SPOILED, part 15 (Patreon)

Nighttime at Castle Locklandrie. 

One of Mr Falcon’s portly guards patrols the grounds, breath visible against the cold night air, but he’s glad to be away from the Master’s recent fits of fury. Tensions at Locklandrie have been somewhat elevated since the incident.

His patrol takes him away from the castle, off into the further surrounding grounds, dewy grass and bushy scrubland abound. The moon is out in full, the sky clear and crisp.

‘Don’t move.’

Something is pressed into the guard’s back, and an arm like a cantaloupe is suddenly wrapped around his neck.

‘Ukkkh!’ The guard chokes, tries to unfurl the stranger’s hold, but the grip is like steel. He scrabbles on the spot.

‘I said don’t move!’ 

The guard feels the object pushed deeper into the small of his back; he tries to turn his head. 

‘Who are you? What do you want?’

Whatever is skewering his back is removed and brought up to his neck. 

It’s a taser.

‘I’ll ask the questions.’ The stubbled stranger brings his face into the guard’s periphery. He is exceptionally handsome, like a model. His hair is wavy and bedraggled. From his arm alone, the guard can tell he’s hugely muscled. 

‘The Master will find you,’ the guard blurts. ‘And when he does-‘

‘Where are Arthur Sweet and Ben Townsend?’

‘I don’t know who they are, and even if I did - AAARGH!’

A small but powerful shock of electricity is shot through the guard’s neck. Then the stranger tightens his bicep, squeezing the guard’s throat.

‘We’ll try this again,’ he says coolly. ‘Arthur Sweet - the police detective you caught; big, round, older man, moustache, glasses, probably swore like a trooper at your compatriots. Where is he?’

‘I - I - I can’t... Mr Falcon would... You don’t know what he’d do to me...!’

‘That was the lowest shock I could give you. But rest assured, it can go much, *much higher...’

‘Alright! Alright! They took the big fat detective away - away from here, th-they took him to The Farm. Mr Falcon was furious ‘cos they took his favourite away too, a lad named B.’

‘B? As in Ben?’

‘I don’t know, I swear I don’t know!’

‘Were they taken away together?’

‘I - I don’t know - AAARGH!’

Another shock, like pure white heat frying the inside of his neck, constricting every muscle.

‘I - I think so... please...’

‘And where is this Farm?’

‘Oh God, I’m gonna get sent to the dungeons, or the Greys, oh fuck!’

The taser is pressed tightly into his neck. 

‘Where. Is. The. Farm.’

* * * *

‘Hey. Hey! Pssst!’

He’d clicked his fingers, whistled, yelled, stamped his feet, rattled his chain, but nothing Ben could do would rouse the large, sleeping figure of Detective Sweet. He simply continued to lay there in a crumple, chest and belly gently expanding and contracting, issuing soft snores. 

The farmers had long left, and Ben was here alone in his pen with an unconscious, middle-aged, huge-bellied policeman for company. 

‘Fucking great,’ he muttered to himself, parking his own fat arse back down onto the straw, and folding his arms. 

But after a time came the sounds of heavy clomping boots outside. Slow, deliberate footsteps. 

The barn doors once again creaked open, and a long, wide shadow slid across the hay-smeared floor, heralding the appearance of its massive owner - a huge great bear of a man: thick, dark hair in a perfect wave, solid, immaculately-trimmed beard, dark locks of chest hair protruding from the open cleavage of his flannel shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled to reveal powerful chunky forearms. His jeans clung to his tree-trunk legs as if glued on, all the way down to his mighty boots. The man must have been easily 6’8” if not taller, carrying a chest like an actual barrel and a simply incredible, unyielding ballgut. 

Trailing behind him, in stark contrast, was a younger, slim, delicately handsome person, head slightly bowed, hands at their rear.

‘Well, well, well,’ boomed the huge man, his voice of a Southern American flavour. ‘Would you lookee here, Law? Two fine catches.’

The slender person nodded. ‘Yes, Sir.’

Ben didn’t speak, but shifted in the presence of this giant. 

