The Restaurant
by TR

"Nice place you've got here," said the pretty young woman who was looking over my restaurant.

"Thanks," I said.

"You screwed over my father even worse than I thought."

"Pardon me!?"

"I'm Angela McAffrey."

"Oh! Fred's daughter. I'm sorry about your dad...he was--"

"Skip the condolences. I want my share of the restaurant."

"Your share? Well, according to the agreement I had with Fred--"

"That agreement is ridiculous! He made this restaurant, then when he got sick you took total advantage of him!"

"It wasn't like that at all. When he left, he wasn't sick yet--just tired of the business. He just wanted out. But we were just scraping by at that point. I couldn't buy him out."

"Yeah, so you got him to accept free meals instead of the money you should have given him."

"Hey, it was his idea! Anyway, the place really wasn't worth that much anyway, at that point. Then when he got sick, he asked me if he could leave the meal rights to you, since he didn't think he'd be around long enough to take advantage of them. So I did--we drew it up all nice and legal."

"I'll see what my lawyer has to say about that!"

"Fine."

I didn't see her for a few days after that, until one morning when I noticed her having breakfast in my restaurant, out on the terrace.

"This caviar omelet is really excellent," she said,"just like my dad used to make."

"You're right," I said,"that is one of his recipes."

"But the thing I like best about it is it's expensive. My dad couldn't afford to make these very often...but now I can have them as much as I want, and cost you a lot of money."

"You're going to EAT me into bankruptcy?", I asked, amused.

"Maybe not into bankruptcy...but I have a very good appetite. And I eat very slowly. It's a shame to waste all this table space in a busy restaurant like this one...you'd do better just to pay me off."

"What happened to your lawyer?"

She frowned irritably, "Oh, he just charged me a bunch of money to tell me there was nothing he could do. You're right--there's nothing wrong with the agreement. Legally anyway."

"I wouldn't feel right paying you off," I said,"Fred wanted to make sure you would be okay. That's why he left you that house, paid off free and clear. And he made sure you'd be fed. If I just gave you a bunch of money, you might just spend it all and be broke. "

"That's MY problem."

"Hmm. How much do you want, anyway?"

"Twenty thousand dollars."

"Enjoy your breakfast, Miss McAffrey."

She wasn't kidding about her appetite. She came to the restaurant two or three times a day, usually during our busiest periods, and ate very well. One evening I watched her down a fried shrimp appetizer, a salad, a twenty-ounce steak, a baked potato (with lots of butter) and a piece of cheesecake for dessert.

"You're going to get fat," I teased her.

"Not me," she said,"I've got a high metabolism. I never gain weight."

"Lucky."

"Yep," she grinned, "This is lots of fun. For all you did to my father, I have to admit you sure know how to run a restaurant. The food here is fantastic."

She finished the cheesecake and thought for a moment, as if trying to gauge her capacity.

"Oh, what the hell," she said, and ordered another piece.

I saw her on the beach the next morning, getting out of the water after a swim. She was wearing a skimpy bikini that testified unimpeachably that she was still quite slim.

"I'm impressed," I said,"You really do have a high metabolism."

She smiled, "Well, it sure is getting a workout at your restaurant."

She really wasn't costing me that much money, compared to what the restaurant was taking in--still, it became kind of a challenge. I figured if I could get her to gain weight, a vain young woman like that, surely she'd give up trying to eat me out of business. And the idea of fattening her up had an erotic appeal too--I thought she'd look fantastic with a few more pounds on her.

So I started working on the menu. Since she liked ordering expensive things, I made sure that the most expensive thing on the menu was some very fattening special. Sure enough, she usually ordered it.

Then my chef and I invented a new dessert---the Chocolate Palace. This was an amazing creation of chocolate, ice cream, mousse, whip cream and various liqueurs designed especially for Angela---I'd gotten to know her tastes pretty well. It was very fattening and very expensive.

The first time she ordered it she couldn't finish. There was a clause in the contract requiring her to eat everything she ordered, so she had to pay for it herself. She was furious.

A few days later, she didn't come in for breakfast or lunch, but showed up about four, evidently after fasting all day, and ordered a Chocolate Palace. This time she ate about three quarters of it, and then again had to pay for it and leave.

Then she quit ordering Chocolate Palaces, but I noticed she'd started drinking a lot of Coke. She'd eat about the same as usual, but down it with three or four cokes. After a week of this, she would drink five or six cokes with every meal. "She's building up her capacity!" I thought, gleefully.

Finally one day she ordered another Chocolate Palace. She did better this time, but still didn't quite finish.

She didn't even show up the next day, but the day after she showed up around seven o'clock in the evening, evidently after fasting all day, and ordered a Chocolate Palace.

