SPOILED, part 8 (Patreon)

‘Turn around. I want to see that wonderful big bum of yours.’

‘Yes Sir.’

Ben turned slowly on the spot while Mr Wren, propped comfortably on Ben’s bed, rubbed his crotch through his expensive trousers. 

‘Yes, that’s it,’ he hummed. ‘Look at that big round arse.’

The businessman undid his belt and slid his hand neatly down his waistband. 

‘Start on the cake,’ he continued. 

‘Yes Sir.’

Ben delved a spoon into the raspberry cheesecake sat waiting for him on his bedroom dresser. Lately a new face had been bringing all the food; there’d been no sign of Steadings for weeks. 

‘Mmm, more, boy. Really get your cheeks nice and full, that’s it.’

Terry wasn’t picking up the intercom. And even Anon seemed to have been driven back to silence for the time being. All was frustratingly quiet, right when Ben needed out.

‘More, come on, keep going, bigger mouthfuls.’ Mr Wren was playing with himself more forcefully now. His tie was loosened and glasses slipped down his nose.

Ben had tried asking him about the Assessment, who those people were, why the whole affair had been necessary at all, but the man would not be drawn. Ben suspected the cheesecake had been brought up as placation, in fact. He spooned it in hard, but his heart was no longer in any of this. He was worried about Terry. He was worried about himself. 

‘Don’t let any of it go to waste, boy. We want to keep filling your lovely big belly even fatter and rounder, don’t we?’

‘Yes Sir.’

Ben had tried reaching Maciek on his phone in its ‘sacred spot’. He’d even tried calling for the police. Sure, ‘I’m being held captive by a sugar daddy who’s giving me everything I want’ was bound to sound... confused to say the least, but it made no matter anyway; nothing connected. The internet would not work either. Only Anon’s texts ever came through. Otherwise Ben was cut off from the outside world. 

He knew there was realistically only one avenue left. 

‘Sir...,’ he began with a mouth full of cream and biscuit base, ‘I’ve been thinking...’ He had to ask. He had to bring this up. ‘I don’t... I don’t know if I want to do this... anymore...’

He actually felt quite bad saying this out loud, in spite of everything. 

‘Getting full already?’ Mr Wren replied. ‘That’s quick for you.’

‘No, Sir. It’s more like... More like this whole thing - uh, being here, I mean. I don’t want to sound ungrateful...‘ He watched Mr Wren’s face lose its aura of gratification. ‘You’ve been so generous and I thank you so much for that. But... I need to leave, Sir. I’m sorry. I can’t be here anymore.’

Mr Wren took a moment. He looked Ben squarely in the eyes, removed his hand from his crotch, adjusted his designer glasses. 

‘This is about the Assessment again, isn’t it?’ he asked.  

Ben wouldn’t meet his gaze. He simply nodded. With a calm deliberation Mr Wren did his belt back up and stood from the bed, moving in on Ben.

‘Benjamin, look at me,’ he said, and placed two warm hands on Ben’s exposed, fattened belly. He repeated, softer, ‘Look at me.’

Ben did so, and Mr Wren picked up the spoon and resumed the feeding of the cheesecake as he continued,

‘I won’t let anything bad happen to you, okay? You’re here under my protection. You’re safe here, with everything you could ever want.’

Ben ate, and felt heat in his cheeks.

‘But...,’ he sniffed, ‘they stripped me naked... They were all watching... I just don’t understand...’

‘Shhh shhh shhh.’ Mr Wren passed a bigger portion between Ben’s lips. ‘I know you don’t. I know you don’t. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.’

His tone was so soothing, as though pacifying a wild animal. He spooned yet more cheesecake in and rubbed Ben’s blubbery gut. 

Ben had to admit this was having the desired effect. He was enjoying the belly rubs and the cheesecake. And he did, of course, love living here, but...

Why would he need protection? That was a weird way for Mr Wren to phrase it. 

‘It’s just that-‘ Ben began, but more cake was brought to his lips, blocking the words.

