Let's play

Chapter 3

It wasn't an ideal time for Connie's lease on her run-down apartment in the projects to end, what with Cris' big tournament coming up. She felt bad that she couldn't be at the board with him, helping him practice. But she did what she could in the days it took her to move all her things into his house, insisting he keep his ass parked in his chair at his desk, studying, while she unboxed her possessions and found homes for them–at least, when she could be home. Her nights remained filled as ever with heists–more than before, even, now that she had Bone Appetit, Shooting Star, and Whirlpool to look after as the starting lineup of the Villains Association. But as busy as she was, she refused any help in putting her stuff away; he needed to spend his time preparing for the competition.

All the while, she kept the oven and stove running, keeping plates of warm cookies, fluffy pancakes, and buttery scones replenished by his side while undertaking the brunt of the physical work that came with unpacking. Pastry binges that would have had him flat on his back, gasping about how he'd overdone it and begging for belly rubs back when they'd first gotten together now went down effortlessly as he flipped pages and scribbled notes, with General George lying lazily in his lap and begging for the occasional crumb–the little French bulldog Connie had adopted from her dead mentor down at the USHD had really taken to him.

Finally, the last of her books were shelved, the last of her stolen dresses hung up in garment bags in the closet, the last of her pilfered jewels arranged in drawers. And, as she came up on his study area to fluff her fingers through the adorably disheveled mess of his curly hair, she noticed he'd finished the last of his snacks.

"I'm done, hon," she said, "and you've been working really hard for over a week. What do you say we go out to dinner? We've earned it, if you ask me."

"Sure thing. Let me just get some real pants on," he said, heaving–heaving!--himself out of his chair to head to the bedroom. She plopped down into his vacated chair, in front of his book, open to a chapter detailing the costs and benefits of playing King's Gambit, but the book hardly held her attention. She was more fixated on the snug tug of his waistband around his hips. His pajama bottoms had never clung so tightly against his frame like that before. His ass had never had so much bounce to it.

Minutes later, he called from down the hall: "CONNIEEEE!"

Biting back a sly smirk, having half-guessed what this was about, she whipped her way around a corner and into the bedroom. "What is it, sweetie?"

There, lying on the bed, Cris struggled hopelessly with his tight jeans. They'd made it halfway over his butt before they would pull up no further, and even if he did somehow manage to hoist them over those round, proud swells of flesh, there was no way the button would close over the prominent new curve of his belly.

"Connie…" He squished a fistful of the fresh pudge that had gathered around his middle, staring straight into her eyes, his own glazed over with such gorgeous, helpless lust. "Look what you did to me!"

***

Cris' breath hitched in his throat as Connie approached the bed, hips sashaying seductively, and that hungry smirk on her face.

In truth, he'd known the jeans wouldn't fit. He'd spent every waking moment since she'd begun moving in gorging himself on her cooking, equal parts intimidated and delighted by how much easier it got with each stuffing session. His pleasure used to come from the thrill of the pain as he felt his slim stomach packed tightly to its limit, but as the weight piled on, he felt himself latching on more and more to the giddy rush of conquering a meal that would have left his thinner self groaning, and still having room for snacks.

And then there was Connie's attention. He could never have done it all without her.

Sitting down on the bed, she ruffled his hair again, that same mischievous smirk still plastered across her face. "You're getting me so wet, honey, feeling up your own sexy, plump body right in front of me." She laid her hand on top of his and gave a push into his stomach that had him writhing with need in seconds, his cock stiff in his briefs.

"C-C-Connie…"

"Tell me what you need, Cris," she crooned, pinching his pudge affectionately between her thumb and forefinger. "Do you want Nice Connie, or Mean Mistress?"

"Mean," he sighed, squirming. "Tell me again how you've ruined me."

"Okay." She bent down to press a soft kiss to his lips. "You remember your safeword?"

He nodded vigorously. "Square root of i."

"And you remember your signal, in case something happens and you can't talk?"

"I tap twice on your leg, right here," he confirmed with a nod, palming her mid-thigh.

"Good boy. Now, three…two…one…action."

She got on her hands and knees, fingers hitched into his waistband. "Now take those pants off! Silly fat boy, did you really think they'd still fit after everything I've been stuffing you with?"

"Yes Mistress…I mean, no, Mistress…I mean, do what you want with me, Mistress!"

"Don't mind if I do! Lose the underpants too, butterball," she ordered him, and he was quick to throw them off over the side of the bed.

"Now…lemme see exactly what it is I did!" She shucked off her own clothes and pulled him in, on top of her. "C'mon! I want to see all that flab in motion!"

"Yes Mistress." Lightheaded, eager but anticipating more of her coveted teasing, he mounted her and began to *** from on top for the first time.

Even on her back, in the throes of pleasure, she exuded authority when he needed her to. Licking her lips, nails digging into his sides, she taunted, "Faster, pig. Or are you too fat and worn out?"

"I'm trying, Mistress! I–"

"Look at that jiggling gut. You should be ashamed of what you let me do to you." She gave aforementioned gut a gentle caress with one thumb. "Check, check, one two. Cris, are you okay babe? Talk to me."

"Stellar, Connie. You can get back into character."

Her thighs closed around his hips, and she pulled him in deeper with a gasp as her head pressed backward firmly into the pillow. "Fuck…I just came so hard, Cris."

"Don't tell me that. Hurt me, Connie!"

She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him close. "Everyone in this city thinks you're so smart! Well, I know the truth: you're just a stupid hog at my beck and call, waiting for me to fill up the trough!"

He finished inside her with a choked-off cry, his face buried in the crook of her neck. As his breathing steadied, she held him, rubbing his back and rocking him back and forth. "That's it…that's my good, pretty boy," she said. "End scene. You're really gonna kill it at this tournament, you know? Now, the mall's still open: let's get you some better pants."