The Harem on the Hill (Part LI) (Patreon)

You huff up the basement stairs and through the heavy door that leads into your living room.  Like a climber reaching a summit, you take a moment to appreciate the panoramic view of the surrounding valley.  Winter has ravaged the forest and transitioned the lush green carpet to a mottled mosaic of earth tones.  The bare trees allow more visual access to the distant township than usual and the ruddy brick of the three-story municipal building peeps between the leafless twigs.  The flag atop its tall spire, normally all you can see from your hillside perch, waves a lazy hello.  The fact it's right next door to the police station makes it a bit disconcerting.

There's a tightness in your chest that's slow to abate.   It feels as though you traversed the hill on foot, as Officer Morgan did in the weeks before she was incapacitated, rather than a single flight of stairs.  Your eyes shift their focus from the rolling vista to the scruffy-looking intruder in the window's reflection.   Pale-faced, gaunt, and with unkempt hair protruding in all the wrong places.

The dizzy euphoria brought on by your time with Morgan and the lingering effects of the gas is slowly replaced by anger.  You suddenly feel less a modern-day Rip Van Winkle in a fattening fairy tale and more what you've really been--A prisoner in your own home.

A surge of adrenaline compels your thin legs up the next flight of stairs, down the hallway, and into your office...where Tina sits before the bed of monitors and computers like Mission Control.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Tina pivots to face you in her high-backed swivel chair like a villain about to reveal their master plan.  Whatever it is, it must involve disguise because you hardly recognize her.  Freshly shorn bobbed hair, made-up face, and a printed sleeveless dress with a plunging neckline that leaves little to the imagination...other than how she lost so much weight in such a short period of time.

"Like what you see?"

You ignore her question.  Tina still appears about 200 pounds but has reclaimed her shapeliness.  Her cherubic face looks healthy and happy and her plumped-up puppies are once again perky.  Even her thick upper arms look more muscular than meaty.

Tina opens the top drawer of the desk, removes a cell phone, and extends it to you.

"I believe this belongs to you."

As you take it, you notice her wrist is barer than the breasts spilling from her V-neck.

"Your bracelet slip off?"

Tina crosses her legs and smiles.  "I haven't lost THAT much.  My father helped me."

"Entertaining house guests, are we?"

"Please.  I visited him.  It's nice being off the missing person's list.  I was able to go into town.  Pick up a few things."  Tina sits upright in her chair, lifting her cleavage to the edge of decency.  "I even picked you up a welcome back present."

"I like it."  

You do like it.  The flowy dress caresses Tina's curves and its paisley pattern gives off a 60s vibe that suits her.  You suddenly remember why you were so captivated by her at Cornucupia. Tina is a dish...albeit still an oversized one.

"Thanks," Tina says, a touch of rose invading her cheeks.  "But I was referring to what's on monitor three."

You step forward and squint at the screen behind Tina's left shoulder.  It's the living room view from one of your basement chambers.  At first, you're not sure what you're supposed to be looking at, but then you spot someone dozing in a chair in the far-left corner.  The willowy figure is practically engulfed by the oversized recliner, but you see enough to identify them.   Blonde hair tied into a neat bun; spectacles low on the nose; a book facedown in their lap...

It's librarian Bernadette Muncy, one of the girls you originally considered for your harem (https://www.patreon.com/posts/harem-on-hill-i-31374509).

"Surprise!"  Tina says, squeaking back and forth in her swivel chair.  "Frankly, I'm not sure what you see in such a home-bodied bookworm, but it made my job easy at least."

You step back, your face caught between a smile and a frown.  "I thought we were going to lay low?"

"You needed to lay low."  Tina leans back and knits her fingers atop the curve of her belly.  "Which you have been."

"We need to talk about that," you say.

"Talk?" Tina's gaze drifts to the seam of your robe, where slack in the tie has allowed your manhood to escape.  "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to do something else first?"

How do you respond?