‘Eat,’ Mr Wren calmly instructed. ‘And let’s have no more of this nonsense, alright?’ And he ran his palm down from Ben’s bloated cheek, fat neck and voluptuous moobs to the expansive curvature of his ballooning belly and the soft fatpad below.

‘You’ll finish off this cheesecake,’ he continued to Ben, ‘and we’ll get Stead- uh- someone to send up another, okay?’

‘Yes Sir,’ Ben uttered through sumptuous raspberry and cream. ‘Where is Steadings? I haven’t seen him-‘

‘Less talk now,’ Mr Wren told him. ‘More eating. There’s a good lad.’

Ben took yet more cheesecake.

‘Yes Sir.’

* * * *

On Tuesday night a car pulled up outside Arthur Sweet’s flat in Mile End, and the detective noted it was still there all day Wednesday, the shadow of a figure behind the wheel. When he texted Manni Dey about it on a cheap new phone he’d bought that week, Dey confirmed the same was happening to him. Following the incident with Reg, it was obvious what was happening here:

They were being watched. 

And so it was decided the detectives would hole up in a hotel for the time being, until they could figure out what the bloody hell was going on. 

Making sure they hadn’t been followed, Sweet and Dey showed up separately to the lofty reception of The Exquiso near Marble Arch.

‘Good evening, gentleman,’ a smart receptionist chirped over the babbling water feature that ran down the rocky facade behind her. ‘How can I help?’

‘We’d like two single rooms for tonight, please,’ Manni said. ‘Possibly for the next few nights, in fact.’

The receptionist smiled and nodded, immediately clacking away at the keyboard before her.

‘It appears there’s only one room available for the rest of the week, I’m afraid - a double.’

‘... One bed?’ Sweet exclaimed.

‘That is correct, yes.’

‘You’re ‘avin’ a fucking laugh, aren’t you?’ 

‘Uhhh...’

‘Excuse my... Dad here,’ Manni improvised (the receptionist took in the men’s conflicting skin tones with an unconvinced eye). ‘We’ll take whatever we can get, thank you.’

More keyboard clacking.

‘The room is three hundred and twenty pounds a night,’ she informed them brightly.

Sweet visibly bawked. 

‘Shoulda gone to the Travelodge,’ he grumbled. ‘Cheap as chips there.’

‘Do you ever stop thinking about chips?’ Dey asked him.

‘Very rarely.’

As the keycard permitted them entry into the suite, Dey said, ‘Look, I’ll just sleep on the sofa, okay? It’s not a big deal.’

‘If you can bloody fit on it,’ Sweet countered, ‘considering the size of you now.’

He wasn’t wrong. The bulk had continued to stack onto Manni thick and fast. His arms were now permanently floating by his sides, such was the enormity of his chest and back. His once chiselled abs had even taken a hit from the perpetual dirty bulk too; he was getting quite the roid gut.

‘Yeah, alright,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure - Oh.’

There was no sofa.

Opulent though the suite was, the only place to sleep was the generous double bed.

‘Ah,’ said Sweet. ‘We’ll, uh, figure something out, I’m sure.’

‘Right…’

‘Top to toe or something.’

‘Yeah.’

‘… I reckon I need a beer outta the mini bar.’

‘Good shout.’

A little while later, Sweet was sat slumped on the bed while Dey took the seat clearly designed to prioritise style over comfort, by the window. 

‘So,’ Dey took a swig of Asahi, ‘I think we can reasonably surmise we’ve kicked some kind of hornets nest, given what that Reg bloke did to your phone, and now the fact both of our homes are under surveillance.’

He noted how Sweet sometimes toyed with his wedding ring when he was anxious - not that it had any give to it, wedged as it was around the older detective’s porky digit. 

‘By the way,’ Dey added. ‘Is your wife somewhere safe? You told her to go stay somewhere else, I take it?’

Sweet didn’t answer. He took a long slug of beer, made a small burp. 

‘This don’t make no sense,’ he said. ‘I’ve known Reg for years. Never seen him act that way. No reason for him to snatch me phone and break it like that.’

‘You really think he was on orders from the Chief to shut us down?’ Dey asked. 

