SPOILED, part 2 (Patreon)

‘Holy mother of...’

‘Welcome to your new home, Mr Townsend.’

‘It’s... Look at the size of this place!’

‘Mr Wren’s wishes were for you to have the penthouse, sir. The very best, for you.’

Ben’s mouth was agape. Stretched before him was an incredible open-plan suite overlooking Hyde Park. Beautiful Victorian pillars held the whole thing up, with original period features adorning throughout; the kind of home one might expect a movie star to inhabit. It spoke of luxury and comfort in equal measure; everything from the flooring to the plush sofas to the sleek lampshades and countertops, all finished in the finest materials. Plenty of space had been left for Ben’s own meager belongings, though he could already tell this palatial apartment would swallow them whole. 

‘If I might direct sir to the kitchen area,’ said the man who’d shown Ben in. He was of a rather portly build, immaculately dressed and pressed in figure-hugging button-down, tie and waistcoat. Across his slightly ruddy head, middle-aged receding hair had been combed to perfection. 

Ben followed the clacking of his mirror-polished shoes across the parquet. 

The sleek design continued into the kitchen: Double Belfast sinks, granite and amber-studded resin surrounds, a huge restaurant oven, and three enormous American-style refrigerators all lined up in a row. 

‘It’s all fully stocked, sir,’ the portly man said. ‘All ready for you. And Mr Wren has sent a gift.’ 

A gift? As if all of this wasn’t enough!*

Ben’s incredulous gaze was directed toward a large hamper on the side, a slightly fussy bow adorning its top. 

‘If I may...?’

Ben nodded silently, still comprehending, well, everything. 

The man undid the bow with a certain amount of flourish, and opened the hamper. Inside were several bottles of champagne, and many, many boxes of donuts. Ben could barely suppress a sense of stirring in his groin at the sight of so many sweet treats. All for him. 

‘Mr Wren was very keen for you to, uh, make a start, sir.’ And the man motioned for Ben to take a donut, which he did. 

There was a chocolate and butterscotch glaze topping it, alongside miniature marshmallows and powdered sugar. When Ben bit into it, an explosion of divine flavour flooded his palate; the filling was Devonshire clotted cream. 

‘If there is anything else sir needs, anything else at all, we can stock it here for you, or have it prepared on property and sent up. Please do not hesitate to ask. There is an intercom system in the house phone. Simply dial for ‘Steadings’ - that’s me - at any hour, any convenience. It’s my job to make sure you have everything you need, sir.’

‘Thank - Sorry -‘ Ben wiped his mouth. ‘Thank you so much, Steadings. This is... all so... I don’t even know what to say!’

‘Not at all, sir,’ Steadings smiled a warm and plump smile. ‘Now, if I may show sir the rest of the property?’

And so Ben was led around the rest of his new home: The elegantly tiled bathrooms with walk-in showers (‘Far easier for when sir gets larger’), sumptuous bedrooms containing reinforced beds (‘They can take an exceptional amount of weight, sir’), exquisite receptions and dining areas; Ben’s crumbling flat in Chadwell Heath could fit into this penthouse several times over. 

He couldn’t believe this was all for him. It was utterly surreal. 

‘Of course, if anything is not to sir’s liking, we’ll have it immediately removed and replaced,’ said Steading casually. ‘If there are any other items - books, movies, computer games - anything sir requires, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

‘What, like a PS5?’ Ben joked. 

‘We’ll have it delivered right away.’

‘I was... joking.’

‘It’s no trouble at all, sir.’

And shortly after, Steadings walked Ben through the particulars of the penthouse; the temperature controls, the overly-complicated door code (all keyless), the intercom system and such. And before he left, he made sure to put the bottles of champagne on ice and reiterated that a brand new PS5 would be on its way shortly. 

When the door clicked to a close, Ben had a strange feeling akin to waking from a dream only to find himself still in the dream. 

He grabbed another donut from the hamper and took in its wondrous sweet flavour. 

This was all his. His new home. All he had to do was eat all day and get fatter and fatter for Mr Wren. To think, yesterday he’d wondered how he was going to make the rent on his tiny shoebox room that always smelled, inexplicably, of onions. 

* * * *

Detective Arthur Sweet’s Mazda pulled up in front of the concrete 60s council block in the heart of Chadwell Heath, its lower depths tagged in sprayed profanities, one or two unexplained shopping trolleys laying about, as was always the case with these towers. 

‘Charming place,’ Detective Manni Dey pointed out. 

‘Welcome to the real world,’ Sweet grumbled. 

After a terrifying 30 seconds in a lift that threatened to plummet back down its shaft at any moment, the two men approached number 32, and knocked. 

‘Mmm?’ A youngish man with dark ruffled hair and the kind of build that said Ex-Athlete Gone To Seed opened the door. 

‘Maciek Kowolski?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Detective Sweet, this is Detective Dey. We've come to ask some questions about the statement you gave the police the other day.’ Sweet flashed his card, to which the Pole nodded. 

‘Okay.’

‘Can we come in?’

‘Okay.’

Inside, if there’d been any sign of altercation, it was impossible to differentiate from the general state of the flat; in short, this place was a shit-tip. The detectives followed Maciek into a small living-room with beige stained walls and a sofa that looked like it would collapse under Sweet’s weight; he chose to stand. 