The large man stomped casually over to Ben’s pen, leaned over the bars, and then, incredulously, held out a massive hand.

‘I’m Mr Kingfisher,’ he said, and smiled a smile that almost took Ben’s breath away. He was devastatingly gorgeous.

Ben stood, and hesitated.

‘Go on,’ Mr Kingfisher proffered his hand further. ‘Go ahead. I don’t bite.’

Ben gingerly stepped forward, his chain rattling, and shook the hand so huge it dwarfed his own. Even the fingers and knuckles sported little tufts of dark hair. 

‘You must be Ben,’ he said, issuing a subtle whistle when pronouncing his S. 

Ben nodded, mouth open, frankly mesmerised. 

‘We’ve certainly heard a lot about you,’ Mr Kingfisher said in that beautiful, masculine voice. ‘Haven’t we, Law?’

The smaller person apparently known as Law nodded again. ‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Well now, let’s take a look at what we got here, shall we?’ Mr Kingfisher clicked his fingers over his shoulder while retaining eye contact with Ben. 

Law stepped forward and dutifully unlocked the gate to Ben’s pen, which the huge Mr Kingfisher swung laconically open and sauntered his way in, drinking in Ben’s now excessively fattened body with his deep brown eyes. 

‘Go ahead and turn around for me, Ben,’ he said, making a twirling motion with one finger. 

Ben made a dry swallow and did as he was told, which elicited a slow whistle from the big man.

‘Hoo, they told me you were around - oh, what was it, now? - say, 450, 460 pounds.’

Again, Ben nodded, though he actually wasn’t sure. All he knew was that his time at Locklandrie had added extra shape and volume to his already obese physique. His belly now protruded even further outward in all directions, fully hanging over his waistband, as did his marshmallowy lovehandles. His arms had gotten particularly flabby, his digits porkier. His penis, he knew, was slowly sinking into a ballooning fatpad in his groin, and his thighs were so thick they had begun to chafe - scaling Locklandrie tower had been torturous in that regard. Then there was his mammoth arse, thick double chin... Everything was coated in blossoming layers of fat.

‘I’m sorry about the chain, by the way,’ Mr Kingfisher added, surprising Ben from his reverie. ‘It’s just a precaution for all my new arrivals. We’ll get you out of that soon enough. Have you had anything to eat? You hungry? How about we fix you up with something.’ And he clicked those fat fingers again at his lackey. ‘Law, what do you say we get Ben here something to eat? Poor guy’s probably starving after his journey.’

‘Yes Sir,’ said Law, with a deep nod.

Ben had to admit, this Kingfisher chap didn’t seem so bad thus far. His temperament was a hell of a lot sunnier than Mr Falcon’s had been, that was for damned sure. 

‘Uunhhh...’

Mr Kingfisher’s head turned. Law stopped in their tracks. 

‘What... Uhhh...’

It was coming from the detective, Arthur Sweet. He was sitting himself upright, rubbing his head, blinking against the dusky light.

‘Well now,’ Mr Kingfisher rubbed his slab-like hands together. ‘Look who just woke up. Law, hold off on that food for a moment.’

‘Yes Sir.’

Arthur Sweet blew out his significant cheeks. He checked his glasses for damage. ‘Where am I...?’

‘Welcome, Detective,’ Kingfisher said to him, pacing away from Ben’s pen, giving Ben the most stunning view of the big man’s arse. When Law came to lock the pen back up, they caught Ben staring and glared in response. 

‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ Detective Sweet asked of his huge captor. He’d gotten to his feet, noticing the manacle. ‘What the fuck is this? Where’s Manni?’

‘Woah there,’ Kingfisher placed his palms outward. ‘Just calm yourself down now, big fella, okay?’

‘Calm - I don’t even know where I am! What you put this round me foot for? Bloody hell you playing at?’

‘One thing at a time now,’ Kingfisher drawled. ‘You’re on my farm, this is my property. You’re safe here.’

‘Safe? I’m chained to the floor, you fuckin’ loony. Get this off me now! And where is Detective Manni Dey?’