‘I don’t know what to think anymore.’ Sweet swigged again. ‘Why would she have us surveilled? Normally it’s a formal letter and a proper bollocking in the office.’

‘You don’t think it could all be Fenton’s doing, then, do you? I mean, I know he’s got precedent sending in the goons, from what Maciek Kowolski told us, but... he’s still acting sweet on me, truth be told. We’ve got another date lined up for next week, in fact. I’m so close to getting something out of him.’

Sweet grunted at the mention of this. 

‘I don’t know what to think no more,’ he repeated, loosening his tie.

Dey noticed that whenever Sweet leaned back, the buttons on his shirt threatened to ping across the room, so stretched across his mighty belly were they.

‘Something fucked is going on here, and it’s bigger than Fenton, I’m sure of it,’ said Dey.

Sweet took yet another large swig. 

‘Hornets nest, indeed,’ he conceded, then added, ‘You hungry? Wouldn’t grab us a snack from the old vending machine downstairs, would you?’

Dey let out a loud, protracted sigh.

‘Oh, go on, I’m too knackered,’ Sweet continued. ‘You can take my wallet if you want. There’s cash in the front pocket.’

Since deciding to come to this hotel, they’d agreed upon paying for anything in cash only, leaving no electronic trail. 

Dey sighed again and heaved his great bulk upright. ‘Ugh, fine,’ he said, taking Sweet’s wallet. ‘What do you want?’

‘Coupla chocolate bars, some crisps, you choose.’

‘Alright.’

‘You’re a star.’

‘I know.’

When Dey left the suite, he opened Sweet’s wallet in search of bank notes, and immediately noticed a photograph tucked into the inside flap. In curiosity Manni pulled it out. It was a photograph of a younger, happier-looking Sweet holding hands with another man, the both of them dressed up to the nines, so dapper. 

It looked like a wedding photo. 

That night the detectives talked into the small hours, debating back and forth with theories and counter-arguments. Could Ben Townsend and Jamie Beck have been the victims of some kind of human trafficking ring? Maybe it actually was Fenton sending his goons to check up on Arthur and Manni’s homes? 

Eventually the beers from the mini bar dried up and the pair of them had to concede it was time to get ready for bed. But neither man wanted to make the first move.

‘Listen, I can just... sleep on the floor. Just gimme a couple of pillows,’ Manni suggested.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Arthur replied. ‘You’ll pull your stupidly wide back sleeping like that. There’s plenty of room in the bed. We’ll just have to grin and bear it for a coupla nights, that’s all.’

And he removed his glasses to place them on the bedside counter. Manni saw for the first time that Arthur’s eyes were actually a brilliant blend of hazel and jade. 

‘Right, right,’ Manni said, unbuttoning his shirt. ‘We’re just... two adults, right? I guess it’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be fine?’

Arthur couldn’t help but take in his partner’s frankly ludicrous muscles as he undressed. Manni was becoming less a bodybuilder, more a strongman type. Thick and round and powerful-looking. 

He started at his own shirt buttons, fumbling a little with his old sausage fingers. 

‘Listen,’ he said quietly. ‘You... you don’t have to do this, you know. We’re going way off-script here. Off to the deep end. You can always turn back, take the reassignment.’

Manni removed his shirt entirely, and found himself wondering if Arthur was going to disrobe his tight white undervest that was slowly being revealed from beneath his button-up.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know...’

‘It’s one thing for an old fart like me to risk poking at something like this,’ Arthur said, unbuckling his belt. ‘But you’re still young. You got your whole career ahead of you. You don’t wanna be pissing all that away, chasing God-knows-what. We don’t... we don’t know what we’re up against here, what we might dredge up. It could get dangerous.’

Manni watched Arthur pull down his trousers and swing his chunky, hairy legs under the bed covers.

‘I’m not ditching you now, if that’s what you mean,’ Dey said. ‘Can’t let you take all the glory.’

The way Manni’s massive new musculature bulged and warped as he moved to undress and get into his side of the bed had something of a mesmeric effect on Arthur. It was difficult not to stare.

‘Can’t see there being much glory at the end of this case,’ he replied. ‘Something ain’t right about it. Not right at all.’ And he turned out the lamp on his side with a sigh.

