The New Place in the Old Mansion on Newton Avenue (Patreon)

It was her day off & per usual, Marta found herself a little low on spending money. After all, working at her friend’s dog-grooming start-up earned her just barely enough to keep the lights & gas on in her fairly meager studio apartment. The very same studio apartment she quite desperately needed to leave at around quarter after two in the afternoon, for fear of going nuts. It was a bit late in the afternoon for a coffee, & the five dollars it would cost would only leave her with $18.23 in her bank account until Friday, but that was the extremely loose plan she made for herself in order to get out the house.

Things were unseasonably warm, allowing her to get away without a jacket. Instead, she sported a button down under her comfy, old striped sweater & some dark gray chinos. They might have been a bit on the dressier side, it being her day off, but the fact of the matter were they were some of the last clean pants she had left to wear since she usually wore her knockaround clothes to her dayjob. She just needed to stretch until her next day off on Saturday. Then she could get to the laundromat. But to even things out a little & not look too put together, she pulled her strawberry blonde hair back into something of a messy ponytail on her way out the door.

As she strolled downhill from her building, she turned the corner onto 4th Street, walking along Newton Ave. It ran parallel to the main drag, Medford Ave, which was one more block down. Newton was a smaller street though. With only one way traffic. She figured she'd zigzag her way to the coffee shop, thinking it would be a slightly more peaceful walk than all the bustle & traffic of Medford. Keep it lowkey. Besides, Newton at least had some neater looking old buildings for scenery. Some brick, with art deco flourishes. Others with tiny, but pretty little garden areas in the space between them in the sidewalk. A far cry from the two competing vape shops across the street from one another, the tanning salon, mobile provider storefront, & the aforementioned Laundromat she would have to view if she chose Medford. Oh & her job.

Of the old buildings on Newton, there was one that always caught her eye. Mostly because it was impossible to miss. On the corner of Newton & Fifth was this large Victorian house. It wasn't set too far off the street, presumably because it predated the wide, modern thoroughfare. To Marta, it always  seemed to bum her out the place had basically been left to fall into disrepair, as the signs of its original glory were obvious. That's why today, she almost let out a bit of a gasp.

Not only did the old building seem to be sporting a fresh coat of paint, the gate was open. As was the front door. With a sign? It looked like someone had moved in & set up shop. But when? She was just on Newton the other day & hadn't seen any activity happening here. It wasn't hard to read the sign from the gate. It read "Pendergrass," & underneath that "A Fine Dining Establishment." It was chiseled in using an old, serif-y style font. A restaurant? It looked open. After hesitating for a second, Marta spied the propped open door & decided she had nothing to lose by investigating.

The boards of the wooden porch might have been covered in a fresh coat, but still seemed to creak under her soft, hesitant step. Not that she was at all heavy, but the wood old. Speaking of which, within three feet of the door, she could already catch the aroma of the old mahogany wafting from inside. She looked to see if there was some sort of menu anywhere outside. This new establishment? With their brass sign? It seemed awfully fancy, but she wanted to gauge exactly just how fancy that actually was.

Stepping past the large, heavy looking old door into the vestibule, the floor was a meticulous mosaic checkerboard of polished black & a mesmerizingly shimmery opalescent. From there, intricate, seemingly hand-carved dark wooden panelling extended most of the way up the walls before hitting tasteful, but certainly old wallpaper. In fact, everything felt really, really old. Stepping inside felt like stepping back in time. And as her eyes surveyed for some sort of display with a menu listing, they instead landed on a man standing just past the inner door who just seemed to notice her.

He was tall & a bit on the thinnish side, but just short of possibly being considered gangly. To perfectly match his vintage surroundings, he was dressed in a way that was impeccably formal, but also just… old. Bowtie, vest, white gloves, sleeve garters? On his face was a waxed & pristine handlebar mustache, something that had only recently seemed to go out of favor in Marta’s neighborhood. But at the same time, this man seemed just a little too old to be sporting one in any sort of trendy way. Maybe it was the old, very out of date center-part hairstyle he had, the dark strands of which were plastered to his skull with some sort of pomade, left, like his facial hair to curl at the very tips, but in an extremely controlled way. Was he supposed to be some sort of reenactor? Was this place supposed to have some sort of “Turn of the 20th Century” theme or something? Either way, the sort of gawking expression he sported, with his eyes locked on Marta, she had no choice but to engage at this point.

