Chapter 3 - Out to Pasture

LOL, got it in just a bit under the character limit! Happy weekend all and happy feasting!

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“Baz!” The waiter almost squealed upon seeing him. He was a tall and wiry faun, quite unlike the pudgy versions depicted in art. “You haven’t been here in weeks. Hey, when are you going to do the challenge again? I could use the money.”

*The challenge?* Basil looked uncomfortable, shifted in his chair – a huge, reinforced dining chair that was surely just for him – and replied, “I’m actually here with a friend tonight.” He leaned back, and I leaned forward to give the guy a little wave. I had been quite hidden behind Basil’s bulk.

The waiter’s expression blanched at seeing me, and he switched gears, shuffling his hooves nervously. “Oh, sorry! Miss, I promise our staff aren’t usually this casual. Basil’s a great boss and we always look forward to welcoming him.” He wiped his brow and added, “And his guests, of course. What can I get you this evening?”

“Would you mind if I ordered?” Basil asked me quietly. “I’m not trying to be macho or controlling, but I have a knack for guessing what people like.” The driver had pulled up in an enormous SUV, and the car ride to Pasture felt like it had taken two seconds, though in reality, it had been nearly a half hour in city traffic. We’d chatted and cuddled and giggled the whole time, so maybe he could guess what I enjoyed.

“Go ahead,” I said, thinking to myself that being a little controlling wasn’t always a bad thing.

He held the menu away from me and pointed at several items before shooting me a mischievous look. “I hope you don’t mind little surprises,” he said as the waiter trotted away.

“Little ones? No, but don’t ever throw me a surprise party, or I might throw a surprise panic attack.” His hand rested on the table, the brick red of his skin complemented by the warm, roughly hewn wood. Mine crept over to rest on his. Basil seemed a little shy about initiating touch, though he was confident in just about everything else. I wanted to show him that whatever he did was quite welcome.

As soon as I made contact, he rolled his hand to the side to catch mine under his thumb. “Fair enough,” he said casually, but his whole focus was on my small hand in his.

I scootched my chair closer to his to lean against his warm, soft side. “What’s the challenge?”

“Oh,” he said uneasily and took his hand away. He shifted in his seat and pulled at his clothes as if they’d suddenly cover more of him if he tugged the right way. It was a futile task, his button-down and trousers were clearly stuffed full of him, there was little give to the fabric left. “It’s a silly competition I do with my staff. That’s all.”

I tried to guess at why he was so awkward about some team-building exercise, but drew a blank. “That sounds like fun, is it like a series of games or something?”

“Something,” he said a little gruffly. His tone was rough and curt, almost hurtfully so, and I didn’t hide my wounded reaction. He glanced at me guiltily and then said, “It’s embarrassing. It’s kind of… an eating contest.”

Now I tried to hide my reaction. I could feel a hot blush rolling up my body at the thought of him really pigging out. “Your staff seems excited about it,” I said as neutrally as I could.

“They stand to make a thousand bucks apiece if they win,” he snorted, “Of course they do. And even if they lose they can make bank.”

“A thousand bucks?” I asked, utterly incredulous. Half my rent and bills for the month in a game! “How much do they have to eat?”

He gave me a sidelong glance and cleared his throat several times before speaking. “They don’t eat anything. If they…” Basil sighed. “It started as a drunken bet one holiday, and then… if they make more food than I can eat, they win. If they don’t, the best ten dishes get prize money, and the staff gets paid for being here anyway.” He harrumphed, went silent, and his shoulders hunched forward defensively.

“Jesus,” I breathed in awe. “That’s a lot of money. You’re really freaking generous!” I hadn’t meant to gush, but the compliment settled over the big tiefling like a warm blanket. His grumpy, tense posture melted.

“I try to be. They get to drink free too while I eat,” he said with a small smile. Better yet, he offered me his hand again. “You don’t find that…” He paused and searched for the right word.