‘We have to get to the bottom of this, Arthur,’ Manni said. ‘Together.’

He turned out his lamp too.

‘Well, goodnight.’

‘Yeah. Sleep well.’

At some point during the night, Arthur must have turned in his sleep, because Manni woke briefly to find Sweet’s arm draped over his own. 

He gently tugged it closer, and drifted back off to sleep.

* * * *

You have to help me get out of here, Ben texted Anon. Please. There has to be SOME way!

As per usual, he waited for a response, but as the evening wore on it became quite clear nothing was coming.

This was becoming a routine now. Try Anon. Try Terry. Try Steadings. So Ben headed to the intercom in the reception area and made to press for Terry’s extension when the sudden opening of the front door caused him to jump out of his skin.

‘Bloody hell.’ He laid a pudgy hand on his flab-encased chest. ‘If it’s dessert, just leave it... on the...’

There was considerable huffing and puffing coming from the doorway. 

‘... side…?’

The front door had opened but a struggle was occurring within the threshold.

‘Good... evening... Master... Townsend...’

The words were clearly proving difficult for their speaker to muster. 

‘What, uh... Who’s that?’ Ben asked. 

They appeared to be a staff member, from the uniform, but whoever it was, they were so enormously fat, so utterly round, so huge that they were literally wedged into the doorframe and were having to shunt themselves through sideways, belly and arse pressed tight into the frame.

‘Can - Can I help?’ Ben asked. 

They were coated in sweat, entire swollen head turned burgundy.

‘No... No... need, Sir... Ughh... Nnnearrly there... Rrrrgh...’

And with a forceful ploomp, the staffer’s extraordinarily obese body ‘popped’ through the doorway and into the penthouse. Ben now saw that they were indeed carrying a dish of supper.

‘Are you okay?’ Ben asked the mountain of fat who then swung their pendulous heft to face him. 

Recognition sank in. 

‘Oh my God! *Steadings?!’

He was... gigantic! Like a whale!

‘Good... evening... sir,’ Steadings panted, attempting to retrieve his handkerchief with one hand. 

Ben relieved him of the supper dish, laying it on the kitchen counter.

‘What happened to you?’ he asked, unable to reset his mouth from its aghast expression. 

‘Oh... nothing, sir...,’ the spherical butler wheezed. Clearly talking and breathing at the same time was proving difficult. He dabbed his entire head, neck rolls and all, with the handkerchief, trying to smooth his thinning hair back into position. Clear attempts to retain his pristine appearance had been made, but each garment had stretched and creased too greatly against his every fold. 

Ben was horrified. Steadings must have easily been double - no, triple - his original size! Maybe more! The man’s once jolly features were now lost in an ocean of fat, his cheeks puffed out to incredulous proportions, his double chin now a vast semicircle where his jaw should have been. He had stretchmarks on his neck! And his belly - it was truly shocking: Steadings looked as though he’d been pumped full of adipose and the pumper had forgotten to stop. His stomach was now this ginormous cascading thing that bowed way out in front and dipped far below his waistline. There was so much fat on him, his arms simply poked outwards like a poolside inflatable. Even the simple act of standing appeared too great a tax on his poor overloaded body.

‘Do you want to sit down?’ Ben asked. ‘Can I get you some more tissues?’ He spotted sweat returning mere moments after Steadings had sponged it up.

‘Quite... alright...,’ the man wheezed. ‘Very... kind of you... sir...’

‘What happened?’ Ben asked again, trying for Concern instead of Holy Shit this time.

‘Oh, just... annual leave... Too many snacks... heh... My own fault... hehe.’

But this was not in any way convincing. Ben watched the obese butler’s eyes roam around the penthouse for a moment, as though searching for something, letting his gaze settle on Ben’s pockets for a few seconds.

‘Is there... anything else... I can... get for sir...?’ he asked. 

The thought of sending the poor man on another errand was, bluntly, heartbreaking. Ben shook his head.

‘Why don’t I get you a glass or water or something?’ he asked. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to sit for a moment?’

