by Wilson Barbers
The town was unfamiliar to Jayne - just another piddly burg off the county highway - but she was glad to see it just the same. She was starving.
She'd spent the morning with a pair of clients who'd just moved into the area, a marginal couple who needed counseling on the basics of home management, and she was feeling both frustrated and hungry. It was Jayne's job to teach these bozos housekeeping skills (she was paid by the state to hand out her expertise), but these two were so actively resistive to her counseling that she was beginning to wonder why she bothered. There had to be a better way to use her Home Ec degree, she thought for the umpteenth time that week.
She drove through town, looking for a restaurant, fast food place, anything. Scanning the main street, she finally found it: a hole-in-the-wall between an Ace Hardware and a bedraggled five-and-dime that said "Big Diners' Club." An odd choice for a name, the young counselor thought, as she disembarked from her beater and straightened her dark cotton skirt. Looking at herself in the hardware store window, she smiled and brushed her fingers through her moussed blond hair. With her slender frame, there was no way Jayne could be taken for a Big Eater, but in reality, she loved to both cook and dine. Unlike the rest of her family, she'd been blessed with the kind of metabolism that burned calories with abandon.
Turning away from her reflection, she strode over to the club's entrance, a wide glossy green door with the name stenciled in white at eye level. As she got closer, it seemed amazing that she'd been able to read the club's name from her car: the lettering looked more faded the closer she got to it. Must've just hit the light right, she thought.
The room was dark and long, two rows of tables alternating towards the kitchen. The bulk of the tables was filled with lunching couples, and in a flash Jayne knew that the lettering outside had not been a misnomer: every luncher in the room was Big, a collection of variously dressed fat folk united in their appreciation of the fare in front of them. It made for quite a sight. She felt the door close behind her, and in that moment a waitress appeared at her side.
She was roundly packed in her uniform, a Rubenesque-and-then-some sized woman in a deep-cut blouse that aggressively showed off her cleavage. Jayne had always inwardly wished she could dress that way, but her trimness had carried over to her bust-line, too. "Do you want a table? the buxom waitress asked, an assessing look in her heavily made-up eyes.
Jayne nodded in agreement, momentarily embarrassed by the sudden conviction that this fleshy female had caught her flash of jealousy. Smiling companionably, her name-tag perched atop her enviable round right breast, she lead Jayne to a vacant table by the kitchen entry. Nearby, a huge thirtyish couple was gobbling their meals and watching each other sexily; the sight was so openly erotic that Jayne had to shift her seat. She wound up facing a mounted teevee that was broadcasting a cooking show.
"The special for today is roast lamb with chef's special glaze," Maggie the waitress was saying, placing a glass of milk before her. Though she hadn't asked for it, Jayne took a good gulp, anyway.
"Do you have a menu?"
"This is your first time here, isn't it?" the chubby server said, not answering her question. "Not many people are able to find our little club, but if you do, you were plainly meant to."
"Pardon?"
"We only one item for lunch, the daily special," Maggie said with a giggle. "Don't worry. The servings are substantial." With that, she wiggled her protuberant rear into the kitchen, leaving Jayne to the television cooking show and the breathlessly gorging fat couple next to her. Sipping her milk (which had a full, rich taste unlike any of the carton stuff she was used to), she luxuriated in the smell of cooking. Any other time she'd have rebelled at having her freedom of choice so cavalierly dismissed, but from the look of all the other patrons, the special was a success.
She kicked back and crossed her lean legs, finishing off her glass only to find Maggie magically by her side refilling it. Up on the nineteen-incher, the obese blond (she had to be over four hundred pounds) was sampling a salad with a single fat finger, placing a dollop on her sausagey lips and dramatically licking it off.
"My brother-in-law produces this show," a male voice suddenly said from behind her. "In fact, my sister Bernice pretty much help make Carla." Before Jayne could turn to face the speaker, he'd pulled into a seat across the table. "We haven't met yet," the newcomer said, "but I own this establishment."
