SPOILED, part 13 (Patreon)

True to his word, Mr Falcon was spending the rest of the day with Ben. He had stripped off his jacket, tie and shirt, folding them neatly at the base of the bed - he’d even removed his insignia ring and placed it amongst his things - and was laid beside Ben, one arm around him, the other spooning more and more porridge into him, not exactly at a comfortable pace.

Ben took it smilingly, but inside he continued to curse. Time was wasting away; he was supposed to be sending the signal to these bloody detectives within the hour, and every attempt he’d made thus far to get away had been thwarted.

He’d “needed the toilet”: Falcon accompanied him there and waited outside.

“Could he get something to drink?”: Falcon had simply texted his staff from the bed and had volumes of thick shake brought up. Now they were adding to Ben’s ballooning stomach, the chocolatey flavour settling between the oats which felt like they were expanding his insides in real time.

Fuck... Fuck... Fuck...!

This was fucked. Nothing would pry Mr Falcon away from his “special fatboy”.

Ben was fresh out of ideas, and the window of time was closing fast.

* * * *

‘Get behind me, I’ll block you from the wind!’ Arthur called to Manni as the pair of them strode across mud and heather, a bitter gale howling back at them. ‘Might as well put my fat bloody arse to good use!’

This landscape was breathtaking but devilishly cold. The wind actually felt as though it could cut skin.

Manni, head down, usually perfect hair blowing every which way, replied, ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

Both were having to raise their voices to be heard over the tempest.

‘You’re sure this is the way?’ Manni added.

Something looked to be in the distance, but he couldn’t be certain.

‘That’s what the map said!’ Arthur yelled in response. ‘You know, back in my day, in the stone age, we actually had to rely on maps to get about!’

‘What’s that up ahead?’ Manni ignored his partner’s grumbles and pointed.

A small stone structure, cresting the top of this hill.

Arthur squinted and adjusted his glasses. ‘I see it! Could be... Could be maybe a gatehouse or something!’

He turned back to Manni and tugged at the younger man’s jacket, drawing him in close. He pressed his mighty belly into his partner, held him.

‘Remember, lad - Your wits and your badge,’ he said, not having to shout at this closer proximity. ‘That’s all a good copper needs.’

Manni held onto the sides of the big man, and kissed him, working his hands under Arthur’s jacket to reach around better.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But a car would have been helpful too.’

* * * *

The bowls of porridge were down. That was something, at least. There must have been at least 6 or 7 of them, plus chocolate shakes, and now Falcon was talking about getting dinner sent up.

Ben already felt stretched past his limits, short of breath and painfully full, but all of it paled in comparison to this chance slipping through his fingers with each passing second. Anon’s message had been clear as day: This was their one shot to get help.

As Falcon now rubbed gentle circles around Ben’s distended belly, Ben knew he was going to have to pull some kind of miracle out of his ass.

It was time to improvise.

‘Uh, before dinner arrives,’ he said, stroking Mr Falcon’s weedy arm, ‘how about I show off my fattening body to you, Sir?’

Falcon cocked his head ever so slightly.

‘Oh aye?’

‘You could just... sit back and enjoy...’ Ben drew a spiral with his fat finger against Falcon’s bare chest.

The older man leaned over and kissed Ben, going in hard, forceful even, but when he came up for air, he said, ‘Maybe I will, then.’

And instead of slipping from the side of the bed, Ben peeled the covers back and crawled down the length of it, over Falcon’s folded belongings, showing off his huge arse along the way, before standing at the foot of the bed. There he began to make a display of touching himself all over. He grabbed his underbelly and lifted it high, displaying its weight and heft (surprising himself in the process - he hadn’t realised just how heavy this thing had become). Mr Falcon appeared to enjoy this, and folded his hands behind his head, relaxing back into the pillows. Ben grabbed each of his own weighty moobs and played with them. They were so large they he was able to bring each in turn to his mouth and lick at his own nipples.