I headed him off at the pass. “It’s a generous thing to do, and sounds like silly fun.” His hand squeezed mine comfortingly, and I found the courage to add, “And the idea of you feasting like a king sounds…” I trailed off, on my own search, and licked my lips without quite realizing it.

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe I should have ordered a few more appetizers then.” He waved at a waiter with a big grin. Once he’d returned to the table, Baz leaned down to whisper his order in the faun’s ear.

The faun laughed and slapped Basils’ upper arm affectionately – he couldn’t have reached Baz’s shoulder without jumping. “That’s more like that boss I know! I’ll be right out with the first round of starters.”

Basil turned and grinned down at me from atop his mountainous frame. “Like a king, you said?”

The hot blush stormed up, over my cheeks, turning me hot pink from my chest to the roots of my hair. Baz grinned wider. I slipped my arm under his and pressed myself against his bulk. Somewhere deep inside, my submissive side cried in happiness, but externally I only allowed myself to ask, “Is there anything a king might need to enjoy his feast as much as possible?”

His eyes lit up evilly and his grin turned into a smirk. “Ha, not tonight. Not in public anyway.” His huge, heavy arm slipped around me and pulled me close. “If we, ah, end up seeing each other again, would you like to come to the next challenge?”

“Yes!” My answer burst from me in a heartbeat.

“Good,” he said simply, and before we could say anything else the faun waiter trotted up with a heavily laden tray, followed by a siren carrying another. This would be the second such feast that I knew of today for Baz, and I wondered how many others he had enjoyed between the apple fritter this morning and the party. Desire roiled in my core, my thighs pressed together involuntarily as Baz licked his lips hungrily, now focused on the assortment of plates put on the table.

I really had underestimated how decadent vegetarian food could be, especially since Pasture was an ovo-lacto vegetarian restaurant. There was a frittata made with manchego, fresh fennel and local eggs, and beside it, a light arugula salad dressed with hemp seed oil. Gnocchi, cashew cheese stuffed ravioli, and a vegan lasagna gleaming with olive oil sat on a pasta sampler plate together, while just beyond that, the faun set down a plate of fried squash blossoms stuffed with ricotta. There were more plates beyond that, full of things I recognized (like dolmas), things I half recognized (a spicy chickpea dish that I thought might be Moroccan), and things I hadn’t ever seen before (a yellow gelee that smelled like Indian spices).

As the waiters worked quickly and quietly, Baz indicated the dishes with one hand while the other stroked my back. “I like to draw inspiration from the Mediterranean for vegetarian food, especially since Spain had such an international influence in their cuisine from the Moors.” He warmed to the subject while he waited for his employees to finish their work. “I think food is one of the more interesting lenses for looking at culture and history. It’s wild how trade routes affected things like dynasties and wars, and yet all they wanted was to make more delicious food.” His plump hand massaged my back idly, but his eyes were on the food.

“There you go. Is there anything else I could get you?” The siren and faun stood next to each other, holding their trays before them. The siren was eyeing me with open curiosity, though she averted her gaze when I met her eyes. I wondered if it was rare to see Baz bring a guest at all, or whether it was the fact it was a lone female guest that caused such interest. The thought made me sad, the idea of Baz ever being lonely already an intolerable idea to me.

Baz waved them away with an unconsciously regal air. “That’ll be it, thank you Spencer, and,” He bit his lip and thought for a second as he regarded the siren. “Ah, sorry, I know we’ve met but I’m blanking on your name. Lila? It begins with an L, right?”

“Pretty close,” replied the siren, grinning. “Layla. I’m surprised you got that close, I just started last week.”

“Well, I expect a lot from you all, the least I can do is remember your name,” he chuckled. “Get us a bottle of the Otherworld vinho verde and then leave us alone.”

The faun gave a mock salute and the siren smirked at his orders before making themselves scarce.

