Chapter 6 - Basil

“Millie? Millie?” a big hand shook me gently while I bounced on the softest, warmest mattress ever made. “Millie?”

My eyes cracked open, and reality coalesced slowly. The perfect mattress was instead the perfect man and his huge belly.

“Oh crap, I fell asleep,” I groused. “I’m sorry!”

He chuckled. The act on an average man might have been cute, but on him, the motion sent his fat jiggling for several seconds. Basil stroked my hair and tilted his head to look at me with a soft expression. “Nothing to apologize for. You’re cute when you sleep.”

I lifted my head to look at his sweet face and cringed at the spot of drool under my cheek. He clocked my expression, and clearly knew the cause, and laughed even harder, bouncing every inch of his body. “Don’t worry about it! Clean shirts are common, adorable little humans who like my size are much rarer.”

I failed to stifle a yawn. We’d finished _Army of the Ghouls_ and decided to try something from a new director afterwards. It hadn’t been great, and the last thing I remembered was making out with Baz to the sound of horror movie chaos. “Sorry, I’m so sleepy,” I muttered.

He seemed as bright eyed and bushy-tailed – or chubby-tailed – as when I’d arrived at his apartment. “That’s all right. Um, would you like me to call a cab for you or, if you wanted – no pressure! – you could stay.” He paused and chewed his lower lip while vulnerability tinged his expression. “Only if you want. I make a good breakfast.”

“You’re not getting tired of me?” I carefully pushed myself up and nestled my head in the well-padded crook of his shoulder. His plump jaw twitched as he grinned, and I began peppering his cheek and jaw with kisses.

Baz snorted dismissively. “Not even a little.”

“Got a spare toothbrush?”

“There’s a closet next to the guest rooms stocked with spare anything and everything. I often entertain, but never quite like this,” he said. His arms crossed over me and I was enthusiastically squished against his blubber. “So, you’ll stay?”

“I'll stay,” I affirmed and laid a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek.

“Excellent!” he crowed and sat up with surprising swiftness. I was still pressed to his chest, and was carried along, happily helpless in his arms, off to his bedroom.

Basil wasn’t kidding about the closet. Not only were there toiletries – in several different scents and brands – but a smattering of tees and loose pajamas pants in a wide variety of sizes. To my delight, all were black. Though I knew most men fantasized about sleeping next to a naked woman, I hated sleeping nude. I hoped Baz wouldn’t mind.

Instead, he cracked up when he saw me. I had pulled out an enormous shirt that fell nearly to my ankles and barely hung onto my shoulders. “Shit, I didn’t even know that was still around!”

“What?” I stopped and looked down at the plain black shirt in confusion. The room was dim, only a small bedside lamp illuminated a massive bed covered in softest cotton sheets and coverlets. A large wardrobe, sized up for Basil’s clothes, stood in the corner, with a television mounted to the wall opposite the bed, with a large desk along the wall by the entrance. All the furniture was in a stately Edwardian-era style, quite different from the sleek modern furniture that filled the rest of his home and shone with understated wealth. Several colorful prints hung on the walls, mostly still life paintings in various styles of food. He certainly had an aesthetic.

He beckoned to me, and as soon as I was within arm’s length he pulled into a tight embrace. “See this here?” He pointed to a faint burn on the collar. “I wore this while working the kitchen at Pisces. It was my first restaurant, and my first night. I had to leave my chef’s jacket off so it wouldn’t be soaked in sweat.”

Basil thumbed the burn mark with a sentimental look, before surprising me. “Damn, I can’t believe I could fit into this back then.” He then looked down at his belly, and added with amusement, “I can barely fit in my kitchens now without the staff moving things around.”

The admission and acknowledgement of his immense growth woke me up again. I threw my arms around his neck and pulled myself up to give him a kiss. “I don’t think kings need to fit in kitchens, personally.”

“No?” he said and slipped his hands under my shirt. “I enjoy the idea of you wearing my old clothes to bed, marking you as mine even when you sleep.” His finger skimmed over my nipples, eliciting a little moan, just as another began tickling my mons. “And I want you to be all mine.”

