Chapter 1 - Beefing the bitch

A fragile mist clung thinly to a vast ocean of conifers as the sun ascended from its sleep spot behind the horizon. Beyond the trees, nestled secluded by a high wall of cattails, was the lake, pale and silver in the early dawn. As the sky gradually lightened, the sun bled across the water's surface in hues of sherbet orange and soft baby pink, and the gentle fog quickly dissipated as the stirring light and heat neutralized it. Grayson observed the waking of the world with hooded eyes, his chiseled jaw set, no smile to touch his lips. Nature was not stimulating or awe-inspiring for this troubled man. His mind was not with reality as he observed the arousing of creation on that fine summer morning, for it dwelt elsewhere, in much darker places. Blue skies did not exist in Grayson's head. Rather, his brain was a breeding ground for wicked schemes and devious plots, and tonight he would relish utmost satisfaction from his latest conquest, a conniving little gold-digging wench named Brittany. Brittany. Such a classic name for creatures of her kind. Grayson had made certain to impress the bony blonde bitch with his brand-spanking-new Mercedes, expensive, formal attire, and luxurious gold watch. Despite his evil mind, he was a complete heartthrob, truly one of the most gorgeous men to bless the Earth with his beauty. What finer catch for Brittany than a young, impossibly handsome, filthy rich man with a watch worth more than her car? She was enamored by his charisma and his looks, his tall, trim, toned body boasting its impressive biceps and mouth-watering abs. Well, her mouth sure would be watering tonight, Grayson thought with a grin.
When Brittany first set foot in Grayson's mansion, her pointy jaw dropped. Never had she ever stepped into so lovely a home before. It was spacious and spendy and entirely modern. She could definitely envision spending the rest of her life here, mooching off of her wealthy pretty boy and hosting elegant dinner parties like people did back in the day. Grayson walked in behind her and gestured for her to go up the stairs. Glossy marble stairs, Brittany thought with an internal squeal.
"I made you my delectable, gourmet fettuccine alfredo with chicken, and a surprise dessert for afterwards," Grayson told her with a smile. Brittany wrinkled her nose. "Fettuccine? Do you realize how many calories are in that? Gross! Make me something else, something that won't add to my already wide waistline," she sniffed.
Grayson nodded like he would do so, and walked down the hall to retrieve his supplies; Wrist and ankle restraints, a waist restraint, and rope just in case. He came up behind Brittany and quickly wrapped the waist restraint about her middle so she couldn't escape. She screamed, but was unable to free herself as her boyfriend secured her delicate little wrists and ankles in their proper restraints, and now Brittany was seated at the kitchen island immobile, ready to face her fate.
"What are you doing!? You stupid asshole!" She yelled, face flushing a deep red. Grayson tsked at her, shaking his head.
"I know what you are, you nasty little bitch," he growled. "You idiotic, anorexic, gold-digging fool. You flaunt yourself like you're superior to everyone, like the world should just bow down to your skinny ass. Well, I'm going to make it to where you can never flaunt again. I'm going to ruin what's most important to you, aside from money." He procured a half-gallon of heavy whipping cream from the refrigerator, opened it, and poured it into a machine with a long tube attached to it. Then he brought the machine to Brittany, who was sniveling like a toddler that had just been told no. He ordered her to open her mouth, but she simply fixed him with a defiant glare, refusing. Grayson seized her by the hair and jerked her face up towards his. Tears were swimming in her turquoise eyes.
"Now you listen to me, you disgusting little bag of bones; You do as I say or your ass is going to regret it, do you hear? DO YOU HEAR ME?" Grayson snarled. Brittany nodded, a tear sliding down her small cheek.
"From here on out, you're to refer to me as Master or Sir. Neglecting to refer to me in a respectful manner will earn you repercussions. Do you wish to be punished further?"
Brittany shook her head. "No."
"No, what?"
"No, Sir."
Grayson smiled. His coal-black eyes appeared soulless, apathetic as he fed the tube into Brittany's mouth. With a switch he activated the device, and a thick, creamy pale substance began to maneuver through the pipe.