“Hi!” She chirped, trying to be as pleasant as possible, even if it wasn’t totally her nature.

“Hello…?” the man seemed to have some level of trepidation, but still asked with something of a sing-songy baritone bellow. “Can I be of some… assistance, Miss?” He made little effort to hide the fact that he had started looking her up & down, almost as if he was inspecting her.

“Yeah, y’know, I walk by this building almost everyday. Thought it was abandoned for the longest time!” She tweaked her expression in a bit of surprise. “I had no idea someone was looking to a restaurant up here.”

“Um… yes.” The maître d' nodded. Having surveyed her not once but twice, he warmed slightly, at least to the forced sort of smile people in the service industry often give. "We offered our first dinner service just last even-ing, in fact." His affect & anunciation seemed even more… old-timey. Marta squinted a little, as if to try to communicate to the man he didn’t have to keep up the bit. But it seemed to get lost on him.

“Okay…” Marta finally nodded, resigning that he was either too committed to the bit or too thick to pick up on her reaction. “Do you happen to have a menu I could… peruse?” If he was going to be coy, she started to react in kind.

“Oh, are you looking to join us this afternoon for a bite to eat?” He bowed slightly & his tone was gentlemanly, but the context of asking such an obvious question in the first place just seemed a bit rude to Marta. Almost as if he had already written off the possibility of her patronage somehow. 

As a kneejerk, she fought off the urge to rasp “What I’m not good enough to eat here?!” Even though, truth be told, she was too strapped to order anything. Offended, that’s when Marta decided to press her luck a little. After all, what could it hurt, she thought to herself a bit deviously. 

“Well.” She started after a deep breath. “I don’t know about right now, per se.” Her tone became slightly disinterested & aloof. “And I don’t want to toot my own horn or anything…” She trailed, her eyes still scanning the meticulously detailed old design features of the incredible interior. It was beautiful stuff. “But I actually used to do a bit of food blogging. Back in the day. Still dabble in fact!” If he was going to carry a weird affect, she decided she’d take on a faux-WASPy lilt, figuring it’d either annoying or endearing. At the moment, she was okay with either reaction. Instead, she noticed a perplexed expression on his face instead. 

“Food Bell-hogging?” The man asked with a lost expression.

“What?! No. Not…!” Marta was suddenly equally lost all of a sudden & dropping the schtick. Had he never come into contact with the word? Was he new to the restaurant industry or something? “Blog-ging!” She reiterated. “You know! Sampling local restaurants & whatnot? Writing my thoughts about them? In hopes of giving them a bit of exposure amongst the community?” She slowly regaining her put-upon lilt. This wasn’t the first time Marta had tried this ploy. But up to this point, she had only really ever attempted it at smaller fare places. Like sandwich & coffee shops. Not restaurants. And certainly no place trying to be this fancy.

Then again, these claims of hers weren’t without some merit. After all, fresh out of college, back when she thought she wanted to be a journalist? She used to contribute the occasional story to the local newspaper’s regional online vertical… thingee. At least back before they were bought out by a larger media conglomerate, when local newspaper websites were still a thing. And one or two of those stories she wrote were honest to god restaurant reviews! For places here in town! Even if she didn’t really understand the first thing about food. But hell! If she needed to, she could check the Wayback machine website from three or four years ago & have a sample. Though, ironically the one she rated as the worst, a horrendous Hawaiian/Italian fusion concept place was the only one still in operation. 

“Oh. Like some kind of a food critic?” The man asked, finally sort of getting it. Even though he said it with a strange emphasis, as if the idea was novel to him.

“Sure…” Marta nodded, figuring it was close enough. “And I’m still a little bit of an influencer.” She said, realizing that if “blog” was a step too far, “influencer” might blow his mind. And while “influencer” might’ve been a step too far, thanks to a couple of choice tweets here & there she was lucky enough to get good traction on through retweets? She did happen to boast a slightly higher follower count than most of her friends. The man’s throwback inquisitive nature relented as he seemed to look at her & think.

“A food critic, you say?” The maître d' seemed to lean on his back foot, & stare past his mustache at her. “Looking to give us exposure, as you put it.”
“Yeah. And so I saw you were open & figured, what the hey!” Her WASP impression settling into its inevitable smugness. “I mean if I hadn’t heard of you, the way I see it, you really ought to let someone like me help get the word out about you guys.” She said with a wry determination. “Drum up some more business for your opening week here.” Even though it wasn’t entirely in her nature, she switched her confidence up to full-force. “All would it take is one, measly plate.”