“Yes,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

He licked his lips and pulled up my shirt. “Your king wants a midnight snack,” he declared before picking me up and tossing me on the bed. He lay down next to me on his side, and impatiently rolled me onto my side, facing him. Basil pulled my thigh up over his shoulder and sucked on his index and middle fingers before roughly shoving them into my pussy.

“Oooh, you’re still so wet,” he said with clear satisfaction. “Good girl, keeping yourself ready for me.”

I whimpered and ground my clit on his hand. He mused aloud, “I wonder if I can still do this,” before pushing me onto my back. With no small amount of effort, he rolled onto his belly. The huge blimp of his gut held him several inches off the bed, and he grunted in frustration. He looked like a beached whale, wobbling from side to side as he tried to find a good position to eat me out.

“I can put a pillow under my hips if that would help,” I volunteered.

He looked up at me with a wry expression. “Go ahead,” he said. “As it turns out I can’t quite do this like I used to.” I moved quickly, heart thumping with desire, and arranged myself to his liking.

Basil watched me, propping his chin in his hand, looking like the cat that ate the canary, or maybe several hundred canaries. His cheeks plumped with his grin, and his dark eyes glimmered in the shadowed bedroom. Once my hips were settled, he pulled my legs over his shoulders and rested my heels on the mounds of fat on his back. “Mm, beautiful,” he sighed.

His tongue dipped between my folds slowly at first, long, slow gliding licks from my puss to my clit in a teasing pace. He swirled around my clit, still going at his own speed, as if he was acquainting himself with details of my sex. Each time his tongue swiped over me I shuddered, and he hadn’t even really begun yet.

Basil took his goddamn time, and soon began humming and grunting with every taste of me. He moaned and pressed his lips to my clit while his finger pushed into my soaking pussy. For a split second he pulled away, only to say, “God, I could eat your pussy at every meal, Millie!”

Then he was done tasting and exploring. He was set on making me come on his tongue. With fast, fluttering flicks of his tongue he lavished attention on my clit, massaged my G spot with his hand. He still groaned with pleasure, a noise that vibrated through me with its volume and depth, making his work even more stimulating.

I felt so small under him, my thighs – lush and curvy on an ordinary human scale – were twigs next to his arms. His meaty hand dwarfed my waist, while his fattened tail waved lazily over the two of us. The bulk of his fat body was a huge foot hill on the plain of the bed. He was so far beyond anyone I’d met or even seen on the street before, he seemed like some gargantuan mythical king from a pre-literate saga.

And he was here, and real, and eating my pussy like it would keep him from starving.

As if he heard my inner musing, Basil looked up at me with eyes that burned with lust. He dragged his tongue up the seam of my sopping lips while staring into my eyes. Fiery need overwhelmed me. “Oh please, make me come,” I begged. “Please, Basil!”

“Your king,” he purred in a low voice.

“Please, my king!” I cried and spread myself as wide as I could for my darling liege. His labors intensified and he finger fucked me hard with a rough dominance that only made me closer to coming. His tongue was lightning, and I felt all my senses as if they were dipped in honey, golden, warm, and sweet.

I clutched frantically at the fine cotton sheets, my hands twisted them into messy piles. My thighs clenched around his face, and my heels dug into the fat rolls of his back. He was so big, I was so small before him, he was so regal and powerful… he was so fucking hot!

“Basil!” I wailed. Bright arcs of pleasure spiraled from my clit through the rest of my body, my pussy clenched on his fingers, yet his tongue didn’t stop as he pushed me through an incredible climax. It didn’t end! He kept sucking, licking and fingering me and just as the first crescendoed another started in its place. I jerked and writhed on the bed as he forced orgasm after orgasm on me.

Eventually, long after I had lost count, even lost the ability to count, he drew his finger from my pussy and sucked it clean. I didn’t move. Honestly, I’m not sure I could. Sweat coated me, Baz’s old shirt was twisted around my arms and neck, and my entire body trembled with exhaustion.

“That was a good snack,” he commented idly. “I’m looking forward to having it again soon.”

“I think I might have died,” I said weakly. He chuckled and with ungainly movements scooped me up off the bed, wobbling as he shifted. Baz cupped my neck and kissed me with a gentleness that starkly contrasted with the rough power he’d exerted moments ago. Each side of him had such delights, and I wanted to discover more and more.

“Would you like to take a shower and rinse off?” he asked with tenderness in his eyes.

