The Turning of the Scales

Chapter 1

I remember the whole beginning; that part was simple and easy. A gentleman on Harley Street had advertised online for a live-in personal tutor for his niece and nephew. Having recently left my teaching job by mutual consent it seemed like the perfect opportunity. He gave very little detail except their ages and that they were used to being home-schooled. I sent in my CV and was surprised to be called to a meeting in his office the very next day.

He was a handsome and kindly spoken man; well dressed in a light blue summer suit and matching tie. He described little but got his key points across sincerely. I was to supply his dearly departed brother’s children with a good general all round education, though, he was keen that I focus on maths. The girl had a keen interest in music and the boy in cooking. It was hence a benefit if I could also teach these subjects. I told him that I could. He asked me very little and the brief conversation only turned to me when he offered polite but fleeting compliments about my youthful good looks, smart appearance, and professional demeanour. He gave me an address in Essex and told me that I start Monday. I suggested that I arrive on Sunday night in order to settle in and he agreed that was an excellent idea. He told me that the children would soon grow to love me and I them. We parted company with a friendly handshake and he wished me all the luck in the world. I left his office full of confidence and a new found belief that real gentlemen still exist in the twenty-first century.

It was early evening when I arrived at Bly House, an impressive greystone Victorian folly secludedly situated down a tree lined avenue next to a small fishing lake. I exited my taxi and was greeted by a robust but bubbly looking heavy-set woman who introduced herself as Ms Grose - the children’s cook. She welcomed me with a big hand shake and enquired about my age; twenty eight. She asked no other questions and instructed the taxi driver to carry my bags into the house. There was something very amiably old-fashioned about the whole experience that pleased me greatly.

I enquired as to the whereabouts of the children and she informed me that we were bound to bump into them somewhere on the tour of the house. I smiled courteously and was intrigued to acquaint myself with my new surroundings.

The entrance hall to Bly house was wide and grand with a high ceiling, dominated by a large central staircase that split in two leading to the bedrooms in the separate wings of the house. Ms Grose said that we would go upstairs later. The hallway was panelled in dark mahogany wood and huge portraits of presumably old owners adorned the walls. I really did feel like I’d stepped back in time. We entered a room on the right and suddenly the house felt a lot more modern.

Ms Grose informed me that this was the sitting room. It was painted white, with cream carpets, cream sofas, and a giant ninety two inch TV screen. The room was L-shaped and as we turned the corner I took an almighty fright as I first saw the girl playing the white grand piano. At first I thought that she might be an apparition. She was one of the scruffiest, worst dressed, and fattest girls that I had ever had the misfortune to see. Her shoulders were slouched and her posture so appalling that she had developed one of those humps of fat on the back of her neck that you normally only see on unhealthy people over fifty. This hump appeared to have forced her head low and forwards so that she seemed to be permanently staring down at her enormous misshapen breasts. I wondered who on Earth she could be and what business she could possibly have in a house like this.

“Miss Flora, this is your new tutor, the one I told you about.”

I couldn’t believe it! This poor lump of dishevelment was the little girl that I was to teach?

“Nice to meet you, Miss.”

Miss Flora stood to greet me and even attempted a curtsy. Her dumpy legs, though, appeared to be uneven in length, so she slightly lost her balance and stumbled as she did so. As she righted herself and lifted her head as much as she could, I noticed her visibly naked stomach rolls (due to the very ill-informed choice of crop top that she wore) unscrunch and reform to become one of the largest stomachs that I’ve ever had the displeasure to see on a girl. Had she not been so obviously flabby, and painful on the eyes of any boy who might just happen to have been unfortunate to take a second glance at her, then you could easily have mistaken her for pregnant. Why is it that such dumplings are often given such pretty flowery names? I thought. Flora? Really? So unsuitable.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Flora. What a beautiful name for such a beautiful girl.”

“Why thank you, Miss. You are also very pretty.”

At least she was astute enough to notice that. Ms Grose instructed Flora to return to her piano practice and she sat her heavy rear end back down on the piano stool as we exited the room into a large dining area. Funny, I thought, she is supposed to be practicing yet I had never consciously heard any music coming from the room.

The dining room was also modern and white. Its centerpiece was a large white table with twelve chairs around it, though, I’m sure it could easily have fit eighteen. We didn’t stay long in this room as Ms Grose was keen to show me her kitchen. The kitchen was once again older looking, classic country in style, it also had a large table at its centre, this time made of pine, and more cupboards than I could count. Ms Grose spent too long explaining all the intricacies of the multifarious equipment, which I began to suspect she used to overfeed both herself and Flora, but she was clearly keen on her job and I saw no doubt to judge her expertise in the culinary field.