“May I plate some of the dishes for you before I dig in?” Basil asked. He held a dinner plate in one hand and a serving spoon in the other and looked at me with eager anticipation. “I can’t wait for you to try the lemon gnocchi.”

“Go ahead, I’ll try anything,” I replied. It was a pleasure to watch him load my plate. It looked like every slice of this or scoop of that was as carefully considered by this chef as a surgeon would an incision. He finished quickly and set down a plate generously filled with delicious-looking food. To tell the truth, it was a bit overfilled for my standards. There was no way I could finish all of what he’d served, and I hoped he didn’t expect me too.

Basil then started assembling his own plate, or plates. One was dedicated to pasta, the next to vegetables, the next to rice and grain-based dishes, and a fourth to a motley assemblage of whatever couldn’t fit on the first three. There was still more on the serving platters, but his plates were so full no more could be fit on them. He spoke as he plated, “Don’t feel like you have to finish everything I served, by the way. I just, ah, I tend not to leave leftovers and wanted you to taste a little of everything.”

A giggle burst from me. It was like he’d read my mind, but as far as I knew mindreading wasn’t a tiefling thing. He just got me, and quickly. “Good, I was just thinking there was no way I could eat all of this.”

He gave me a quick side squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll finish anything you don’t. No leftovers, after all.” With that, Basil’s attention returned to the food. He began eating in the same efficient, neat, and inexorable way I’d seen this morning. Nothing could stop him from his feast, although he did occasionally stop between bites to tell me about this or that food and how he’d come up with the dish.

He varied between each of the four plates, a bite of pasta that he twirled in a creamy sauce before bringing it to his lips with a satisfied groan; a forkful of salad laden with goat cheese, a scoop of risotto, yellow with saffron, and rich with butter. He somehow gobbled neatly, piles of garlic mashed potatoes (also laden with butter) disappearing down his gullet. He ate enthusiastically too, making all sorts of moans and grunts that sounded quite sexual. Mouthful after mouthful of rich, decadent food went into his belly, and after an hour, he approached the end of the fourth plate. I felt myself getting heated. I’d managed to take a nibble of everything – it was all truly delicious, but I couldn’t feel truly hungry for food when my hunger for Basil was so predominant.

Baz finished the last bite on his fourth plate and paused to rub his gut with a sigh. The upper curve of his belly was blatantly, obviously swollen and I could only imagine the stress that his buttons were under. Well, I say imagine when what I really mean is fantasize. He covered his mouth for a genteel belch, then returned to rubbing his belly.

It was quite late by now, and we were one of two tables still seated. And there was still so much food left on the serving platters. “Baz, could I offer you a hand with that?” I gestured at his bloated stomach and the hand massaging it.

He looked down at his swollen belly, around at the nearly empty restaurant, and at me. The other couple here seemed quite drunk and oblivious to their surroundings, and I could see Basil doing some mental calculations. After a few seconds, and a thoughtful hum, he said, “That would be helpful. And pass me the plates on the far side of the table.” He settled back in his chair with a smug grin. “I think that’s all the service I can ask of you while we’re still in public.”

“Okay!” I managed to reply without shouting, but I was a little tipsy and so damn turned on that it was a close call. I stacked the empty plates quickly and brought the remaining food closer to my blimp of a king before returning to my seat and the close proximity to his gorgeous gut. My fingers sank into his soft flesh, but met resistance from the stuffed stomach under all that sweet fat. He swallowed another few bites and finished off the gnocchi in its lemony cream sauce before devouring the rest of the vegan lasagna. I could have sworn I *felt* the moment when they hit his stomach, felt his belly paradoxically harden with that which would soften it even further.

I was in paradise, a trance of worshipping his appetite, potency, and immensity. His moobs bounced with his steadying breaths as he steeled himself to stuff his belly further, while the fat on his thick arms jiggled with the effort of ferrying all that food to his mouth. Basil’s seated body was in constant, jiggling motion and every bite just meant there would be more of him to adore. My hands groped and massaged his taut upper belly, but I couldn’t resist dropping a little lower to feel his softer, lower belly.