“Um,” I began, and hesitated. “I do, but I feel like if we head to the shower, more fun is going to start and I’m so tired now.”

He stretched out on his back and put his hand behind his head, lush rolls and bulges rippling with the movement. “You go on then, clean up and we’ll go to bed. I don’t want my only subject getting cranky from lack of sleep,” he said and shot me a twinkling grin.

The master shower was even bigger than I had anticipated. It could fit several Basils, and the thought occurred to me that a gluttony demon’s descendant might have to plan for such possibilities. From what he’d told me in between snacks and movies, it sounded like he was big even for his family.

I showered slowly as I wondered what his family was like. Previous boyfriends of any size hadn’t stuck around long. It wasn’t my need to worship bellies or even my need to be dominated. I didn’t know how to, as one ex put it, let love in. I didn’t know what a loving, or stable, or happy relationship looked like as I’d never seen one. Bouncing around foster care after your parents OD will do that to a woman.

The prospect of telling him about my “family” made me sick, even here in piles of fluffy soap and suds that smelled like high tea in a rose garden. He’d already shared some small details about his: he came from money, though not as much as he had now. He had a little sister who was a gym nut (hilarious and perplexing). And his parents had been hoping that he would settle down with a nice Tiefling girl for a long time.

My buoyant mood collapsed in a pitiful pile. I rinsed off and dried and dressed myself, all the while trying to find some train of thought that would boost my spirits again. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to run away from this fear, no, this terror of both abandonment and intimacy. I wanted to love with sweet, generous, obese king of a man with all my heart, but damnit, I was so fucking scared.

Baz noticed the change in my mood as soon as I walked back in the bedroom. Was this really only the second day we’d known each other? He read me so easily and cared about what he saw. “What’s wrong, Millie?” He’d been reading and put down his book to open his arms to me.

“Oh, nothing,” I said and waved my hand vaguely. “I just get sad when I’m overtired sometimes.” That was technically true.

Basil smiled so sweetly at that and beckoned to me. “Well, that’s all the more reason you need to get to bed.” He patted the bed next to him, and that’s when I noticed that he had remade the bed since my frantic disruption of its linens. The corner of the sheets was turned down, as a hotel would. It was a small detail, but so thoughtful it made my heart ache.

I joined him in bed and snuggled up to his side. The sheets were cool and soft, and the comforter was really just a light coverlet. The bed was warm though, as Basil was a living furnace. He rolled to his side to face me, and I curled around his belly and cuddled him. His meaty hand stroked my back soothingly.

“There you are, princess, get cozy and drift off to dreamland,” he said, half-teasing, half-comforting. “No bad dreams allowed here,” he added and kissed my forehead.

I huffed a little laugh and pressed my face between his moobs. They formed a little cave with the upper swell of his gut, a haven of comfort and security, safe, even from my own emotions. He sighed happily, and exhaustion took me away.

***

An elaborate frittata sat in the center of the table, with lumps of pale cheese baked golden that rose like little icebergs over the eggy sea dotted with peppers and kale. A tray of roasted potatoes sat beside it, next to that, a bowl of fruit salad garnished with mint-infused ricotta stood in a sliver of sunshine that fell across the room. The last dish was still in the hands of its maker: Basil exited the kitchen holding a tray of bacon, sausage and other breakfast meats.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” he beamed and set the tray down before taking his oven mitts off. “Did you sleep well? I didn’t want to wake you.”

I had woken alone, but Basil left a note for me on the bedside table and, even more sweetly, a cup of coffee, light, yet not too sugary, with cinnamon and other spices I couldn’t place elevating the flavor. It was still hot, despite sitting on my table for who knows how long. I examined the cup, and saw the sigils used by some Occults in their crafts. I’d no idea what they meant. My foster families had all been human, and some quite bigoted humans at that.

I had a lot to learn if I wanted to be in Basil’s life. If he wanted me in his life, though signs suggested that he did. A dressing gown in my size, along with leggings and a tunic rested on the desk. Had he ordered these while I was asleep? On a Sunday morning?

The thoughtful mood passed as soon as I saw his grin. “And does your loungewear fit comfortable?” he added, a little anxiously.

“They do. Were these in your guest closet as well?” I asked.