"I think you're going to finish it this time," I said to her at about nine o'clock.

"I know I am," she said,"God, this tastes fantastic!" Then she added, with a sheepish grin,"Actually, I could have finished last time but my jeans were getting too tight. I wore stretch pants this time."

"Putting on a little weight?"

"No! But when I eat this much, my tummy does stick out a bit." She leaned back in her chair and patted her round belly. It was rather protuberant--I felt for sure that she must have gained some weight.

And she did finish the Chocolate Palace. But when I saw her in her bikini later that week, her stomach was quite flat. I couldn't believe it. Then I looked more carefully. She had filled out a little bit. You couldn't see her ribs any more. Her breasts filled up the top of her bathing suit better. And her hips and her legs looked curvier. It was a subtle yet significant improvement.

"What are you staring at?" she asked me.

"Just trying to see where all that food went."

"I have gained a few pounds," she admitted,"but I don't think it looks bad, do you?"

"No, not at all."

"And my tummy's still flat."

"Not for long," I said,"The lunch special is taquitoes."

Her eyes lit up. "Great! I can hardly wait!"

So there was hope. Not only had she put on weight, she was eating even more than ever. Now she always wore stretch pants when she ate, and she usually ate until her belly protruded noticeably. She'd also developed a certain local notarity--the story of our agreement had got out. She developed a group of friends who cheered her on in her struggle to get the best of me, who actually encouraged her to eat as much as she could.

"Let me see that flat tummy again," I said to her one morning, before she started breakfast. She had just been swimming, and was wearing a beach robe over her bathing suit. (Since my restaurant was right on the beach, people often dressed very casually).

"All right," she said. She opened up her robe.

"Stop sucking it in," I said.

She laughed.

"Okay," she said.

Sure enough, she had a small but unmistakable pot-belly. Her hips had a little extra curve to them, and her breasts were threatening to burst out of her bikini top.

"Satisfied?" she asked, closing her robe and sitting down to eat breakfast.

"You are going to get fat at this rate," I told her.

She just smiled, shrugged, and took a bite of her cheese danish.

I didn't get to see her in a bathing suit for another month, though it was increasingly obvious she was gaining weight, whatever she wore. She had a perfect hourglass figure, and the extra weight simply emphasized it.

And her appetite was better than ever. She'd usually have one big meal a day, usually dinner, where she'd eat at least one appetizer (usually something fattening like fried mozzarella) and two entrees, one one two desserts, and a milkshake or two. Then she'd come in two or three times a day for a snack-- though she ate more for a snack than most people ate for a whole meal.

Finally one day I saw her on the beach again, after a swim. I was stunned. I'd never seen anyone so beautiful, so curvy, so voluptuous...I got a spontaneous erection just looking at her.

"I like your new bathing suit," I manage to say.

"The old one was getting too tight," she said.

"You are getting rather plump."

"Yep," she said proudly, patting her round belly, which was now so big she couldn't have sucked it in if she tried, "I don't care. This pot-belly cost you six thousand dollars."

Ironically, she hadn't cost me anything at all--she was good for business. She had got people talking about the restaurant. And a lot of the desserts and specials I invented to fatten her up had become popular. But I didn't tell her that.

"I thought you had a high metabolism."

"Oh, it's high, but it's no match for Chocolate Palaces. And some of those specials you dream up. I've really gotten into this eating thing. I never knew it could be so fun. I'm almost glad you didn't buy me out. But do you think I'm TOO plump?"

"Too plump for what?"

"You know. Too plump to...be attractive."

"I wouldn't worry. Some men prefer plump women."

"Oh yeah? You know any?"

"Well...there's me. I think you look better and sexier than ever. You were much too thin when you got here."

She stared at me in astonishment.

"You mean--all this time I've been gaining weight, you've been enjoying it? You've just been hanging out and leching over me?"

"Uh...well, sort of..."

She looked at me pensively. Then she came up to me and put her hand on my crotch, testing my erection, which became painfully hard..

"You're not kidding," she mused, "I've been approaching this all wrong."

Then she left.

I didn't see her again until the following evening. She came in dressed to kill. She normally dressed casually and looked great. Now she was all dressed up and looked fantastic. Her tight dress displayed her burgeoning cleavage, and the outline of her round tummy, her flaring hips. The skirt went down to mid-thigh, exposing her gorgeous legs, which were just beginning to get fill out. I joined her at her table.

"What's the occasion?" I asked her.

"Oh," she said, "I'm just really horny. I decided to dress up and come down here and find someone to seduce."

I gasped.

"I'd be happy to--uh--volunteer my services..."