‘Oh, I’m... quite alright... sir...,’ Steadings puffed. 

Ben then lowered his voice. ‘Did Mr Wren do this to you? You can tell me, Steadings. I won’t tell him.’

There was a split second where the enormous man’s eyes locked with Ben’s, his expression difficult to parse. Steadings made an attempt at shaking his head and seemed to realise only in that moment that his neck could no longer move.

‘If that’s... all, sir... I shall... take my leave... for tonight...,’ he said.

Ben watched him visibly deliberate over trying to bow, before settling on a short smile instead. 

Then it was back to the door. Steadings waddled towards it and turned to his side once again, preparing to stuff himself back through. 

‘Here, let me help you with that,’ Ben said, and held the door open wider, trying to nudge Steadings’ fat through the opening as gently and politely as he could. 

‘Very... nnrrrgh... kind... of you... uggghh... sir...,’ the butler uttered.

It took time, but eventually he was out. 

‘Goodnight... Master... Townsend...’

‘Goodnight, Steadings,’ Ben replied, and went to close the door. 

But he stopped himself. 

This had never happened before. The door had never been freely open like this, not since the Assessment, anyway. Usually whoever visited closed it firmly behind them, locking Ben in (he’d long since realised the complicated electronic mechanism was never actually meant for him to figure out). Even Steadings, kind though he was, had previously brought the front door to a solid close when leaving. 

Except for tonight. 

Perhaps he’d been so preoccupied with simply forcing himself through the damned thing, he’d forgotten to check behind him?

Ben pulled it to just a slither, and peered through the gap. He could just about see Steadings waddling unsteadily down the hall to the elevator doors at the end (thankfully a larger fit for the now extremely fat butler). Ben waited for Steadings to step inside and push for the lower floors, and for the lift doors to slide closed, the hum of its mechanism to fade, before opening his front door wider again. 

He looked around in the hall outside. All had turned quiet. No voices to be heard. No signs of movement. He felt his heart beat harder. 

This was his chance to escape.

What to do? What to do? He glanced around the reception of the penthouse for a moment, before taking a heavy, expensive-looking ornament and placing it down as a makeshift doorstop, then he marched into the walk-in wardrobe and snatched up his phone. Should he take any other belongings? What else might he need? Time was ticking. This moment felt precious, like the window of opportunity could close at any minute. So he decided Fuck it!

Ben slipped on what he felt would be his quietest shoes, pocketed his phone and left the penthouse. His heart was going crazy now. 

The hallway was still empty, that was good. He stepped as quickly and softly as was possible for a man his size, looking around at all times. So far, so good. 

He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought the single door nearest to the lift must have been the stairwell. Better to take that, surely. 

The lift suddenly rumbled back to life. It sounded like someone was coming up!

‘Shit!’ Ben hissed to himself. He was exactly halfway down the hall. He could try and run back to the penthouse, or run ahead to the supposed stairwell. Turn back or press on.

Heart now practically exploding in his chest, he ran forward. The sound of the liftshaft was growing each second. If someone were to exit at this exact moment, he would be directly in front of them. Ben ran with all his might. There was the side door, right within reaching distance. He could hear the lift drawing to a stop. He sped up and grabbed the handle, and threw himself through it, just hearing the elevator doors open as he did. There was no time to see who was emerging from the lift - he had to make sure the stairwell door didn’t make a sound as he closed it behind him. Then looking ahead; it really was the stairs!

Time was against him. Whoever was out in the hall was surely going to see the penthouse door propped open at any second, and come looking around here. Ben almost threw himself down the stairs. His heart was on fire by this point but there was no time to care. He tried to flee as fast as possible whilst keeping the sound of his footfall to a minimum - no easy task for a guy who weighed close to 380 pounds

But he did his damndest. He peddled his legs down the stairs like pistons. Freedom was at the bottom of this stairwell, he just had to keep running. At the bottom level, well, he’d have to worry about that later. For now there were a ton of flights to descend. 