He shook his head and smiled even wider. “After you fell asleep, I peeked at your clothes and texted your size to a personal shopper I know. She brought them by before dawn.”

I goggled a little. “A night personal shopper?”

“Vampires have to work too,” he said and blew on his coffee. “You don’t know many Occults, do you?”

Fuck, the very thing I had been worrying about rearing its ugly head. Not only were we hugely mismatched in size (a very good thing), wealth, and status but different cultures too. “No, I don’t. Sadie’s a pixie – that’s the friend that was supposed to meet me at the party – but most of my coworkers are human. I guess I just don’t get out that much.”

“Your family doesn’t have a problem with my type, do they?” He tried to sound casual, but his voice had a slight strain to it.

It was like all my fears were coming up at once. With other guys, I had deflected or made a joke to avoid discussing my past. It felt so easy to do, and yet, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to. I took a deep breath, summoned my courage, and sat at the table. “Family is kind of complicated for me. I grew up in the system.” *Boom. There. I fucking said it. If he freaks, and leaves, so be it.*

Part of me had been expecting him to curl his lip or sneer or something. A few brushes with some of the so-called upper class had ended up that way, and those people hadn’t been intimate with me. Instead, Basil’s eyes went soft, and his lips parted. He licked them nervously and his gaze shifted from me to his own hands and then back. “Oh,” he said finally, not setting my worries at ease in the slightest. Another tense few seconds ticked by, then he added, “I’m guessing, based on the look on your face, that this isn’t something you want to discuss over breakfast.”

I jerked my head up to look at him in surprise. “You sure you don’t want to know more?”

Basil sighed. “Well, Millie, I’d like to know everything about you, but not at the cost of your happiness. And I… I don’t want to scare you away.” He put his hand, so warm, fat, soft and strong, on mine. “Let’s talk about something else. I want you to try this frittata!”

I laughed at his attempt to shift the conversation away from discomfort and steering it right back to food. He cut me a slice while giving me an oral history of all the egg dishes he had considered making for me and why they hadn’t been right. “This is probably my signature breakfast dish,” he went on. “I’ve made it so many times that I never worry about how it will turn out.”

He lectured on and on, never being boring in his speech filled with so much enthusiasm and engaging side commentary. By the time he had me laughing about his failed first try at making shakshuka I had almost forgotten about the earlier conversation. His plate was loaded, and he’d put together a quite reasonably portioned plate for me.

Brunch wasn’t nearly the stuffing session he’d enjoyed the other night, but his belly did look a little rounder and I wondered if I’d get to rub his belly again before this night-to-day date ended. Basil caught me eyeing him and looked very pleased at that. “I need to clean up the kitchen, but would you like to do something afterwards?”

“Sure,” I agreed, an involuntary smile bursting on my lips. “Let me help too!”

He snorted. “My kitchen is built for me. You might find it a little difficult to reach the sink.” Basil stood and picked up a few plates. “Come on, though. You can sit on the counter and look pretty while I do the dishes.”

“You don’t have your housekeeper or a maid do it?”

He shrugged. I supposed that, for him, it was a very ordinary choice. “Sometimes. I like being in touch with the whole process from start to finish – cooking, eating, cleaning, and then figuring out what to cook and eat again!” He whistled as we collected the rest of the plates and carried them into the kitchen, sounding cheerful as anything.

As asked, I sat on the counter and did my best to look alluring, but mostly joked around with Basil while he washed. His shirt got splashed countless times by the spray of the sink, and by the end it clung to his gut and moobs like he’d entered a wet t-shirt contest.

The idea of an SSBHM wet t-shirt contest had never occurred to me before, but suddenly seemed like genius.

He looked down at his shirt with a chagrined expression. “I’m blaming this on you. You looked too pretty and distracted me.” A cheeky wink followed his words. In reply, I used my toe to poke the thick monster truck sized spare tire that bulged over his waistband. Basil looked at me then shrugged and pulled his shirt off. “Want to head back to bed for a little fun?”

The sight of his gluttonous belly, plump, juicy moobs, and the layers of side rolls already had me dizzy. What else could I possibly do faced with that temptation? I reached up and he slung me over his shoulder and headed back to the bedroom, carrying me like the spoils of battle, a prize captive for a fattened king.

And a very happy one, at that.