"Oh no--I never sleep with anyone I'm trying to negotiate a deal with. It's unethical."

"But I rejected your deal!"

"I haven't given up yet. What would you say to eighteen thousand?"

"Forget it!"

"All right. What do you think about that guy in the red shirt? He's kind of cute."

"Wait a minute. Are you saying you will sleep with me if I pay you the eighteen thousand?"

"Of course not! I'm no prostitute. But I definitely WON'T sleep with you if we DON'T close this deal. I don't know, that guy looks too yuppy. Maybe that guy in the black--no, he's with somebody..."

"Stop it. You're just bating me."

"Is it working?"

"Maybe. But if I paid you off, you wouldn't eat here any more. I'd miss you."

"But maybe I'd become your girlfriend. Then I'd come here as much as you wanted."

"And I'd go on buying you meals, is that the idea?"

"Well, you wouldn't want me to lose weight, would you?"

It was completely crazy, but at this point I was utterly mad with lust. Besides, the restaurant was doing so well, partly because of her, that I could easily afford it.

"But we'll have to get our lawyers to draw up the contract," I said,"We won't be able to do that until tomorrow. You think you can hang on that long without seducing someone?"

"No. But we could shake hands on it. You're honest."

So we did.

"Now what?" I asked her.

"I'm starving. Why don't we have dinner?"

I started to call the waitress over. Angela stopped me.

"Don't get me wrong, this is a great restaurant," she said,"but do you think we could go somewhere else for a change?"

So we went to Chez When, the fancy french restaurant downtown, where she polished off a five-course meal.

"Want some dessert now?" I asked her when I saw the waiter with the dessert tray.

"Well...sort of..."

"What do you mean, 'sort of'?"

"I mean, I do, but I've really got to stop eating like this. I've already gained thirty pounds."

"Don't quit now. You're just getting voluptuous."

"Really? You think I should gain MORE weight?"

"Sure. Another ten pounds, at least."

"Goody!" she said gleefully, "I was hoping you'd say that."

She ordered dessert.

"I hope you're still horny," I said to her as we left the restaurant,"I know I am."

"You'd better be. I'd hate to have to molest you."

I took her home. She immediately disrobed, as her dress was getting uncomfortably tight.

"I've really outdone myself tonight," she said, "Look at my tummy! You'd think I was pregnant!"

"Not after watching how much you ate tonight," I said, drawing her near and kissing her, caressing her marvelous curves and patting her taut potbelly.

Things didn't change all that much after that--she still ate at the restaurant all the time, though now, since she was staying in my apartment over the restuaurant, she could have food delivered and eat without even getting out of bed. Or she could have a snack delivered as she lounged on the couch watching television, one of her favorite activities. And of course, now we made love all the time.

"Jesus!" she said one day, "I'm really getting fat!" She was dressed in her underwear and looking at herself in the mirror. She had just tried to put on a pair of jeans and failed--they were just too tight. She couldn't zip them up.

"Nahh," I said,"Some might say so, but I think you're just plump. Quite plump." I put my arms around her and cradled her expanded belly in my hands.

"Well, I've gained that ten pounds you said I could gain. I guess I better take it easy now, don't you think?"

"I don't know. I didn't realize those ten pounds would look so good on you. It'd be a shame to stop now."

"If I gain any more weight I'll definitely be fat."

"So? I think it's your destiny. You carry that extra weight so well, it's like you have a talent for it. You'll be the most gorgeous fat woman in the world. Besides, the breakfast special is Belgian waffles."

"Oh! Well, gee, now that you mention it, I am looking a bit scrawny. You better order me some."

I called down two the kitchen and asked for a double order of the special.

When they arrived, I got so aroused watching her eat that I had her lie down on her side on the bed and continue eating as I made love to her from behind, watching her in the mirror I'd strategically placed next to the bed. When she finished the waffles, we started fucking in earnest and soon came to a conclusion, so to speak.

"Wow," she said with a sigh when we were done,"I think you're more turned on by my gaining weight than by anything else."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"So you're never going to let me stop gaining weight, are you?"

"Of course I am. I wouldn't want you to get so fat it would endanger your health or anything...you can stop whenever you want. Just please don't stop just yet."

"Are you kidding? If you keep feeding me so well, and fucking me like that, I'll get as fat as you want!"

"Oh..." I patted her bloated belly,"I don't imagine you want anymore waffles, do you?"

"No--but isn't it about time for lunch? A cheeseburger and fries would go good about now...wow, what's this?" She fondled my cock, which had just become hard at the mention of her eating yet more.

"How'd we get into such a vicious circle?" she said, as I reached for the phone to order her some lunch.

"I don't know. Just lucky I guess!"