Commissioned by Anonymous
It had been a whole week now–should he count himself lucky? Surely it could have been worse, right? Then why did it feel like he was sitting here, just waiting for the Master Fitzroy’s other perfectly shined shoe to drop? Mr. Windsor mopped up the gravy on the plate with a hunk of bread, and then got up from the table. He was still hungry, but the cooks had given him a sour look when he’d gone in for a third helping. Why the kitchen was still so busy at this time of evening was a bit of a mystery to him, but he was thankful for the extra food all the same. His gut was pleading for food all the time now, and he no longer had the willpower to resist the temptation to eat every chance he got. Mr. Livingston, however, had looked absolutely delighted when he’d seen Mr. Windsor’s plate piled high with food. He’d been an especially smug twat all week, ever since the master had sentenced Mr. Windsor to another round of edification, but if all Mr. Windsor had to deal with was an insatiable hunger, he would count himself lucky. He’d been especially on guard with himself all week, desperately trying to check himself and his actions, searching for anything new about himself that the Master had intended him to not notice. Still, he was almost certain he had forgotten something important…but what?
A bell rang. It struck Mr. Windsor with a pang of deja vu. He could remember…he could almost recall…
“Room 205–is that one of yours, Mr. Windsor?”
He started, and looked up into the face of another servant, Mr. Hooker. He had been here longer than Mr. Windsor, but not so long that he had forgotten himself entirely like Mr. Livingston. From their casual dealings, he seemed to be a firm pragmatist about their situation here. “N–No. I do believe Mr. Williams is assisting that guest.”
Mr. Hooker sighed, “He’s probably sobbing in his room. I’ll go fetch him.”
Mr. Williams was slightly newer than them both, and still spent much of his personal time lamenting his new position. While everyone regarded him with a bit of pity, they all hoped he would resign himself soon. His weeping tended to keep the men in the rooms next to him up at night.
Alone in the room, Mr. Windsor considered actually licking his plate clean, but besides feeling it might be a bit humiliating if someone walked in, it also seemed to be outside the bounds of his required decorum. He hefted himself up to return the plate to the kitchen for washing, when Mr. Livingston poked his head in.
“I thought I’d find you in here, stuffing yourself,” he said, with a rather cruel grin, “The Master of the House requests your presence in the dining room, immediately.”
Apparently, this snide tone was the sound of the other shoe. His heart thumping loudly in his ears, his nose reddening, he stood up and made his way to the main floor of the abbey, and saw that evening had well and truly passed into twilight. The rest of the guests were in their rooms or out on the grounds, enjoying themselves and each other as the master wished, but Master Fitzroy was not among them. He was standing in the dining room, with a stocky, heavy gutted, fat faced cook from the kitchen, someone Mr. Windsor didn’t recognize. He hadn’t heard that anyone new was joining the staff yet this summer–what was going on, and what did it have to do with him?
“Welcome Mr. Windsor,” Master Fitzroy said, “Would you kindly take a seat at the table? At the head there is fine, don’t be shy.”
He settled himself down into the chair usually reserved for the master himself, carefully, and stammered, “I–I’m not sure I know what is going on, sir.”
“Oh, I know you do not, yet. I simply wanted to take this chance to personally re-introduce you to our newest member of the kitchen crew. His name is Mr. Bartholomew Marsden, but you were previously acquainted with him as the guest in room 307.”
Memories flashed back across his mind, memories the master had locked away from him for an entire week. How could he have forgotten them? How could he have forgotten…forgotten…his name, what had Mr. Marsden’s name been? Bar…Bart? No, that was the Master’s name for him! Not Bart, something…something else. Something else! He’d heard his old name too, but it was gone, they were both gone now.
“Following our discussion that evening, I called on Mr. Marsden, and suggested kindly that he forget all about what he had seen, but he proved…reluctant. In fact, he seemed determined to rescue you from service here, long before I planned on retiring you. After all, I don’t think you have learned your lesson quite yet, Rudolph. Regardless, Mr. Marsden became rather belligerent. I decided to bring him on as a temporary staff member–although, depending on his temperament, he could very well obtain a long term position like yourself…but we’ve already discussed that in detail, haven’t we, Mr. Marsden?”
“Yes…Yes sir…” the cook said, when the master stared at him. His puffy cheeks burned red, and he looked at the ground.
