I Can Make Him Worse (preview)

Chapter 1

Many women get a particular impulse when they see a man teetering on the edge of stability. They look at him and have a knee-jerk urge to rescue him. "I can fix him," they tell themselves. And maybe they try, and maybe they even succeed. They housebreak him, so to speak.

Vlasta never had this impulse. Instead, she looked at these men and thought, I can make him worse.

Men usually had enough self-preservation to steer clear of her, or at least get away before she tipped them too far, just in time to have some possibility of righting themselves. Will unfortunately had the self-preservation of a moth flying directly into a flame.

They met in a grocery store checkout line. He hadn't bothered to get a cart or a basket, so he was stuck holding a giant bag of frozen chicken nuggets, boxes of Eggo waffles, and a bunch of other junk he'd impulsively grabbed in one arm while the other clutched at a case of beer.

Vlasta was directly behind him and could barely contain herself looking at him. He was just her kind of mess: approaching thirty but at the grocery store in the middle of the day when most people were at work; a physique that might be kindly described as burly but with a paunch a little too heavy for that to be accurate; wearing sweats and a sweatshirt that had both seen better days; dirty blond hair that was starting to get a little too long; and a selection of groceries in his arms that showed an appalling lack of impulse control.

When he finally got a chance to set his food down on the conveyor belt, he immediately started looking at all the candy around the checkout line. He didn't even pretend like he wasn't going to get something, though it did seem like he was having trouble choosing.

"I always go for the Kit-Kats. They never let me down," Vlasta told him.

He turned to look at her, breaking into a flirtatious grin when he realized she wasn't just some rando but was in fact a hot, female rando. "Really? I'm more of a king-size Snickers man myself." He puffed out his chest a little in a show of completely unearned confidence that Vlasta found hopelessly appealing.

"I feel like you definitely deserve both."

"I don't know..." he said, even as he grabbed two of each and added them to the haphazard pile on the checkout conveyor belt. "I don't know if I really need both. I was planning on a lazy Sunday." His hand went to pat his belly in a way that made it obvious he didn't yet realize he had a belly.

"Really? I thought we had plans," Vlasta said with an exaggerated pout.

Will cleared his throat. He'd expected flirting, but not an outright proposition. "I mean, I can clear my schedule."

"Good." She flashed a radiant smile and held out her phone to him with a new text message open. "I'm looking forward to it."


**

The next afternoon, Will was sprawled out in her bed, in the middle of an afternoon nap brought on by Vlasta's homemade blueberry pie and his third orgasm of the day. Vlasta had come to check on him from the kitchen where she was prepping dinner and was very happy with her latest catch. She'd been right about him having no self-restraint. He'd called out of work five minutes into when his shift was supposed to start because he smelled pie baking and immediately assumed it was all for him.

His unselfconscious thoughtlessness earned him an enthusiastic blowjob. Vlasta couldn't resist rewarding bad behavior. And of course, after that he was just starving and the pie happened to finish at the same time, so she brought it to him in bed and fed it to him bite by bite. He lay back against her headboard with his fingers laced behind his head, feeling like a king. He could get used to this.

**

Two months later, Will was drinking beer on her couch and watching the game, occasionally leaning forward to grab a handful of chips and shovel them into his mouth. He called out, "Hey babe-is lunch almost ready? I'm starving," and Vlasta had to hold back her laughter in the kitchen.

For one thing, the last thing anyone could call Will was "starved." He'd hardly gone a day without her cooking since they met, which showed in the bloated beer gut and soft pecs currently straining his t-shirt.

For another, that day in particular she'd fêted him from the moment he woke up, ostensibly to celebrate him quitting his "terrible" job (which he'd only rarely bothered to show up for, even before Vlasta got her claws into him) and "new beginnings." He'd already gobbled down a lavish pancake breakfast, plus a few plates of appetizers after that, and chips and beer and and and...

She couldn't believe her luck. Usually she felt like she had to break a man down before he got to this point-really put in legwork to stamp out their ambition and impulses to better themselves and control their appetites. Will was so void of any such traits that it was like he'd been gift-wrapped just for her. "Lunch will be out in just a minute!" she assured him, getting a slightly impatient grunt in response. She bit down on her bottom lip and almost squealed. His appetite alone was enough to make her throb, but the fact that he was so demanding about it, well on his way to becoming the bottomless pit of her dreams-!

She was flushed by the time she brought a plate of overstuffed hard shell tacos to him. He ate almost mindlessly, more focused on the game than the food, but still letting out happy grunts and moans as he devoured it all. She was able to sit at the other end of the couch, watching and soaking it all in, Will too distracted to notice the lust playing over her features.

By the time the game was over, he'd demolished three platefuls and was practically one with the couch, a hand resting on his gut while he belched and nursed a final beer. He looked like he might fall asleep right there. Vlasta watched him try and tug his shirt over the hard expanse of bloated tummy sitting in his lap for the thousandth time and finally couldn't hold back. She crawled toward him on the couch and put her lips to his ear. "Come to bed, baby," she purred, laying it on thick. "We're not done celebrating yet."

He let out a little whine. "Too full," he protested, though she could see lust warring with sleepiness on his face.

"I'll make it easy," she promised. "Wouldn't you rather be all comfy in bed?"

He took a moment to consider, then moved to push himself up off the couch. His belly was even more pronounced when he was standing, and it was easy for her to imagine what even just a few more months of indulgence would do to him.

In bed, she was able to really admire him. The tattoo that circled one of his biceps was starting to stretch a little as he got used to getting everything he could think to want. His thighs were a little more plump. His face was the same still, but who knew for how long. His chest was soft, but his belly jutted outward, begging to be poked and prodded. Once he was all settled in, she straddled him, hands gently skimming over the taut skin of his stomach. He was so full there was no way she could ride him-at least, not his dick.

She moved until her knees were on either side of his head. "See? I told you I would make it easy. You only have to move your tongue."

For once, he actually put in more effort than was asked of him, reaching to grab at her ass and the back of her thighs, giving her a nice platform of stability while she rode his face. He was greedy with her like he was with everything else, devouring her like a feast meant for him alone.

She could get used to this.