He was dressed in a casual sports jacket, which gapped significantly at his paunch, a dark-haired man in his late twenties with a full mustache that was paralleled by a deep double chin-line. His eyes were mischievous behind his round cheeks; he had the look of a man who'd found his place in the world and wasn't threatened by the knowledge. Though he was twice the size of any guy she'd previously dated, Jayne found herself instantly attracted to him. She introduced herself, holding out her hand in her best professional manner. The restaurateur took it, held it up for examination as if preparing to kiss her continental style, then put it back down.
"I'm Chris Harring," he said. "I'm glad you found my place." He stood and bid adieu to Bob and Ann, the couple nearby, then he returned to her table. "I hope I'm not being too intrusive," he said, "but I like to get acquainted with new faces that come my way, particularly when they're as attractive as you."
Whoa, Jayne thought. She looked into the face of the portly young man and tried to think of a snappy rejoinder. "Are you always so openly flirtatious with them?" she finally asked.
"Not usually," he answered, looking her straight in the eyes. She felt like she was being x-rayed.
Thankfully, her food arrived. Wheeling in a cart with a plateful of lamb and three separately dished side items, Maggie proceeded to cover Jayne's table with enough food to feed a family of four. "We can talk later. I'll leave you to your meal," the fat man said, rising and putting a companionable paw on her shoulder. "I hope it's to your satisfaction."
It was. The lamb was cooked to perfection while the array of rich rice and vegetable dishes was so tantalizing that Jayne found herself devouring the whole offering. She sat back, feeling sated but comfortable, when Harring returned with a dessert tray. He parked himself across from her and waved his hands over the display of pastry between them. "You simply have to try one of these," he said. Though she usually wasn't a dessert person, Jayne couldn't resist: she picked a substantial piece of French silk. As she went at her dessert, the rotund restaurateur regaled her with stories about his quests through Europe for the perfect recipes. She was both enchanted and aroused.
When she'd finished her meal, her host pulled a large notecard out of his jacket. "I'm being pushy again," he said, "but I hope you'll consider becoming a member of our little club."
Of course Jayne signed up: the fee was nominal and the meals reasonably priced. Besides, she definitely enjoyed the company. She upped her scheduled contacts with her small-town clients to twice a week and began to spend her weekend evenings dining and talking with the club's attractive owner. He had a seemingly endless array of stories about the food he was serving; she listened in fascination, caught up in the romance of his gourmet exploits.
Always a good eater, Jayne's appetite was wondrously stimulated by the fare Chris served: even at home she was eating three to four times the amount of her pre-club days. It began to show on her, too. Where once her metabolism had saved her from the results of her active dining, the process had now reversed. Every ounce, every pound of food she devoured began to manifest itself on her. While most women would have panicked at this shift in personal physiology, Jayne found herself strangely accepting it. Within a week, she'd become rounder, more buxom and feminine looking, and though the strain started to show in her clothing, she felt marvelous. She did start to wonder what she was going to do about outgrowing her outfits, though.
Maggie came to the rescue on the wardrobe situation. Jayne was into her second week of club membership, and her blouse was starting to gap distressingly around her midriff. As she bent over to cut her sirloin, she felt a button pop, heard a slight rending at the seams of her blouse. Damn, she thought, that was her loosest top!
"Excuse me," Maggie said, appearing at her side. "I couldn't help but notice you've had a little trouble with your blouse."
The observation should have annoyed her, but it didn't. Fingering the gap in her growing cleavage, her mouth full of twice-baked potatoes, Jayne looked up at the portly waitress and nodded. "I seem to be outgrowing my wardrobe," she said once she swallowed. "Ever since I discovered this place, I've been packing it on. You serve such sinfully good food."
"I've got something in the back that might fit you," the waitress said. "We've had other club members with a similar problem. Let me show you." She lead Jayne past the kitchen to a bright room in the rear: hanging in rows was a selection of women's and men's clothing in ever-expanding sizes.
"This is amazing," Jayne said, fingering a cotton top that would look just marvelous on her. "I've never heard of such a thing."