‘Have you found Ben?’ Maciek asked, plomping himself down. 

‘Found him? What do you mean?’ Sweet replied. ‘He’s not been reported missing.’

‘Did Benjamin Townsend not tell you where he was going?’ Dey added.  

Maciek shook his head. ‘This was in statement I gave,’ he said. 

No it wasn’t. 

‘Do you know if he has any friends or family he might’ve gone to?’

‘No, he doesn’t have any.’

‘Well, then who-,‘ Sweet began. 

‘Why don’t you talk us back through it from the beginning?’ Dey suggested.

‘Okay,’ the chunky Pole began, ‘I heard the men coming in the morning, I was still in bed-‘

‘Wait. Men? What men?’ Sweet cut in. 

There’d been no mention of a third party in the police statement.

‘I don’t know,’ Maciek continued. ‘I was under covers. They sounded like, uh, moving people. You know, they help you move home. I heard them packing Ben things up, talking to him little bit.’ 

‘What did they say?’ Dey asked. ‘Did it sound like a struggle?’

‘No. I don’t know what said exactly. I was in bed. But I heard talk about Ben’s job. Like, they quit for him. Or someone quit for him, on his behalf. He sounded surprise.’

Sweet and Dey looked at each other. This was not right at all. 

‘Then they come in to my room,’ Maciek carried on. 

‘They came to talk to you?’ asked Sweet. 

‘No. Was more like check. I stayed under covers. Pretended to be sleep still. I don’t know. I just got bad vibe from them, you know?’

‘Then what happened?’

‘They were saying things like ‘Should we bring him in?’ ‘Should talk to him?’ I was scared then.’

‘Bring you where? Did they mention any details?’ 

‘No. I pretended to be sleep. Then they left.’

‘Did you see their vehicle? Did you see any details about these men?’

‘No. Sorry. But I told all this to police already.’

‘We saw your statement, Mr Kowolski, but it didn’t-‘ Detective Dey began, but he was cut across by Sweet. 

‘That’s totally fine, Mr Kowolski, we just wanted to follow things up. This has been... very helpful indeed. Thank you.’

A few moments later, both Detectives were back in the Mazda. 

‘What the hell did you say that for?’ Dey demanded. ‘His statement doesn’t match-‘

‘Alright, calm down, Fabio,’ Sweet said, holding up a porky hand, then reaching into the glove compartment to pull out a couple of chocolate bars. ‘I know it doesn’t match. That’s the point.’

Sweet unwrapped and bit down into a Twix. ‘There’s a bigger problem here,’ he continued. ‘I don’t know what yet, but...’

Manni had already noticed earlier how close Arthur’s belly came to the steering wheel. He watched the man practically inhale the chocolate, getting little flecks of it in his moustache. 

‘So what does this mean?’ Dey asked. ‘What’re you suggesting?’

‘We need to go and talk to the Chief,’ Sweet replied. 

* * * *

Ben spent the rest of the day filling up on donuts and champagne, and familiarising himself with this spectacular new homestead. He checked one of the huge fridges: Inside were every type of pasta (freshly made that day according to Steadings) entire punnets of sushi in just about every conceivable flavour, pies as big as saucepans, huge great wheels of cheese, each stacked precisely on top of one another, chocolate milk, strawberry milk, caramel milk, butterscotch, enormous tubs of cream, it went on and on, and that was just the first fridge! Each cupboard was similarly stocked to the gills with cans and cartons and crisps and biscuits. Mr Wren and his staff had seemingly left no stone unturned. The sheer, overwhelming volume of food was enough to speed Ben’s heart and embolden his groin. This was a gainer’s paradise. 

As promised, Steadings had returned with a PS5 later in the day, reminding Ben he was just a call away. It was mind-blowing. A small compliment of staff even came to hook it up to the enormous TV in the living area. Ben played for a while after they left, pushing more sweet dough into his mouth as he did, but he found himself too excited to concentrate on gaming for very long. 

He’d been right; his own sad little collection of personal belongings (left neatly on one of the guest beds) was dwarfed by this place once he’d unpacked. Maybe he could ask Steadings for more books to fill some of the shelves. Maybe some ornaments? It was going to take a while for this penthouse to feel like home, for it to really sink in. 

Ben showered that evening in one of the sumptuous bathrooms, lathering his happily-full belly under a rainfall showerhead with a sweet smelling gel that apparently contained flakes of real orchid petal. He wondered how much faster he might gain weight now that he had no work commitments to hold him back. To be honest, it had been a little alarming how Mr Wren’s removal men had informed him, that morning, of the termination of his employment; they’d taken care of the whole thing overnight. 

After his shower, he dried off and padded naked into his new luxurious bedroom, opening the discreet door to one of the apartment’s many walk-in wardrobes. Along one wall were rows of what Ben could only imagine were hand-tailored shirts and suits, no doubt perfectly form-fitting. One stood out from the others, though; a huge garment the size of a tent hanging at the end of the rack. Ben withdrew it. It was a size 16XL shirt, and attached was a note, presumably from Mr Wren. It simply read:

"Your future."