‘Mmm,’ Falcon issued.

Ben turned on the spot, pressing his hands into his arse cheeks, feeling the overwrought fabric of his underwear. He teased at pulling the waistband down before running his hands back up himself (again, only in this moment did he fully realise just how mammoth his arse had become).

‘Ohhhh, oh yes, laddie...,’ Falcon breathed. ‘You’re so fat. Getting nicely thick all over. Fatter and fatter for me, eh?’

‘Yes Sir,’ Ben sighed. ‘I’m getting fatter and fatter for you.’

He leaned over the base of the bed, pushing his moobs together to create cleavage. He squished at his lardy flesh, toying, playing with his own huge, soft body.

‘Oh fuck, lad,’ Falcon whispered. He’d begun playing with himself. ‘I-‘

But there came a knock at the door, shortly before it opened. Sloane appeared, wheeling another trolley of dishes into the room.

Ben moved to help keep the door open, brushing near the big brute who said, ‘Apologies for interrupting, Sir. Dinner for B.’

Mr Falcon appeared visibly peeved.

‘Yes, yes, fine,’ he barked, closing his eyes and waving his hand. ‘Just leave it there and get out.’

Ben resumed his post at the end of the bed, and saw Sloane give a curt nod.

‘Of course, Sir,’ the big man said. ‘Very good.’ And he made to take his leave, except:

‘Uh, sorry,’ Ben spoke up, coy but clear.

Sloane stopped. Falcon looked to his charge.

‘It’s just... I don’t mean to-‘ Ben continued in his best apologetic tone. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble, but...’

He felt sweat prickle every inch of him. His palms were damp. His heart was booming beneath his fat-encased ribcage.

”We have one shot.”

‘I, uh, I just saw Sloane take your - your ring, Sir,’ Ben told Mr Falcon.

‘What?!’ Sloane screwed his face at Ben like he’d taken a bite of raw lemon. ‘Get to fuck, did I!’

But Mr Falcon had leaned forward. Those piercing eyes of his were trained hard on his servant. Fixed.

‘Is this true?’ he asked slowly.

‘Of course not, Sir! He’s a lying little shit!’ Sloane spat. ‘I would never-‘

‘I’m sorry, Mr Falcon, Sir.’ Ben fidgeted with his hands and twisted one leg slightly. ‘I’m just.. saying what I saw… I didn’t mean...’ He let the sentence die.

‘Fuck are you playing at?’ Sloane rounded on Ben, looming over him in a couple of steps. ‘Eh? What do you-‘

‘Turn out your pockets, Sloane,’ Mr Falcon instructed quietly. He stood from the bed.

Sloane, for a moment, just gawped. Ben watched his face sort through a consortium of possible responses, but the big man evidently knew better than to question an order. Instead he returned a hateful glare to Ben and reached into both pockets of his waistcoat, pulling them inside out.

‘See, Master,’ he said. ‘He’s just-‘

Falcon’s insignia ring came tumbling from Sloane’s left-hand pocket, glinting in the firelight before tinkling against the stone flooring.

For a moment there was silence.

Ben noted Mr Falcon’s chest rise and fall. He noted Sloane’s big ugly face drop.

‘I don’t-‘ the large jailor began. ‘No, it was - It’s a trick!’

‘Sloane,’ Falcon began.

‘He tricked me! That little bastard did it!’

‘Sloane!’

‘You cocky wee brat!’ Sloane snarled at Ben, eyes like the devil. ‘I’m gonna-‘

‘SLOANE!’ Falcon bellowed. ‘SILENCE! First you steal from me - my RING, no less! You damned well know the sanctity of a Master’s insignia ring! Then you dare to blame it on my special fatboy?!’

Ben remained mute. He felt Sloane’s dagger-stare on him while he kept his head bowed, nostrils flaring.