"One thing about the Big Diners' Club," Maggie said, smiling approvingly as Jayne tried on the top. "We're more than just a restaurant; we're a way of life. . ." She pulled down a checked skirt that looked custom made for Jayne's broadened hips. "What you see here is a series of high quality hand-me-downs from those members who've said goodbye to these sizes," she explained. "You're not the first Big Diner to come in on a limited budget."
Once she re-outfitted herself, she looked around the room for a mirror to examine the new Jayne: her well-fed womanly form with its small pot belly and up-front breasts; her fulsome swinging hips; her rounding face which was losing the stress lines she'd been bemoaning in the bathroom mirror just a month ago. . . She was looking and feeling like a totally different woman these days. Swaying her skirt dramatically, she sashayed back into the dining room to polish off her meal. "Thanks, Maggie," she said. "You and Chris really make me feel comfortable here."
"Looks to me like you have a thing for Chris," the pudgy waitress whispered, leaning conspiratorially over the table. She'd brought a shopping bag full of additional clothing and plopped it on the seat beside Jayne.
"He's not yours, is he?" Jayne asked, looking up from her plate.
"Oh, no! You haven't met my guy yet," Maggie hastily assured her. "He's a club regular, too. So don't worry: you're not trodding on anyone's turf. If you ask me, you look like just the kind of woman that Chris has been waiting for. . ."
Maggie's encouragement was so exhilarating that Jayne felt her already sizable appetite redoubling. She made a major dent in the dessert tray that day, a beaming Chris watching her tuck into it with relish. Jayne hadn't noticed it before, but he really seemed to get off on watching her eat: it made her want to consume even more. She worked to make her meals longer and larger just to have more time with him at her table.
Two weeks and three wardrobe changes later, Chris asked her a curious question over cappuccino. Wiping a dash of whipped cream off his mustache, he looked at the fattened Jayne and asked, "Do you believe in magic?"
"What do you mean?
"My sister - and I know I've mentioned her - considers herself a student of the subject," he answered. "I've known other women who called themselves witches. I was just wondering if you've ever had any experiences in this area."
"Only college girl Ouija board games," Jayne answered. "I don't know what I believe when it comes to the supernatural."
"Well, I believe there are forces in the planet," Chris continued, "and that we can get in touch with them through heightening our senses, by training ourselves to more fully experience sensual pleasures."
"Like good food?"
"Like good food," he agreed, shifting the conversation to a critique of one of the recipes Carla was displaying on the tube. Chris had all her shows on tape and played them for the edification of club members; this latest was apparently a more current work as the blond hostess looked at least hundred pounds bigger than she'd been on some of her previous shows. She moved her quarter ton of womanhood confidently through the remodeled kitchen set.
"I'd like to have you meet Carla one of these days," the restaurateur said.
The next three months passed rapidly: Jayne continued to attend the club and chat with Chris. The restaurateur seemed to be spending all his time with her when she was there. The rest of the club membership took note of this and quickly began to introduce themselves to her; it was clear that she was becoming a club fixture. For her part, she wanted to reward Chris' attention by actively showing her gustatory appreciation. By the end of her first month, she'd managed to pack on close to a hundred pounds in the process.
Two months later, Jayne was adding on as much in half the time. She was growing close to Carla at her vastest. With every added bulge and fold, she seemed to be growing more sensitive to the world around her, more in touch with her senses. Though she knew her surging weight was unusual, she remained unperturbed by it. If this was magic, she thought (remembering Chris' brief words on the subject), it was magic of a pleasingly benign nature.
They noticed her preternatural accumulation at work, of course. (How could they not?) But she'd grown so self-assured in her obesity that no one would have dreamed of mentioning it to her. At least not openly. One morning as she waddled into the office, though, she found someone had taped the lyrics of a "Weird Al" Yankovic fat joke song on her desktop. Though it wasn't her day to do so, she squeezed herself into her car and drove to the club.
She was an hour early, but that didn't matter. Pushing her huge form through the extra-wide door, she entered the club. Inside, Maggie was fixing the table settings; she looked up and smiled welcomingly at Jayne. "You're here early," she said matter-of-factly.
