chapter 1

I recognize him by the nervous look on his face when he pushes the door open and steps inside the diner. I hop down off the stool where I've been lounging and beckon him over with a smile. He's not at all what I would call fat, though his shirt reveals a modest pot belly riding on his otherwise slim body. He's slight and not tall, either. In fact, with my heels on I have to lean down slightly to kiss his cheek.

"I'm Jean," I say. His eyes widen as he takes in my ample curves, revealed by a pencil dress that shows off my hips and clings to my belly. He blushes when his eyes fall on my creamy round breasts.

"S-simon," he stutters.

"It's good to finally meet you," I say.
"We've been corresponding for such a long time now."

He glances around my diner and bakery, exhaling deeply.

"Here, try a cruller," I say as I hand him one. "Specialty of the Gingerbread Haus."

I can see him relax as he chews on the sweet, fatty fried dough.

"Mmmm this is good," he says.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask.
He nods, so I lead him back into my office.

"Now, I'll just need to take some measurements before we begin, so if you'll just strip. You can put your clothes on that chair."

A flush infuses his pale cheeks, but he pulls off his t-shirt to reveal his narrow chest and soft, pudgy belly. I raise an eyebrow and he shucks off his sweat pants to revel a pair of tighty whities.

"Alright, that's far enough," I say. He really does need to gain some weight. His legs are scrawny.

I pull out a heavy duty scale and ask him to step onto it. The dial ticks up to 182 pounds, which puts him solidly in the overweight category according to bmi, even though he looks tiny to me. I grab a set of calipers and he squeaks as the cold metal bites into the little roll of flesh at his belly button. I note down the measurements, repeating the process at his chest and thigh.

Then I pull out a measuring tape, and take a series of measurements at his neck, bicep, chest, waist, hip, thigh and calf. I can see by the strain in his underwear that this process is exciting him. He wants this.

He pulls his clothes back on as I pull out a specially prepared chocolate. It's about the size of a tablespoon. A rich scent wafts from the box and he licks his lips. I step closer to him, lift the chocolate and pop it into my own mouth, holding it with my teeth. I lean forward and kiss him. My tongue pushes the chocolate onto his, and he moans as the taste reaches him. I pull away as the chocolate melts in his mouth.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, grabbing his hand and pulling him out to sit in a booth in the diner. He looks at the menu.

"I can't decide," he says. "I'm starving, and it all looks so good."

I pluck the menu out of his hand.

"He'll have the jumbo mozza burger with freshly made potato chips, the chicken and waffles and the poutine," I say to the waiter, "with the coconut cream pie, a chocolate milkshake, a strawberry milkshake and two dozen doughnuts wrapped up to go. Oh, and I'll have the chicken caesar salad."

"Very good," says the waiter. He knows my ways.

Simon is smiling as the waiter walks away.

"So," he says, "I feel a bit tingly."

"That's the spell taking effect," I say.
"For the next five days, whenever you eat here, entrees will make you gain 10 pounds, desserts will give you 5 pounds, snacks 2. How much you want to eat here is up to you, but I thought you might want to get a jump start, as it were."

"Yes, ma'am," he says. We make conversation until the waiter comes over with a huge tray.

When the food arrives, he digs in like a man possessed. There's no time to talk as he shovels greasy food into his mouth, pausing only occasionally to rub his belly. He slows by the time he gets to the pies, but finishes and sets his fork down with a burp.

His shirt has inched up his belly, revealing a thick strip of flab. Spatters of gravy cover his chest. He pushes his way out of the booth, and it's clear to see he's different. His belly is packed with food, but its roundness is bigger than even his huge meal can explain. There's a softness to his pecs and a little roll of pudge under his chin, clearly visible when he looks down at himself in amazement.

We go back into my office, where he strips off again. This time I lick my lips. He steps on the scale and lets out a hoot when it reads 227 pounds. I take his measurements again, this time letting my hands linger on his fatty bits. His cock is engorged and fully outlined against the briefs that dig into his soft belly.

"These must be so uncomfortable," I say, peeling them off his hips and down his newly plump thighs. He moans as I take his twitching length into my mouth, kneading his belly with my hands as I do. Soon he spends himself. He leaves his uncomfortable underwear behind as he leaves, but he doesn't forget his bag of magic donuts to snack on later.

In the morning, Simon comes in bright and early. He says he finished the doughnuts, but he is wearing a new, oversized t-shirt that obscures his body. I'm not going to weigh him again until this evening. He orders a pancake stack, the eggs benny with home fries and the mushroom omelette, along with three danishes. By the time he waddles off to work, his shirt is fitting properly. He pops in for lunch, but only has time for a burger and shake before he's off again. His shirt is snug, he should be about 300 pounds by now. And it's only day two.

For supper, he polishes off the lasagna with a side of caesar salad and garlic bread and the hot turkey sandwich, a slice of apple pie and a hot fudge sundae. He weighs in at 332 pounds, and this time I let his *** me on the desk in my office, pubic fat starting to pudge up around the base of his cock and his huge belly slamming into me.

By the end of the next day, he's at 407 pounds, the day after that 467. He pants when he walks now. He had to be pulled out the booth by half my staff, after eating enough to wedge himself in on Wednedsday. On Thursday he hits 511 pounds. I set up a table for him back there in my office, and ferry his orders to the kitchen myself. He tells me he is taking Friday off work. The spell will run out at 6 pm.

He gorges himself all morning, then pauses for a nap to digest. He's taken his shirt off, and his huge, melon sized moobs rest on the upper curve of his massive gut, which flows down to cover his thighs almost to his knees.

He eats all afternoon: pasta, pizza, fries, pies (not just slices, but entire pies) all disappear into his giant belly. Sauces streak his named, fleshy chest as it heaves.

He swallows one last cruller before the spell wears off.

I move the scale closer to him as he struggles to haul himself upright. I can scarcely believe he's the same man. His butt juts out behind him in a shelf nearly as big as his hanging belly in front. His thick thighs are hidden by his belly apron, but they rub together as he steps up onto the scale. I have to bend own to read the result.

"656 pounds," I call out. He moans and rubs his hands over as much of the expanse of his belly as he can reach.

"Are you as fat as you always dreamed?"

"Yes," he says, nodding, which makes his jowls and chubby cheeks wobble.

"Then it's time for my payment," I say, pushing him gently back to sit on the bed I've set up in my office. His weight makes it creak. He sighs in relief as he sits.

I explore the rolls and crevices of his body. His cock is swallowed in fat, and its hard to reach even the tip of it under his huge belly. I lick as much of it as I can. Then I climb onto his soft belly and grab his fat face in both hands.

I kiss him, and the taste of chocolate explodes on his tongue.

"You're not as fat as I always dreamed," I say, as I handcuff his fat wrist to the bed. "Not yet."