‘I, didn’t realize they allowed women into the divisions,’ he faltered, suddenly scrambling to find his composure. She stood but a foot from him, offering the drink.
‘They would’ve been silly to refuse,’ she smiled a bit as he took the water.
Not about to leave his parched throat waiting, he drank. The cool liquid was a relief; he often overheated in uniform. Resting eyes on her as he came to empty it, he saw how she had been able to operate unnoticed. The trooper was tall and athletic, that much was plain even under the heavy coat. She likely stood above half the division.
When she received the container, she put it on the desk and took off her gloves. Amon found the whole thing perplexing, and was still catching up with the revelation, deciding if he was going to resume berating her, when she turned away and collected his empty dish. When she returned to face him, it was with a pleasant slice of chocolate cake plated in one hand, and a fork in the other. The officer looked at the plate, then the fork, then her shrouded face, and before he could really organize a sentence, she cut him a big piece and delivered it to his mouth. His eyes nearly crossed as he doubted the offer…but what else is one to do when offered cake?
His lips enveloped the delicious gift. The taste was just as he wanted it to be: cloudy delight on his tongue. And just as the taste began to dissolve, there was another piece waiting to take its place. The General considered it, then considered her, and any derision she may’ve felt for him was hidden away behind her wraps. Her gaze couldn’t meet his, at least not to him. Like a wary pup he accepted the second mouthful, and when the third arrived and no one had jeered, or laughed, or grimaced at him yet, he allowed himself a moment of unapologetic enjoyment, receiving the moist, chocolatey offering with a soft sigh of content. This continued until the plate was nothing but crumbs a second time. Without anything left for the pair to focus on, Amon found himself looking quickly to the woman, terribly aware of the heat rising in his cheeks. He floundered silently for something to say, anything, to somehow save face, but found himself at a loss, and this was apparently obvious because she boldly pressed a finger to his parted lips to halt the flurry behind them. Rather than speak, she plated him a heftier piece of cake and resumed…whatever this was.
Amon’s fingers lightly gripped what exposed sections of armrest he could find around piles of flab, his thumbs drawing ginger circles in the leather while he let himself be fed. He made little effort to move or survey the damage to the platter as he swallowed dish after dish, simply slumping deeper into his seat with every surprise of flavour. She brought him vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, tangs of orange peel, carrot, and spiced delights, always exciting his tastebuds. He lost track of time, eyelids drooping to savour every new tribute, and at some point he began to wonder if he had been drugged, because all his head seemed interested in were the swirling good feelings between his ears and on his tongue. This was only mildly alarming to him, and he wasn’t sure why.
After working through a particularly bountiful mouthful, the General allowed a hazy glance towards the next bite. He was abruptly sobered when he discovered the mysterious soldier missing, only to feel a wave of relief when he found her wheeling a stacked cart of things away from the door as it slid shut behind her. While she brought it to the desk, she unwrapped her face again, this time in full. He watched, unexpectedly taken by the fairness of her features. He sought to say something about any of the number of things happening in that moment, but she hushed him again, smiling demurely, already preparing trays. Whatever she had planned, it smelled savoury and delectable.
And then she was serving him again. He found himself arriving at dinner backwards, making room for meat pies, potatoes, sausages and beyond after satisfying his sweet tooth. Mouth-watering, wonderfully seasoned flavours burst between his teeth. She brought wine directly to his lips from the bottle, and he was just discerning enough to mark when another had been uncorked. From within the pleasure clouds, he heard himself groan.