"Is Chris in the kitchen?" Jayne asked. "I'd like to see him." The waitress looked at her for a moment before answering. Then, she nodded happily, and lead her obese customer through the empty club. Once outside the kitchen door, Jayne was seized by a flash of doubt.
"G'wan in," Maggie said, catching her hesitation. "I'm sure Chris will want to see you." She held the swinging door open and gestured Jayne into the kitchen. Inside, Chris was directing a pair of pudgy youths as they chopped mushrooms and green onions; behind them on a series of cutting boards were several mountains of diced shrimp and ham. Jayne slowly made her way to the center of the great kitchen, taking it all in and savoring the scent of Oysters Bienville in progress. Finally, Chris noticed her.
"Jayne!" he said, a great smile on his broad face. "What brings you here so early?"
She was so taken aback by the marvelous odors in the kitchen, she almost forgot her original intention. "I want to know," she finally began, "if we're going to mean anything to each other. I've been meeting you here for three months now, and while I don't deny that your fare hasn't been part of the attraction - I've grown massive in this place! - I keep hoping that there's something more. What I want to know is: are my hopes realistic?"
"Are you kidding?" the restaurateur answered, pulling off his apron. "I've been waiting for this moment!" Putting her fat right hand on his, Chris lead her through the kitchen to an elevator door. "My rooms are upstairs," he explained, as he yanked open the elevator gate. With a flourish, he took her to his bedroom.
It was spare but elegant, with a mirrored ceiling and a bed that looked like super-king-size. Once inside, he wrapped his arms on both sides of her broad-beamed torso and leaned down to kiss her lips. He tasted vaguely of garlic and onions: Jayne thought it was the sexiest tasting kiss she'd ever had. She returned it eagerly. "I take it," she said, "that this means you're wanting to take things on a deeper level."
"The deepest," he said, tracing the bulges of her cumbrous body. "You're the most beautiful woman that I've ever known." With that, he began to kiss her chin-lines, working down to the front of her cleavage. Her breasts swelled to both sides atop her tri-fold belly. Despite their size, they were extremely sensitive, and with the feel of Chris' lips on her quivering mams, her nipples started to stiffen.
"I hope I'm not rushing things," the fat man said as he stopped and backed off, "but I can't wait to see you naked, to see the magnificent woman that you've become." She smiled at his compliment, reached down and peeled her dress up over her head, fat flesh tingling as it was released into the cool room. Feeling her folds of fleshiness settling around her, Jayne watched her lover admire her. She wished that she could communicate the splendor of her obesity to him: the feeling of overflowing womanhood that smothered her cozily, each flabby arm pushing against her mammoth torso, each inflated thigh cushioning the other. But all she could do was offer her ponderous outer form to Chris. It seemed to be enough.
He went at her naked body greedily, fondling each cleft and fold, exploring every aspect of her corpulence. Kissing the rise of belly between her cleavage, he knelt and hefted the apron of her stomach appreciatively. "You built this," Jayne said, as he continued to explore the hang of her up-front torso. "You and your wonderful cooking."
"Not me," Chris demurred, looking up from the floor. "Plenty of folk have sampled my fare. But only you have responded so fully. . ." He was close to penetrating her digitally. Jayne sighed happily as she felt her lover push into her, kissing her dimpled knees and squeezing the back of a puffy calf simultaneously. As he continued to work her lower half, she moaned and fondled her pendulous breasts. Trying to hold one of them between her pudgy palms was an impossibility; it flowed out of her hands gelatinously. She was too much woman for any single pair of hands to control.
Finally, they moved to the bed. As she slowly lowered herself to lie back on the mattress, Jayne saw herself stretching out to receive him. Quickly stripping out of his kitchen outfit, the scent of his culinary labors lingering wonderfully, Chris towered over her mountainous form. She looked at their reflection in the mirrored ceiling: as big as he was, she engulfed him, her great wide body spreading almost a foot to either side of him. Lifting her belly to insert his member inside her, he grinned lustily as he kneaded her avoirdupois. They both came quickly and heartily.