‘Sir - Mr Falcon, Sir,’ Sloane said, thick hands up, palms outward. ‘I didn’t-‘

‘YOU WILL BE SILENT!’ Falcon smashed his fist into the bedside table, causing a faint crunch. ‘Petty theft is one thing. But a Master’s insignia? You must be out of your fucking mind! I know you’ve been a problem before, Slaone; that temper of yours. But this?’

Sloane bowed his head in submissive servitude, but kept his glare well and truly trained on Ben.

Falcon paced about the room, stopping before the fire, speaking into the flames.

‘It's quite clear, I’m afraid,’ he said coldly. ‘Minor thievery would have fallen under my purview, but this goes above my head now. You’ve taken from a Master. This is no small matter.’

He bent down and retrieved his ring, brushing it, studying it, then replaced it onto his thin finger and produced his phone from his tweed trouser pocket, texting something in a flash.

‘You’ll have to be sent away to the Greys,’ he sighed.

‘NO!’ Sloane burst out. ‘Sir, no, please!’

‘The misdemeanour is too great,’ Falcon said emotionlessly. ‘You’re theirs now.’

‘Sir! Master! I didn’t - I swear I didn’t do anything! I swear-‘

But the door was already opening once more, two other huge jailors entering, cramping the room with their bulk. Falcon nodded to them and they grappled Slaone under his arms.

‘No! NO!’

Mr Falcon then took his shirt from the folded pile while Sloane continued to protest, and told Ben,

‘I’m sorry, fatboy,’ he said. ‘This will take some time to sort out. You’ll have to start dinner without me.’ And he took Ben’s hand and kissed it lightly, his huge servant still pleading and growling in the doorway.

‘Yes Sir,’ Ben replied with sad eyes, and he watched the ensemble leave the room - Sloane had to be literally dragged.

With Falcon leaving, just before the door was closed and locked, Ben caught Sloane’s eye, and he grinned back at the ugly brute.

You struck me across the face, Ben thought. Well, guess what, dickhead? Karma’s a bitch.

* * * *

It turned out the structure was a gatehouse. There was no actual gate, per se, but as Sweet and Dey approached, ingrained tire tracks in the mud told that here was a stopping point before the towering majesty of Castle Locklandrie. It rose atop the hill beyond the gatehouse, looking like something out of a horror movie.

‘Let me do the talking, lad,’ Arthur spoke from the side of his mouth to Manni, hoping to be heard above the wind.

Manni stared for a moment. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ he asked. ‘I’ll do the talking here.’

A slightly overweight man had left the gatehouse and was sizing the two detectives up. From the latticed window it was difficult to tell if there were more guards inside.

‘Gentlemen, what can I do for you?’ the man said, pulling his jacket about him closer.

Manni gave a short nod and flashed his knowingly-winning smile, producing his badge for a moment.

‘Sorry to bother you, sir,’ he said as casually as was possible in this howling gale. ‘We’re with the police, we’ve come to talk to the owner of the estate.’

The man narrowed his eyes. His right hand hovered over what looked to be a walkie-talkie in his back pocket.

‘What’s this regarding?’ he asked.

‘It’s a police matter,’ Arthur chimed in, also flashing his badge.

‘In that case we’ll need to see a warrant,’ the guard replied in his thick Scottish accent, hand still in position.

‘No-one’s in trouble, don’t worry.’ Manni doubled down on the smile. ‘Just here to ask a few questions, that’s all.’

The guard studied them.

‘Don’t sound like you boys are from around here,’ he said.

Manni simply made the kind of nondescript, pleasant expression he’d learned to deploy when attempting to pacify without divesting any information.

The guard’s eyes, however, remained narrowed.

‘And you’re a long way from home,’ he said.

* * * *

The sounds of Falcon having Sloane dragged away eventually faded to nothing outside of Ben’s door. He kept his ear pressed against it for a few seconds before lunging to his discarded trousers and locating from their pocket the ring of keys the chef had given him. Wasting no time, he unlocked the door and peered outside. No signs of life or footsteps to be heard.