"This is no ordinary whipping cream. Oh no. I made this special for you."
Brittany squirmed as the liquid traveled into her throat. It was cold and milky and surprisingly pasty, thicker than normal cream. Slowly but surely, Brittany's taut stomach began to bubble up. As more fattening cream flowed down her gullet and into her tiny tummy, a small pooch developed on her growing midsection. When the first feeding concluded, Brittany had a little bloated belly straining against her jeans.
"You're not finished yet," Grayson said, rubbing Brittany's stretched stomach. "You're still frightfully thin, and this sad thing is just a baby." He squeezed her soft gut and extracted the tube from her mouth. Then he went to the stove and picked up a giant pot, which, when the cover was removed, turned out to be a quadruple-batch of warm, cheesy pasta. Brittany was stuffed, but as Grayson shoveled fettuccine down her throat, her taste buds couldn't help but delight at the richness of the luscious sauce and the soft, juicy noodles. Her stomach was a growing mass, now a fairy good-sized mound of flesh escaping from her shirt and spilling from the waistband of her pants. Her potbelly ballooned just a little bit more with each swallow of pasta, and Grayson's deft fingers stroked and played with its increasing roundness.
"You see, you poor, pathetic creature; I'm fattening you up. Once you're nice and plump, you'll please me and be my good little fat servant. You can never escape me. You can never run away. You're mine. My little piggy."
Brittany despised this feeling of fullness that surpassed any full feeling she'd experienced before, but when Grayson massaged her swollen, chubby tummy, she couldn't help but be turned on.
"Yes, Master, yes. I promise to always serve you," she gasped, as his hands worked into her pants.
"That's a very good girl," Grayson whispered. "As a reward for your obedience thus far, you'll get to please me more."
He withdrew his hands from her womanliness and pulled a chocolate cake from the fridge, which he set down in front of her. Brittany's gut struggled a bit against the waist restraint, but Grayson still needed her contained when she fed herself the cake, so he left it on after undoing her wrists and ankles. Brittany was mildly disappointed Grayson hadn't touched her some more, as his fingers had felt so nice on her privates, but she was eager to please her master and eat every crumb of the decadent treat before her. Her arousal made her stop caring about filling out her stick figure and growing fat and disgusting.
"You may feed yourself. And I want it all gone, every last morsel," Grayson ordered.
Brittany nodded obediently. "Yes, Sir." She dug in with her hands, sticky brown frosting smearing all over her face when she engorged on the cake, her cheeks puffed out with enormous amounts of food. Mouthful after heaping mouthful did she eat, the moist, soft sweet filling her up more and more until she reached the halfway point, gasping and feeling near explosion.
"Master...I'm...So full..." She moaned, and that's when the waist restraint popped.
Instead of being angry about it, Grayson grinned. His fat little heifer's tummy had done that.
"Take one more bite. One more big bite," he told Brittany.
"But Sir-"
"Are you arguing with me?"
Brittany trembled. "No, Sir. I'll gladly do whatever you want."
"Good girl. That's what I like to hear."
Brittany consumed one last bite, the food like glue traveling down her throat, and, though she was free from the restraints, she was so bloated and stuffed, there was no possible way she could have escaped. Her plump paunch rested heavily on her hips, which had lost their sharpness and had disappeared under a blanket of fat, and her perky boobs now drooped into the tight ball of her stomach. When Grayson helped her up, her ribs, which had been prominent before, were sheathed in a layer of soft flab, and her torso jiggled when she waddled, assisted, to Grayson's bedroom.
There, Grayson fondled Brittany's newborn plumpness, sucking and mouthing her soft breasts and working his hands over her inflated, marshmallowy pot. He worked her jeans down over her doughy thighs, and there inserted himself between them. Brittany moaned quietly while Grayson pleasured her, and when the climax arrived, her gut jiggled ever so slightly.
When the deed was done, Grayson whispered sensually into her ear, "I'm not finished with you yet, my dear. You still have a long ways to go until you're my soft, plump, tasty prisoner. Until then, let us eat..."