloaded stomach. I was still full, dreadfully so, but as I looked around the room I couldn’t help but give it an experimental poke.

The flesh was hard, as if I was flexing, my skin felt hot from being stretched. ‘Better get used to the idea of this being permanent,’ I thought to myself, belching as another wave of discomfort rocked me. Abram must have heard the ensuing whimper. Fast as the flash he poked his head in from the main control room.

“Feeling ok? Paula can be forceful sometimes.” I nodded, unable to totally hide my discomfort as I rolled away from him to my side. Abram came into the room and sat on the foot of the bed as he undid his boots. He had clearly been working, the musky scent of him flowed around me, intoxicating. My eyebrows perked up once I saw what he had in his hands. I expected yet more fattening treats, but instead was a bottle of ginger ale and some tums.

“Here,” he stuck out the items without looking at me. I took them and began sipping at the ginger ale, popping a tum for good measure. Abram returned to his task, not stopping until the boots were removed. My breath stuck in my throat as he removed his shirt and trousers, gasping as he let his boxers slide to the floor. Abram turned to me, his flaccid member smacking lightly off one thigh. He must have seen my awe-struck gaze, chuckling as he slipped under the sheets.

“Like what you see?” I nodded. His cock, thick and at least six inches long soft, had a hypnotic effect. Maybe it was the pheromones, the lack of human intimacy in the last hard years. I found myself wanting to reach out and touch it. Madly, I wanted to please this man who was forcing such a strange transformation on me. To my dismay Abram caught my hand with his, forcing it to his side.

“Not yet, boy. I can still see bones on you.” Abram flipped me around and embraced me as the big spoon. He ran his fingers along my distended belly, taking in a satisfied breath as his beard tickled my neck.

I expected to feel him stiffen and fuck me at some point during the night. He did get hard, but never once did I think he was going to try something. It was dark out now, time had eluded me during my spa visit, and before long I found myself drifting into the most pleasant sleep I since before The Stink. Part of my mind was screaming at me to get away before I was too fat to, but it was a small part. I melted into Abram’s embrace, giving myself to him. The last words he mumbled before I fell asleep were a reminder of his deal.

“Soon, soon this’ll be round for real…”

7.
I wouldn’t know how to frame the experience as anything other than, ‘uncomfortable’. It wasn’t like I wasn’t used to eating a lot, whenever I had some spare money I could usually be found at the bakery stuffing my face. And at first, I had to say I was enjoying myself. Abram, despite his odd kinks, was a respected and tender man. Every time I came back to our room bloated and in discomfort, he would take the time to soothe me with belly rubs, a cuddle, he was even quick to blow me. Sleeping with him was shockingly close to the dream I never dared to believe in. I melted into his burly arms each night as his little spoon, the embrace enchanting. Falling asleep breathing him in was like a drug. I can’t remember a time I had slept that well.

Abram was no saint though. He did care for my mental health, but he also took advantage of the deal he put me in. I was his arm candy, dressed in all kinds of ridiculously tight outfits to highlight the stomach that swelled like a balloon at each meal. It felt like the strips of fabric around my middle were specifically designed to part as I grew stuffed. Later in the nights he would bring his high class associates near to show me off, delighting in the teasing and belly poking I received. I dutifully ate through it. The food was truly the best I had ever had, and it wasn’t like I was a small eater. I should have known from that first night with Paula though, that I wasn’t just being treated to a few dozen big meals. As much as it felt like it at times, this was no vacation.

I was being fattened.

The process was like a good offense in american football feeling out the defense. Maybe at first they took it easy, and in this case it was true. Plate after plate disappeared down my eager maw, yet I didn’t pay attention as Paula took notes. The number of plates increased, as well as the amount of food on each. Where I plowed through meals without pause before, I found myself struggling towards the end as days turned to weeks and the amount of plates piled higher. One night I felt so stuffed I had to do something I never had, unbutton my pants. I looked up with wide eyes, and sure enough Paula was grinning at me from across the hall. I swallowed past a lump in my throat. That look, it was as if their quarterback found a crack in my defensive scheme.

From then on any enjoyment I was experiencing fell away. These weren't just meals, they were exhibitions. It felt like everyone watched as I progressed from full to stuffed to painfully bloated. I would moan as an assistant was brought out to rub my taxed gut, coaxing belch after belch from me until Paula would command me to eat again. It didn’t matter how full I felt. The plates kept coming, and it seemed I was reduced to a sweating, panting mess by the end of each meal. After the second week my eyes would bulge out at the absurd amount, much as my stomach later would, as cart after cart, platter after platter, was brought just for me. Inevitably, and seeming impossibly, they all disappeared into my increasingly round midsection.

I wasn’t too worried about my planned escape. I had never eaten this much for any extended period in my life, but it would take more than a bit of flab to prevent me from getting free. I was under careful watch, to the point my weight and measurements were taken daily, but there were gaps in the routines. Slight windows, some only a few minutes long, that I could use to tuck away. I had managed to get some information listening to Abram when he thought I had fallen into yet another food coma. By the second week I had an idea what the stop schedule was.

Every two weeks of the first two months there was a stop on an island for a grand party. That party signaled the end of the current tour. Abram and his crew were full time members on the ship, and cycled to whatever part of the globe got them the most money. After the party the ship would stop at the biggest port city in the world to restock before starting another tour, and the cycle would commence again. I had eaten my way past the first two stops, but it wasn’t a big deal. I wanted to end up at the port city over a tiny island. There would be more plentiful work and it might be for the best to pack on some pounds before I got there. I’d sure need it if I was going to get back into construction.

As the calories piled up though, I worried I might sleep through it. And there was something else I didn’t expect...