He crept out of the room and down the hallway, padding along the flagstones, cognisant of the route the chef had shown him. He moved fast, feeling his heavy belly and moobs bounce with each step. He soon passed Mr Falcon’s chambers, passed the threadbare rugs underfoot. This was the way.

Suddenly the sound of heels clicking against stone, faint but rising. Ben panicked and looked around, not seeing the source. He jumped behind a suit of armour, flattening his back to the wall as best he could, sucking in his belly which still protruded out rather far, breath held. Were there voices? It could’ve been voices, too.

For all he knew, he was already too late, past the time the detectives were supposed to be here in the grounds, and now even more time was slipping away...

But eventually the footsteps quietened, ebbing to nothing. Ben exhaled and jogged back along the route, thanking the heavens.

This was it. The small door the chef had told him about. Ben looked behind him, still finding no-one, and inserted the smallest key on the ring into the lock. The door unlocked with a satisfying click, and Ben slipped inside the tower.

The chef hadn’t been kidding about the stairs! Spiraling up into near-darkness, there were just so damned many of them! Ben’s face fell, absorbing how far up he was going to have to trudge.

But this was it. This was the shot, and it had to be taken. It was very literally now or never.

Ben braced himself, took a breath, and began the climb.

* * * *

‘I’m sure we all wanna get back inside in the warm, so we’ll be on our way up to the property now,’ Arthur said, feeling force was now more necessary than tact.

He stepped forward but the guard was apparently having none of it. He moved to block Arthur’s progress and reached his hand further into his back pocket.

Manni was no longer sure there was a walkie-talkie back there...

‘Do you even have an appointment?’ the guard asked them.

‘As I said, there’s no need for concern-‘ Manni began but was cut across by Sweet.

‘You do realise we’re the police, sunshine?’ Arthur raised his voice. ‘And obstructing an investigation is a criminal offence.’

But the guard simply widened his stance, planting his feet.

‘I think it’s time you fellas-‘

‘Arthur, look!’

Manni pointed upwards, beyond the gatehouse to the castle. Sweet joined his gaze.

‘What the...?’

There was one tower much higher than the rest, and from its peak flashes of light were twinkling.

‘It looks like - It’s morse code...!’ Sweet exclaimed. ‘Fuckin’ hell!’

They really had gotten this right. Someone up there was signalling S.O.S!

The guard, who’d by now seen the signal for himself, muttered, ‘Oh Christ!’ And went to pull the item from his back pocket.

But Manni lunged forward and grappled him, elbowing the man in his chin and grabbing the item for himself - a taser. Against Manni’s bulk the guard didn’t stand much chance. When Manni kicked him full force in the stomach, the man was sent flying backwards into the mud.

‘Come on!’

Dey grabbed Sweet’s hand and pulled him into an uphill run, past the gatehouse and up toward the castle. Looking back, he saw the guard already getting to his feet, but wincing in pain.

Arthur followed as best he could, but he was a 460 pound man in his mid fifties. His sprinting days were long behind him, and pretty soon his chest was exploding into breathlessness. He felt his hand slip from his partner’s.

‘Come on!’ Manni looked back once again; Arthur had already fallen way behind, and what was worse - the guard was catching up to him, and what was worse than that - tons more guards were now flowing from the gatehouse door.

Manni’s heart sank. He might have been able to incapacitate the first one, but now there was a small army of them closing in on Sweet.

‘Arthur, come on!’ Manni called.

But Sweet had already looked behind him, seen the gaggle raging, nearly upon him. He turned back to Dey, face stricken.

‘Go!’ He shouted. ‘You go on!’

‘Not without you!’ Manni yelled. He watched hands pull at Arthur’s clothes.

‘GO!’ Arthur roared, before being dragged backwards, then down to the ground. Sweet’s arms grappled and grasped, then he was lost in the scrum.