‘I don’t know who that is,’ Kingfisher told him. ‘But the chain’s there for your own good. Now, it might not seem like it-‘

‘Like fuck it is!’ In Arthur’s questing glances about the barn, he caught sight of Ben. ‘You got another one locked up and all,’ he railed at Mr Kingfisher. ‘Fucking Christ almighty. What the fuck is wrong with you?’

Ben saw Kingfisher sigh greatly from behind, expanding his vast back.

‘We’re not getting anywhere here, are we? Law, would you do me a favour? Would you go grab the boys, tell ‘em we got a fighter needs taking care of?’

‘Of course, Sir. At once.’ Law nodded sharply and made a swift exit.

‘Get me out of this fuckin’ thing, you big giant prick!’ Arthur was growling.

Instead of responding, Mr Kingfisher turned back to Ben.

‘See now, Ben - This is exactly how not to behave, this right here. You understand what I’m s-‘

‘Ben?’ Arthur interrupted, grabbing the railings of his own pen. ‘Ben? You’re Ben Townsend?’

Even though Ben had already been informed the two detectives were looking specifically for him, something about hearing his own full name called out by someone - someone sane! Someone not affiliated with these godawful Rookery mentalists - It caused his eyes to widen. It was like a weird sense of relief flushing through him.

‘Yeah,’ he breathed, and nodded.

Clearly Detective Sweet intended to say more, but was cut off by the creaking of the barn doors. Law, accompanied by the two original beefy farmhands re-entered, and they were carrying some kind of farming equipment.

‘You know what to do,’ Kingfisher instructed his goons dismissively.

And evidently they did. It was a rather quick and brutal business: Arthur’s pen was unlocked, and he was seized at the wrists while some kind of attachment was forcibly placed into and over his mouth and strapped around his head, all while he growled and raged obscenities, twisting and kicking quite violently for a man of his years. His hands were then bound behind his back, and one farmer went over to one of the looming metal cylinders Ben had assumed was empty and just for show, and hooked up a length of cloth tubing from a cylindrical tank back to the detective, screwing its end into his newly-fitted mouthpiece. 

‘Uhhhng!’ Arthur shook his head in conniptions of incandescence, his glasses nearly flying from the bridge of his nose. 

The other farmer stood at the cylinder, his hand wavering over its lever-controls, looking to his Master for confirmation. 

Mr Kingfisher gave a solemn nod and said, ‘Go ahead.’

Ben watched in horror as the lever was flipped downwards, and the cloth tubing began to fill out, seemingly with some thick substance. It flowed down and down, making contact with the detective’s mouth.

‘Uuuunngh!!’

Arthur’s cheeks immediately ballooned, and his eyes popped wide open. He continued to let out loud, panicked noises, again shaking his head vehemently. But the gag was firmly locked into place and there could be no removing it. Sweet looked in shock, his swelling face imploring to Mr Kingfisher who only stood in stoic silence. 

‘Uuuhh - (gulp gulp).’ Pretty soon Arthur was swallowing whatever was being pumped into him. Swallowing and swallowing, with clear effort to avoid his cheeks exploding. His nose was working overtime to draw in and huff out enough air. His panicked noises were rising in pitch by the minute.

Kingfisher turned away from the writhing detective, clomping slowly from the barn, but he paused to say to Ben, ‘You know, sometimes it’s the only way. A pig needs to be taught.’

Ben said nothing, only staring on, wide-eyed as his would-be saviour was force-fed with a terrifying intensity. 

‘Uuuuhhhngh!! (gulp gulp).’

‘C’mon folks.’ Kingfisher rounded up his staff. ‘Ben can wait. And I think we’ll leave the good detective to chew things over for the next 12 hours. See if he can’t learn a little respect.’

‘UUUHHHGHNN!!!’

Arthur’s eyes popped even more upon hearing this. His cheeks were already abnormally spherical, and the swallowing was causing him clear distress. 

He could only continue to whine and glug through the gag as Kingfisher’s goons exited with their huge Master, closing and locking the barn doors behind them.