“Gratis, I can only presume?” He stared at her down his nose a bit, skeptically.

“Hey now! You’re the one who said that now, not me.” She smirked. It was a hail mary. If she was in his position, she would’ve already booted her out on her ass for even trying to pull this. But this guy seemed… well? Not really slow, but naive in a way. Because miraculously, he somehow actually seemed to be mulling it over, even if he did look her up & down creepily one more time. 

At the end of the day, this whole ploy of hers? It was a long shot. And largely, nothing more than a scam. If Marta in all good conscience, did intend on writing anything about this place? It’d probably be purely centered around just how odd her experience with this guy was, & just how weirdly anachronistic it all felt. But really, she justified to herself, what was the harm in simply asking? He could say no. Besides, she felt vindicated after his assumption she wasn’t good enough to even be a customer. Even if she couldn’t really afford it at the moment.

“Well… this is nothing we’d look to make a habit of. And you’re certainly quite a bit underdressed.” The man said snobbishly judging. Marta’s brows bobbed a little as her eyes twitched. After all, she felt fairly well put-together, it being her day off & everything. Hell, this guy was lucky she wasn’t trying this with sweatpants! As she choked back her reaction, the man leaned away to look in what Marta assumed to be the direction of the dining room. “But seeing as we’re between our main services…?” Marta’s eyes went wide. “... Perhaps there’s no harm in one plate.”

“R-really..?!” Marta stuttered, astonished that it had somehow worked. She caught herself. “I-I mean… wonderful! Uh… you’ll certainly see a difference! Once I write my post!”

“I’m sure!” the maître d' said, almost seeming to ooze some sarcasm. He was too hard to read though. “Now, if Madam would follow me please?”

Marta was still a little shellshocked. Led slightly deeper into the grand hall of the large old house, everything was elaborately detailed & gorgeous. If it ever had fallen in disrepair over the time of sitting seemingly vacant, everything from the wood to the floor tile work had been expertly restored. She fought off gasps, trying to downplay how impressed she was as she followed the maître d' to a grand hall. 

The walls a light, almost institutional green, leading up to a large vaulted ceiling & elaborate chandeliers. Small tables that seated two filled the space, each draped with crisp, stark white tableclothes, & places already set with folded hunter green cloth napkins. There seemed to be only one other customer so far: an frail old woman with jet black hair under a very old hat situated at a table hugging the wall. Her equally ancient looking mink stole was loosened a little, while almost robotically, her meager looking old hand continuously spooned at her soup. Not far off the walls, it seemed like a pekid green. Pea? The worst part was the way her eyes seemed transfixed on Marta as she followed the maître d'. Her gaze had a creepy quality to it almost as if her eyes weren’t reflecting as much of the room’s natural light as they should’ve been, making them seem dead. And as Marta passed her, the woman made no effort to hide her stare.

“Your seat, madam.” The maître d' pulled out a chair on a table in the center of the room. It was a few tables removed from the old, gawking woman, but not quite enough for Marta’s liking. But if the food was going to be “gratis,” she had difficulty complaining. She nodded, bobbing her reddish blonde ponytail as she sank into the chair’s plush white upholstery more than she expected. The maître d' then pushed her chair in, surprising her enough to jostle a slight but sharp “Oooh” out of her. “And Madam’s menu.” He said, gently offering it to her.

“Um… thank you. Very much!” Marta sputtered, still sort of in shock that her devious little ploy would work. The man took a pitcher & filled an empty cup that was part of the place setting with cold water. She nodded again as he slipped back behind her. She then realized that the man wasn’t leaving. He hovered in place, as if he was going to just awkwardly wait for her order. She uneasily tried her best to ignore him after a split second of side eye.

When she lifted the menu’s leatherbound cover, she was surprised to see that the menu, while large, was handwritten. And it was by no means messy, but for Marta. In fact, it was as elegant & as beautiful as her surroundings. But it had been so long since she had even attempted to try & make out cursive, let alone cursive with some of the bold flourishing strokes this had. It might as well have been in a foreign language. To her, it was almost completely indecipherable. And for a second, she was almost kind of glad the maître d' decided to hover.

“Um… what would you… recommend?” She whispered sheepishly.

“I find myself quite partial to the Welsh Rarebit myself.” He smirked.

“Rabbit?” Marta grimaced.

