chapter 7

After her sister's visit I notice that Lucy is fattening up nicely. Louisa struggles to fasten her dresses as her belly finally begins to swell, a doughy band of fat settling around her waist. Her face has become even rounder, beginning to surrender a little of her prettiness as her jaw softens into the beginnings of a double chin. I eagerly wait for William to begin making his snide remarks about his growing girl but, though he sometimes regards her thoughtfully as she piles ever more food onto her plate, he remains silent.

It is so frustrating. Men can be so unobservant sometimes and William is no exception. When I was alive I often felt that the hairdresser could have cut my head off with my hair and he still wouldn't have noticed. I wonder if maybe her weight gain has been so gradual that is almost imperceptible to those who see her every day. I decide that I must take matters into my own hands so that he will see that his pretty little wife is becoming a plumped up piglet.

I want to prepare a little tableau of my work for him to see how I have transformed her into quite the voluptuous maiden so I set to work on her all day planting little suggestions in her head. I do not pretend to understand what strange force links my soul to her body but it is as if her very fat is a conduit for my power and the more weight she gains the more influence I feel I can exert over her.

Just before William is due home from work I position her on a chaise lounge and have her gorge herself on the chocolate bars that Hannah gifted her. When William arrives home she is so absorbed in her haze of gluttony as she luxuriates in the sweet, creamy chocolate melting down her throat that she does not even hear him. I can barely contain my malicious glee as he stands in the doorway watching her lying on the chaise lounge idle, basking and plump. Her belly is straining against her dress in Rubenesque glory and her cheeks are bulging as she stuffs herself full of more chocolate.

He clears his throat and she looks at him like a guilty child who has been caught stealing sweets.

"William... I-" she says feebly but it is too late for excuses, he has already shook is head in disgust and stormed out of the room.


"The master of the house will not be attending dinner," Frances informs Lucy that evening.

I remember this little trick of his well. Absenting himself from the dinner table to sulk in his study drinking whisky was always one of his favourite ways to show his displeasure with me and shame me in front of the servants.

Once Lucy has filled her plate Frances says, "Should I begin clearing the table, Miss?"

"No," I hiss in her ear.

"N-no," Lucy stammers. "Just... just leave me."

Without an audience of William and the servants to restrain her I decide to have a little fun with her, see how far I can push her. I want to see if I can make her clear the whole table. She takes one of the delicate little bread rolls that Cook painstakingly ties into ornate shapes every day and tears it open, slathering it with a thick layer of butter and stuffs it into her mouth. Another soon follows suit. Then another and another until the whole dish is clear. Then she moves on to a bowl of thick and creamy mashed potato. I have her spoon it straight from the bowl into her greedy mouth and she barely seems to notice, she has lost her senses in a frenzy of gluttony.

Her spoon scrapes the bottom of the mashed potatoes but her binge is not over yet, there is still a whole roast grouse fat, gold and glistening in the centre of the table and I am determined that she will eat it all. I can feel her belly straining from all that rich, heavy food and her fullness forces her to eat much more slowly but still I make her tear at the moist and tender flesh of the grouse. She will chew and swallow every last bite.

When she swallows the final mouthful she blinks as if she is being released from a trance and looks a little startled at all the empty bowls and plates, hastily wiping grease from her lips and fingers with her napkin. Frances too is shocked by the sight of her mistress rubbing her bloated belly and surrounded by the remnants of her feast.

"Should I bring dessert, miss?" Frances asks doubtfully as she begins to clear the table.

To my surprise Lucy blurts out "Yes!" before I even have to influence her and then shyly adds. "Just a small portion, of course."

Frances presents her with a whole Charlotte Royale and then quickly departs from the dining room. I feel almost queasy with fullness but still she reaches out, desperate to stuff herself with more food. She only manages a few bites of the Charlotte before she leans back in her chair, defeated and completely stuffed. I cannot believe how big her belly looks against her petite frame, bulging out like a balloon that is ready to pop.

When she retires to their bed chamber that evening William is waiting for her, sitting on the edge of the bed. She lingers uncertainly in the doorway until he beckons her. "Come here, my greedy girl."

Slowly, slowly she puts one foot in front of the other and walks towards him.

"Do not keep me waiting," he says. "It will only make me impatient and all the hungrier."

He has her stand before him so that he can see her properly and she squirms uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"You are getting nice and big, aren't you?" he says, standing up and circling her. "Shall I show you my punishment for naughty girls who stuff themselves like greedy piggies?"

He bends her over the bed, roughly pushing up her skirts and tearing down her underwear, revealing the deliciously plump flesh of her round backside. Her skin is so pure at white, like bridal satin.

He spanks her lightly at first, enjoying the voluptuous motion of her plump backside and then more forcefully. I gasp and suddenly I can feel it all: her quickening pulse; the blush of her cheek; the sting of her flesh and, in that secret place between her thighs, the heat of her arousal. The invisible thread that knits my soul to her body seems to bind us tighter than ever. It is as though her emotions mingle with my own and it is so overwhelming, my head and heart in such a tumult that I do not know what I feel. I despise him. And yet I desire him.

When he has finished with her he leans over and whispers in her ear: "Do you wish to be my pretty little wife or a big, fat sow?" and then he is gone.

She sits at her dressing table and she thinks that she is alone save for her reflection but I am here waiting for the tears to spring forth from her eyes so that I can gloat over my victory. Yet she sheds no tears. Instead she regards herself in the mirror in a queer sort of way as if she is seeing herself properly for the very first time.