“Just so you are aware of our terms, Mr. Windsor, I have brought on Mr. Marsden as your private chef. You see, we have only a short six months until Christmas, and I realized that you would make an excellent Santa Claus to entertain my guests–but with your finicky eating, I doubted you would be able to obtain the girth needed for such a role. Mr. Marsden will be assisting you–and if he can fatten you up such that you are the heaviest man on staff by Christmas, then I have promised to terminate his employment here, and send him home in his original body, none the wiser. However, should he fail…well, he will be employed here for significantly longer.”
Mr. Windsor saw his friend gulp, and look away, his triple chin jiggling slightly.
“Now, as you may or may not know, it is Mr. Parker, the head chef, who is currently the largest servant here, weighing in at 42 stone, or just shy of 600 pounds! So, Mr. Marsden certainly has a lot of work to do…as do you, Mr. Windsor.”
“I…I think this situation is rather manipulative, sir,” Mr. Windsor said, in the kindest tone his tongue could force out, “I sincerely resent this, and suggest that, perhaps, you simply consider allowing us to go free, together.”
“Oh, Mr. Windsor, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”
“Well, then I simply will have to refuse to eat.”
“Oh? Will you?” the master said, chuckling, “I’ve heard about your new appetite, Mr. Windsor. You seem to be rather insatiable. But you must realize how cruel you sound, to Mr. Marsden here. After all, if you don’t cooperate, he, too, will be employed here for the foreseeable future. Would you really consign him to such a fate, simply because you still have lessons to learn and reparations to make? You may be a fool, but you are not vicious, though you like to believe you are, like many fools.”
His bluff had been called, and he knew it. He remained silent.
“As I was saying, you both have quite a bit of work to do, and I am nothing, if not a fair sport. Mr. Marsden has been given the assistance of the entire kitchen staff for your first meal tonight, and I must say, they have prepared quite the feast for you. I’m confident that, by the end of the night, you will be happily stuffed.” The master plucked a bell off the table and rang it. The wait staff entered, bearing platters of food, easily enough to feed eight or ten guests. “And don’t think about leaving anything behind, Mr. Windsor–that would be so wasteful! Mr. Marsden will be on hand to ensure you finish every bite–including dessert, right Mr. Marsden?”
The fat man nodded, and the master took his leave of the dining room. The meal lasted well into the early hours of the morning. Mr. Windsor would stuff himself, but eventually resist, and stop. Mr. Marsden would begin feeding and encouraging him, telling him that if he escaped, he could bring help. Of course, they both knew that if he were retired, he would have no memory of his time as a cook in the master’s service, but it was enough of a hope to keep Mr. Windsor eating for another hour, and then another. Much to his horror, he realized that as he grew fuller and fuller, he was also becoming rather aroused. He enjoyed the sensation of a full belly, and in the midst of dinner, with a loud groan, he realized that he had cum for the first time in months, right into the crotch of his livery. It became clear that Mr. Marsden was enjoying his role as well, and while neither of them could remove their clothing, he would grind up against Mr. Windsor’s side until he too came, multiple times over the course of the meal.
Finally, they finished dessert, both of them exhausted. Mr. Marsden had to help Mr. Windsor up from the chair, and down to their private quarters, where they discovered they would be sharing a double room–the doubles were reserved for those pairs of servants who the master hoped would share a special relationship. Inside, Mr. Marsden helped Mr. Windsor undress, and then stripped off his own chef whites. Unable to even think of sleep so soon after such a meal, Mr. Windsor instead gawked at himself in the mirror, his old flabby body, his taut, bloated and stuffed gut. He was already over 300 pounds–how would he look with three hundred pounds more? He would need a new livery. He would have rolls of fat, rolls hanging off of rolls. He would…he would be so…so…sexy.
Yes, sexy. Yes, he could picture himself, stuffed into a suit slightly too small, the seams stretching a bit, the confinement, the knowledge that he was so large that the tailor had to make a uniform specifically for him. The guests would gawk, but…but he would want them to. He would be swine, and yet revel in it. And at Christmas–at Christmas! He would have a beautiful red velvet suit. Master found grow him a fabulous, snow white beard. Jolly, he would be so jolly, yes he would. He rubbed his belly, feeling his cock grow hard again. On one of the beds, Mr Marsden sat, feeling his own gut, covered with grey hairs, watching his old lover caress himself, feeling his own short, stubby cock grow hard as well. Mr. Marsden crossed the room, got down on his knees, and began massaging Mr. Windsor’s huge gut, heaving it up so he could find the small, two inch cock beneath and suck on it, working his own cock as he did, until they both came one final time. Finally exhausted, they climbed into their respective beds, both creaking under their weight, and dreamed of feedings to come, praying that they wouldn’t enjoy them as much as they secretly sensed they would.
Bracken's Corner 