The Feeding Contract

Chapter 1: The Interview

Ann adjusted her pencil skirt, trying to hide the slight tremor in her hands. She was sitting in the most expensive office she had ever seen, on the top floor of a Moscow skyscraper. Across the desk sat Maxx.
He wasn't what she expected for a CEO. He was young, maybe twenty-five, with the build of a professional fighter and eyes that seemed to undress her—not sexually, but like a butcher assessing a cut of meat.
"Your resume is impressive, Ann," Maxx said, tossing the paper aside. His voice was deep, calm, and terrifying. "Top university, perfect grades. But you're applying for the position of my 'Personal Assistant.' Do you know what that entails?"
"Scheduling, coffee, managing correspondence..." Ann began, her voice small.
Maxx laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound. "No. I have secretaries for that. I need an Assistant for a... special project."
He stood up and walked around the desk. Ann instinctively sat up straighter, sucking in her already flat stomach. She was proud of her figure: 5'7", 115 lbs, size 2. A perfect, slender frame she maintained with strict diets and hours in the gym.
Maxx stopped in front of her chair. He loomed over her.
"Stand up," he commanded.
Ann obeyed.
"Lift your shirt."
Her breath hitched. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Lift it. I need to see the canvas."
There was no room for argument in his tone. With trembling fingers, Ann unbuttoned her blouse and lifted it, revealing a flat, toned stomach with a hint of abs.
Maxx made a noise of disgust.
"Empty," he muttered. He poked her belly with a thick finger. The skin was tight against the muscle. "Hollow. Useless."
He looked her in the eye. "The project, Ann, is you. You are too thin. Too hard. I don't like hard things. I like soft things. Big things."
He walked back to his desk and pressed a button on the intercom. "Bring it in."
The door opened, and two waiters wheeled in a serving cart. Ann's eyes widened. It wasn't coffee. It was a feast. A mountain of glazed donuts, a bucket of fried chicken, a whole pepperoni pizza, and a pitcher of thick vanilla milkshake. The smell of grease and sugar filled the sterile office.
"Sit on the floor," Maxx said, pointing to the expensive Persian rug.
Ann, bewildered, sat down, her skirt riding up her thighs.
Maxx placed the pizza box in front of her and opened it. The heat hit her face.
"The job pays ten times your asking salary," he said casually, leaning against his desk. "Plus a bonus for every pound you gain. Your only duty is to eat what I give you, when I give it to you. And to let me watch."
He grabbed a slice of pizza, dripping with cheese and oil, and held it to her mouth.
"Your interview starts now, Ann. Eat. Show me how badly you want this job."
Ann looked at the pizza, then up at Maxx's demanding stare. Her stomach, trained to subsist on salads, gave a treacherous growl at the smell of forbidden calories.
She opened her mouth and took the first bite. The grease exploded on her tongue.
"Good girl," Maxx whispered, his eyes darkening. "Don't stop until the box is empty. I want to see that flat stomach of yours turn into a speedbump."