Eventually, somewhere between now and then, he felt a touch on his thigh. His neck craned to the side to allow a glance downward, his teeth lackadaisically chewing on a leg of lamb. The woman’s hand was there, questioning. Testing the waters. He didn’t deny the request. After some pleasant rubbing, this evolved, somehow, into her firm grip exploring a roll of fat that cascaded off the edge of the seat and beyond his vision. It didn’t seem familiar, but the sensation of touch was just enough to encourage the faintest awakening in his muscles, and when they jostled his body from its haze, he became more aware of his situation. He attempted to move, but the chair wouldn’t allow it. Leaning to the side alerted him to the fat that bulged outward from the gaps in the wood, though he couldn’t get a glimpse of it. Mercifully, his collar and shirt buttons had been loosened to make way for swollen, new weight. Those pleasant, exploring fingers traced a copious belly, abandoned by the best efforts of his shirt. The space he occupied felt full and swollen. When he lifted his already trunk-like arms from the flab cushions they’d come to rest on, his limbs felt like they were moving independently of the stubborn, planted, fat sac he inhabited, save for the new bulk at the base of them.
A moan escaped the bloated cavern of Amon and he realized it wasn’t entirely in response to his abundant girth, but rather due to the woman’s attention. It was as if she was testing each roll and mound for its firmness. She would never be disappointed, because as he discovered along with her, each bulging fold was generous and full.
‘What an impressive man you are, General,’ she said. Her words were warm, direct, and unexpected. He felt a flush surging in his cheeks. The boulder in his lap inflated as he took a deep breath. She noted the restriction of his belt and carefully unbuckled it, making way as it burst free and out of her hands. The big metal plate could’ve put a dent in someone’s head if it had a mind to. Uncaged, the supple boulder bounced to its fullest and knocked his knees apart. She began massaging the malleable, tired portion with reverence. ‘Very impressive.’
The General discovered he was breathing heavily, his sunken heartbeat somehow picking up speed under the heap amassed on top of it. His lips parted to moan quietly as she plied his gut. He was reluctant to fully comprehend his weight, but he knew he had surpassed his most dreaded expectations. It felt as if every cranny was packed tight, from the tight bunches cradling his arms to the podgy bulge embracing his jawline. Bloat had seeped onto his loins, and he felt a rising heat that he couldn’t blame on all the leather. He could scarcely believe what a tremendous pile of fat he was. And yet, this enigmatic creature continued to encourage him with her sympathetic hands and honeyed words.
‘What a strong man,’ she continued in hushed, firm tones, kneading his belly. A handful of fat grapes arrived and he let her stuff them between his lips, eyes drooping as the sugar splashed about his tongue. ‘What would this company be without you, hm?’ She tipped off his hat with a quick finger as he chewed, exposing a smart, close, blond cut. Her hand swirled around his profile to stroke a pudgy cheek.
He made a low sound as if to answer. Soon more grapes piled into his maw. His gloved hand was guided to rest on his belly, which he found to be soft at first touch. His fingers splayed and pressed into the mass, discovering a veiled firmness underneath. The woman’s hand cupped his, encouraging it to explore. His aversion to accepting his body for what it was made him flinch, but she insisted, gently. He tried to forget himself. Fingers tracing the curve of his belly proper, they dipped and found the vast tire that framed it. The palm of his hand ran smoothly over the packed mound until it was too far to reach, then slipped down the side to grip it. He wondered what part of the meal had contributed the most to this portion, thick and hefty as it was in his hand.
The soldier worked her way up his belly, releasing the small buttons one by one. His milky flesh emerged unfettered, plump and soft to the eye. When the last button popped free and the material gave way, he gasped at how much work it had been doing. His breasts—though accurate, he’d be loath to call them that— sprang apart, relieved. A creamy swath of smooth skin greeted him. Without thinking, he grasped at the receding fabric, trying to cover up. Then that woman was in his ear again, practically cooing to calm him. Her breath was pleasant and warm and it slowed his brain, and instead his hands grabbed at his gut in an effort to hide it and keep it in his lap, as if it would drool out of the chair if he let it.
He forgot this entirely when she kissed him. Her lips took hold of his and groped him, commanded him, assured him. His muscles relaxed as he drifted back into the haze of delight, anxiety melting away and allowing his thumbs to simply brush along the soft heaps of belly fat. He enjoyed her taste, basking in her affection. Eyes drifting shut, he could feel her playing with his plump nipples, tweaking softly as they stiffened between her fingers.