He allowed himself a quick peek upwards; no sign that anyone was coming looking for him. He must have descended maybe 3 or 4 levels by now. There was a rhythm to this - Run past each door, down the quadrangled steps. Door. Steps. The bottom was too bathed in darkness to make out just yet, but no matter. He’d soon -

A door opened in front of him as he was about to run past it.

Ben ground to an awkward halt, heart in his mouth, eyes wide in terror. 

A hulking figure stepped through, closed it neatly behind himself and turned directly to Ben, who went to yelp in alarm.

A meaty hand clasped over Ben’s mouth, and Terry brought a finger over his own lips.

‘Shhh,’ he said, extremely quietly.

He took Ben’s clammy hand and drew him away from the door, into the corner of the stairwell.

‘Jesus Christ, you scared the living shit out of me!’ Ben hissed over the sound of his thrumming heart.

‘Keep your voice down!’ Terry whispered back.

‘How...’ Ben had to suck in a deep breath for a moment. ‘How the bloody hell did you find me?!’ 

Terry roved his eyes up and about. 

‘Cameras everywhere,’ he whispered. ‘I’m Head Maintenance. Got access to the CCTV, ain’t I?’

It’s not that Ben had forgotten how truly gorgeous Terry was, exactly. More that... it was just so good to see him again, safe and sound. He wrapped his sweaty arms around the big bulky cockney and let ragged breaths heave from his fattened torso.

‘Where have you been?’ he hissed, feeling the warmth and strength of Terry’s return hug. ‘I was so worried about you.’

Terry kissed Ben firmly on the lips, deep and long.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, letting his forehead rest against Ben’s, taking the young man’s hands in his. ‘I had to lay low. It’s... Things ain’t half been mental around ‘ere.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ben asked. 

Terry nodded down the shaft and motioned for Ben to follow him down the stairs. 

‘We should keep moving,’ he said. 

‘I’m getting out of here - for good,’ Ben responded, falling in quick step behind the muscled, ballbellied handyman. It was such a relief just to see him alive and well. Ben had feared... something awful.

‘What do you mean “mental around here”?’ he asked again. ‘Like Steadings, you mean? Have you seen what’s happened to him?’

Terry nodded and kept descending. ‘It’s not, uh... Not been a good time for the staff lately, let’s put it that way.’

‘But why? I don’t understand!’

‘Shhh!’

‘Sorry... I just-‘

‘Someone’s been sending you messages on your phone.’ Terry stopped for a moment to face Ben again. ‘I dunno ‘oo, but that ain’t s’posed to be possible. There’s a block on the building.’

For a moment Ben felt exposed, his secret stripped of him in one sudden motion, but he pressed on, ‘It’s an old building, yeah you said.’

‘It ain’t that. I’m sorry I told you a load of old BS, but they make us say that. No, the block ain’t nothing to do with the age of the building. It’s a deliberate signal block.’

‘For what purpose? To keep me from reaching the outside world? I don’t get the point-‘

‘Look, Ben, mate... Gawjus Ben.’ Terry looked genuinely forlorn. ‘There’s so much I wish I could tell you, fella. You don’t... You don’t deserve to be kept in the dark. It’s just...’

Ben could see the man fighting real inner turmoil. It was clear there was a lot more he wanted to express. 

‘Come with me,’ Ben said. ‘I don’t want to get you into trouble. Just leave here with me instead.’

Terry grimaced, face full of rue. 

‘Oh, I wish I could, me old mate,’ he said. ‘You have no idea... Best I can do is show you a way...’

And Ben stepped down to his level and held the handyman once again in his arms, feeling that rock-solid ballgut press right into his own softening fat. 

‘Oh, Ben...’

Terry wrapped his massive biceps around Ben, and kissed him once more, this time deeper, with a longing passion, letting their tongues intertwine. Ben worked his hands from Terry’s bulging lovehandles, up to the flaring lateral muscles of his wide back, and around his globular shoulders. He let his tongue work all the way into Terry’s, huffing out breaths of lust and lament. Why couldn’t this beautiful man come away with him?

But when he opened his eyes, he froze. Terry clearly noted something was wrong, and turned to see what Ben was looking at. 

There, staring down at the pair of them, was Mr Wren.