In the corner of the kitchen was a small set of spiral wooden stairs which she led down to a large basement. I was surprised when we entered an indoor swimming pool and spa area. I asked her when this had been added and she said towards the end of the last century. So surprised was I by such a modern luxury in such an old house that at first I totally failed to notice the boy relaxing on a sunbed at the far end of the pool. Once I took note of him, though, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Miles was reading a book so failed to notice the two of us approaching, giving me a good chance to study him carefully and take him in in all his glory. A more handsome boy I never did see. He was also overweight but wore it much better than his younger sister. Most of his addition clung to his abdomen in the shape of a firm round ball-gut. The sides of and front of which hung heavily over the sides of his tight blue swimming shorts. His damp body glistened under the low phosphorus lights highlighting his silky smooth tan and gentle coating of white hairs that adorned his perfectly formed arms and legs. I noticed a small trail of these hairs climbing from the front of his shorts up to his deep navel. His soft but still well-shaped chest also contained a smattering of light hairs. I wondered if this was a sign of his tender years, but inspection of his face told me that was not the case. Miles was a well groomed and beautiful boy, who took real pride in his appearance. I guessed correctly that he shaved and oiled himself all over - on at least a weekly basis. His brown hair was gelled perfectly into a side parting with a small quiff at the front, despite the fact that he had clearly only recently exited the pool. His eyes were a piercing blue, more tempting than the water by which he sat. He smiled cheekily, pushing his ever so slightly chubby and dimpled cheeks out. I almost felt myself swoon. I was now stood right next to him. Something in his book made him giggle out loud and he broke into an even bigger heart-warming smile. He lowered his book and laid it upside down, pages open, on the top of his belly. It rested perfectly and moved gently up and down with his slow breaths. I read the author's name but not the title; John Kennedy O’Toole. He turned and smiled at me.

“Hello,” he said simply; the kindness of his tone reminded me immediately of his gentlemanly uncle.

“Hello Miles,” I replied, “I’m your new tutor, it’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

He collected the book from his wonderfully curved belly and placed it face down on the sunbed as he swung his legs over to my side and rose smoothly to shake my hand. As he bent over to stand his belly folded in on itself, and he winced slightly, before it reshaped in a similar manner to his sister’s. It formed a gloriously fat globe as he straightened up fully. It was hard to know which one of them was fatter, and both or either of them could have been heavily pregnant; but I knew which one carried it better.

Once standing fully erect his belly flattened out just a tiny little bit and he appeared to be in complete comfort again. I noted his broad but well proportioned shoulders. Somewhere beneath the soft layers of fat, young strong muscles were still flexing in his arms and legs. He was more like a football player than a rugby player in build. It was only his belly that suggested a strong disinterest in either sport.

I blinked as I realised that he was speaking to me again;

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too. My uncle has told me all about you. Though he never mentioned how pretty you were. I really am looking forward to our lessons and time together.”

I have to admit that I blushed slightly and stumbled over what to say. It wasn’t that his uncle knew nothing about me, so I had no idea what Miles had been told - it was his calm and soothing voice, his lush soft skin tone, his plush, thickly swollen abdomen, his startlingly beautiful eyes - his overall appearance of a heavily bloated adonis.

“Erm, well, thank you. I look forward to it as well. I, er, see that you like to read?”

“Oh yes, it’s nothing serious, just a little comedy that was recommended to me. Do you like O’Toole, Miss?”

I had to be honest and admit that I had never read him. Miles smiled at me and showed no signs of displeasure or disappointment. I was worried that my honesty in admitting having not read someone that he had, might already begin to undermine my position as his teacher. If he thought such a thing, though, Miles was far too much of a gentleman to show any sign of it.

“Well, if you like, Miss, I could write you a book report on it. I really think that you would like the themes that he explores in the novel. Would you like me to explain some of them to you?”

“No thank you, Miles. That’s very kind of you and I would love to hear all about it but it’s a Sunday evening so I wouldn’t want to impose on your personal time like that. I think that a book report is a great idea. I’d be very interested to read your thoughts.”

“Very well, Miss.”

Miles turned his attention to Ms Grose who had been waiting very patiently for us to finish our little repertoire.

“May I ask what time dinner is, Ms Grose? I’m starting to feel a little peckish.”

“Eight o’clock in the dining room as always, Miles.” Ms Grose replied.

“And will our new guest be joining us?”

“That’s very kind of you both but I’m very tired and ate on the train up here. I think I would rather just go to my room and settle in.”

I hadn’t even finished speaking when I felt a sudden chill enter the room. Both Miles and Ms Grose were clearly trying to hide their feelings of consternation behind their now all too obviously fake smiles. Knowing that I had somehow offended them I back tracked.

“On the other hand, I could maybe manage a light snack. A meal would be an excellent opportunity to get to know you all better before we begin in earnest tomorrow.”

The warm smiles returned and an uneasy feeling rumbled in my stomach as Ms Grose led me away from Miles to show me to my room. There was something uncanny about this overfed threesome that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Any subconscious concerns soon left me when Miles spoke once more:

“I really am hungry,” he said, holding his right hand over the top of his belly in order to somehow demonstrate this.

“Don’t worry, Miles, there will be plenty of courses as usual!” Ms Grose appeased him.

He smiled kindly at his cook and gave me a cheeky parting wink as we exited the pool area to head back up the stairs. He really was the most beautiful thing I ever had seen. I wondered how he and his sister could be so different yet so alike at the same time?