As soon as she'd calmed down, Jayne realized she was famished. As if he'd read her mind, Chris bounded out of bed and went to the door. On the other side, waiting for them, was a cart full of cheese and breads. "This is marvelous!" she said between bites. She'd never experienced sex so intensely before, but since she'd grown fat, she seemed to be more attuned to everything. The magic of sensual experience, she thought.
"Will you marry me?" Chris asked.
What other answer was there? Her cheeks full of cheddar, Jayne nodded happily, then swallowed and gave her yes out loud. When she finished off her tray, they dressed and returned to the kitchen, where Chris began to instruct her in the practical aspects of restaurant preparation. That afternoon, she returned to work and gave her notice. Two weeks later, she was spending all her time with her fiancé at the club, learning his cooking secrets and applying her own experience the way she wanted. She continued to eat and grow larger.
When they married two months later, she'd grown so massive that she made the famous Carla look underfed. She got to meet the teevee chef just before the ceremony, along with her boyfriend and Chris' sorceress sister. Seated on a wide bench built especially for her, the broad-beamed bride was contentedly welcoming each wedding guest. (Chris was back in the kitchen supervising preparations for the upcoming wedding feast. Their wedding banquet, he'd promised, was going to be something club members would talk about for years, so rich and fattening that all you had to do was sniff it to gain weight!) When sister Bernice showed up, Jayne was able to recognize her immediately. Behind that well-dressed, matronly form were the same knowing eyes as her brother.
"Chris has told me so much about you," the sorceress said, leaning over Jayne's inflated front to get a better look at hr jowl-laden face. "Always wondered why he'd cloistered himself in the sticks, but now I know why: it was so he could meet you! My dear, you look marvelous!"
"I owe it all to Chris," Jayne answered, "though I suspect that he may have a little help from his sister."
Standing behind Bernice, the glamorously dressed Carla snickered. "Chris said that you were a particularly sharp gal," his sister said with a shrug. "He always did like brains with his bulk." She looked around the room to make sure no one else was listening, then continued. "You're right," she admitted. "I did give him some special potions years ago, but let me tell you this: they were only made to work on the right person." The chubby witch paused thoughtfully. "I thought Chris told me you didn't believe in witchcraft."
Jayne patted the side of her swollen body (the front of her belly having grown so far out that it was a strain to reach it) and smiled. "I've broadened my horizons," she said. "After all, no one could grow as large and rapidly as I have without some magical explanation. Make no mistake, Bernice: I'm not accusing you. These past months have been the happiest of my life. I've never felt more fulfilled - or fully filled." She looked down at her billowy front: it hid her feet and dangled mid-calf, a testament to her magnificent appetite.
"We'll talk some more after the wedding," Bernice decided. "There are some things a woman your size should know - particularly if she's going to be my little brother's wife."
"I look forward to it," Jayne said.
And then it was time for the ceremony itself.
Chris came out of the kitchen, his tux showing a dab of flour at the cuffs, and with him was the judge. Struggling to her feet, she stood at the head of the club, her wide form blocking the entrance, and took in the club members' admiration. Most of them had seen her progress to her current state, fatter than any human they'd ever seen before. She smiled at them all and proceeded to slowly navigate her ponderous form to her waiting lover. Beneath her dress, her blubbery body shifted and adjusted with every step; her flabby arms swayed to both sides of her.
Maggie lifted her hand and gave a small wave as Jayne passed, a gesture of friendship and commonality. Jayne grinned and winked at her boyfriend. She hoped that Chris's high-calorie feast was going to be as effective as he'd advertised. Just a week ago, the waitress had confessed her dismay at having apparently reached her set point. In that moment, she'd reminded Jayne of her initial flash of envy that first day in the club - months and many pounds ago.
She made her way past the rest of the crowd, white gown stretched over her great globe of a body, love and hunger in her heart. She saw the years stretching before her like her ever growing form and knew she had found the life for her.
Before her, the scent of the wedding feast to come drifted around the room.
It made her mouth water.
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