I was shocked to find it was almost as taut as his upper belly. Had he been stuffing himself like this all day? Was this an average day for him? The thought almost gave me a nosebleed. It definitely gave me a moment of dizziness as blood rushed away from my head to my pussy.

“Harder,” he grunted, reaching for the last plate. It was getting hard for him to lean forward past his huge, glutted belly. Obedience was immediate, and I was gratified to hear another suppressed burp from him as I massaged deeper into his belly. The more gas he released, the more food he could fit.

Basil closed his eyes and let me work for a few heartbeats, then opened them again lazily to give me a fond look. His eyes darted around suddenly, the laziness gone. “That other couple is gone,” he observed. “Feed me the rest of this plate.”

“You’re sure? Your staff won’t gossip or something?”

The sidelong look she shot me was archly amused. “My staff attend events where they watch me stuff myself to bursting and make money off of it. If they talk, I don’t hear it and thus don’t care. Feed me.” He gestured to the plate and leaned back, covering another belch as he did.

I’d dated, and submitted to, a few big guys, but none had ever had the easy air of command that Basil did. Sure, he was self-conscious about some things, but once he knew he was in safe company it all melted away and a regal aura surrounded him.

He ran his hands up and down the sides of his vast gut and looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

“Oh!” I said and picked up the last dish and a fork. It was a layered dish of phyllo and a heavily buttered mushroom pate, Basil’s own creation, and looked loaded with fat, carbs and utter deliciousness. I stood – I wouldn’t have reached quite high enough otherwise – and brought the first forkful to his mouth too tentatively.

He grabbed my waist with one powerful arm and pulled me against him. Then, he held my face in his other hand, cupping my jaw gently but with a firm discipline to the gesture. “Those bites are too small, Millie. If you want to serve me, you need to feed me more.”

His reprimand made me wet. Honestly, I wondered how I hadn’t left stains on my seat because I was so fucking aroused, but this dominance kicked my libido into high gear. “Yes, my king,” I whispered. A flash of surprise flickered in his eyes before a smug, satisfied boldness replaced it.

The next forkful was to his liking, and he squeezed my ass while he gulped it down whole. There were only a few bites left, but I could see his breaths were coming harder. He was so stuffed that he could barely take a full breath, and yet he gestured for more and more. The last bite lingered in his mouth like it was hard for him to swallow, or perhaps he was just enjoying the flavorful taste. He finally swallowed it down, where it would stretch his poor stomach further and add another bit of softness to his incredible body.

Basil sat still with closed eyes after I’d finished feeding him, though his chest heaved with his breath and his stomach audibly gurgled and sloshed. His body was hard at work even when he was at rest. After several quiet moments, where I sat and just ate him up with my eyes, he looked down at me. The arm around my waist pulled me even tighter, sending groans of protest from his full stomach, and his other hand cradled the back of my head before he kissed me.

Our first kiss was redolent with the scents and flavors of his food, his own recipes that stuffed his gut now. He kissed me serenely at first, kissing every bit of my mouth, before hitting his stride and becoming confident. Basil plundered my mouth, wringing every bit of passion he could from my response.

When he broke away I clung breathlessly to him. “My God, Basil. I’m not trying to dig into your past, but you must have been a king for some other lucky girl. You’re so… oh God, so commanding.” My head dropped forward and I nuzzled his plump moob fondly.

Basil grunted hesitatingly. “Actually… this is my first time doing something like this.” I turned my head up in surprise, but he looked away. He bit his lower lip, hunched a little, and looked uncomfortable. “Tonight has been a couple of firsts for me.” He turned back to me with a nervous expression.

I stood on my tiptoes to kiss his jaw, sunk under layers of indulgent plumpness. At my kiss, he sighed softly and tension drained from his shoulders. “Then I’m even luckier than I knew.”