Manni felt his heart plummet inside of him. He looked to the castle, then back to where Arthur had just stood. Stray guards were already progressing toward Dey, gleeful hate on their faces.

‘FUCK!’ Manni screamed to himself, breaking back into his sprint. ‘FUUUUUCK!!’

His massive piston-thighs were far superior to the guards’. In moments he’d outstripped them, tearing up sodden grass and wet clumps of heath.

Arthur...

* * * *

Ben had done it. Some-bloody-how he’d surmounted however many hundreds of steps to the top of this godforsaken tower, and switched the lights on and off to generate the morse code signal while trying not to collapse into a pile of exhaustion. He’d never felt so out of breath in all his life.

Now he just had to hope to high heaven that A) the detectives actually saw the damned signal, and B) he could make it back to his room undetected before Mr Falcon returned. The only good thing to come of that man’s change of plans was the fact he would, at least, have not seen the tower lights, having given up his hunt early. This meant there was actually a real chance of getting away with -

The door burst open. Ben twisted in time to see two of Falcon’s huge goons stomping in, faces like thunder, eyes engorged in fiery malice.

‘You...’

Before Ben could even move, he was seized at the wrist by a shovel-sized hand.

* * * *

Manni was close now. Close enough to start taking in the details of Castle Locklandrie, though no amount of ornate stained glass, medieval architecture or gargoyle carvings could turn his thoughts from Arthur. They had him, the fuckers.

But he had to press on. He just had to. They’d come all this way. Ben Townsend was in that castle, and unequivocally needed help.

Manni wasn’t sure how best to approach this situation yet; he hadn’t anticipated things becoming quite this ballsed up, but he at least had the taser to hand now, plus it was getting dark, so maybe later he could circle back for Ar-

BOOM!

Something whistled past his cheek, and his ears rang like hell. He looked up to see a slim older man dressed in finest tweed marching toward him, confidently reloading the shotgun in his hands.

‘Jesus fucking Christ!’ Manni turned and scrabbled in the mud to get away. He heard the shotgun get cocked, and dove for cover.

‘I don’t know who the fuck you are...’ boomed the voice that must surely have belonged to this so-called Mr Falcon, ‘or how the fuck you got here...’

Manni scrambled into the nearest bush, pushing his way through scrub and brush, stray branches scratching his face.

BOOM!

An enormous chunk of bush exploded nearby. He kept on fighting his way through, whispering profanities to himself.

Shit! Fuck! Bollocks! Definitely hadn’t expected this!

‘... but unless you want a wee private chat with my trusty gun here, I suggest you get the fuck off my property, tout-fuckin-suite!’

Manni was out of the bush now, and running in a random direction just to get away from this psycho. When he glanced back, he saw Falcon peer through the hole he’d shot in the bush, staring directly at him.

‘Ah ha!’

The sound of the shotgun being readied once again.

Manni’s heart was shaking, breaths were racing out of him. There was a steep decline ahead, a ditch perhaps, no telling how deep.

BOOM!

He felt his hair singe.

‘Fucking... Jesus!’

No time to think. He pelted toward the ditch and threw himself down it. Shrubs and rocks met his twisting body, dirt scuffed and scraped his clothes, his skin. He tumbled and turned, losing orientation, whacked and nicked from all angles.

And he just kept falling, down, down, down...

* * * *

Being dragged by the wrist was not how Ben had imagined he’d be descending the tower. He thought of putting up a fight, or saying something, maybe trying his luck like he had with Falcon’s ring, but he knew - they had caught him making the signal. No amount of bullshitting or sleight-of-hand was going to fix this.

Once back through the small door, he was pulled along with unnecessary force through unknown corridors, he guessed to the dungeons.

But before long he was thrown through a lonely side-door, into an extremely dark room where he could only hear the murmurings of goings on.

‘What are you-‘

‘Shhh.’

Then came a sudden spike in his neck.

‘Lights out,’ one of the goons said, pushing down on the needle.

And all went black.