“No.” The man shook his head, ready to jump at the chance to deliver a bit of disdain. “Rarebit.”

“Any vegan options…?” Marta cut him off. Not that she herself was strictly, it just seemed like a pertinent thing an actual food blogger might ask in this sort of situation. 

“I’m sorry, madam, but Vee…?” He seemed lost again. And his perplexed look made Marta slightly confused. How can he work in this industry & not understand what vegan was? Hell! How could he exist in this century & not?

“You know what? I feel a bit like poultry, honestly.” Marta shut the leatherbound menu, trying to make it look like she didn’t have time for his incompetence, when really, she didn’t want to look dumb for not being able to read the damn thing. “How about your finest chicken dish? Whatever that is!”

“Ah.” The man nodded, also seemingly wanting to shorten their interaction as much as he could. “Right away, madam.”

“Great,” Marta smiled with a hint of sarcasm, leaning more into the table. As the maître d' briskly stepped away, Marta’s eyes went back to the surveying the hall. It was an absolutely beautiful space, even if the light had something of an eerie quality. It had been a bit overcast, but the light that poured through the large windows had a faint glow to it, that bounced off the white tablecloth of each of the other tables in a weird way that also seemed slightly darker than it should’ve been. Almost like certain things seemed to glow, but weren’t illuminated by that glow, making the lighting almost seem artificial in a way. Was there maybe a storm rolling in?

As Marta continued to look around, she unintentionally locked eyes with the old woman. Was she staring at her, motionless & unblinking, this entire time?! All while taking small spoonfuls of her gross-colored soup from her shaking, meager hand? Marta faced forward, pulling out her phone. Maybe she should document this whole, bizarre experience she realized. Between the gorgeous interior, the strange illumination, the snobby, but clueless waiter, & this insane old lady? No one would believe her. She needed to document this. She jokingly reminded herself that that was the whole point of her being here after all, right?

“Huh. No bars?” Marta suddenly noticed after none of her social media apps seemed to want to refresh. “Strike one I guess. No free wifi” she joked to herself under her breath. Taking a sip of water, it seemed to be the perfect temperature. Cold, but not frigid. Just right. She suddenly realized she was thirstier than she realized & downed the whole glass in one go. It hit the spot & she set it down with a refreshed “Ahhh.” That’s when she first heard a strange little rattle. Off to her right, by the two way doors of what seemed like the kitchen, the maître d' had reemerged, wheeling out a large cart. And he seemed to be approaching her!

“I-I thought you said one plate?” Marta stammered. “I don’t know if I can… can… And I definitely can’t affo-”

“This was actually the owner’s idea.” The maître d' cut her off to explain, & he didn’t seem too pleased to report. “They were looking to give you a complimentary sampling of a little bit of everything that we offer. On the house.”

“Oh. Well in that case…” Marta slowly smirked. She suddenly felt like she was in over her head. And each of these covered plates being intended for her was just downright wasteful. But at the same time, she wasn’t about to argue! They seemed a little too fancy for doggy bags, but maybe she could have leftovers for the next week & a half!

“Perhaps we should start… here.” The maître d' scanned the silver domed dishes, as if he was somehow able to discern what was underneath each one. He brought this particular one in front of Marta & set it down gently. Pulling the handle on top, it revealed a large Caesar salad with the freshest, greenest looking lettuce Marta had ever seen in her life. In fact, the way each of the colors popped, it was almost as beautiful as the interior design. She snapped a picture of it with her phone, even if it was just to her gallery. Just to give the impression that she was trying to document this. With the sheer amount of things on the cart, she felt obligated to at least keep up the appearance suddenly. Still a bit hesitant, Marta smiled, picked up a fork she worried might be the wrong one for this part of the dinner service & started stabbing at it. In her mind, she was worried there was so much, it almost felt silly to waste her time on a simple salad. And yet…

“Mmmm-omigod!”  She cooed. “What is this dressing?!”

“A house specialty,” The maître d' simply nodded, still pulling his hovering routine. But Marta didn’t seem to mind. Just the tang of this salad dressing & freshest ingredients alone made this not only one of, if not the best salad she had ever had, possibly one of the best things she’d ever eaten! And after all, she was a “food critic.”

“Wow. I’m shocked!” She didn’t mind speaking with a full mouth, a bit to the man’s dismay. “I never expected salad to taste so… so…” She trailed as she gleefully took another forkful. Shortly, she cut in again. And again. And realized that suddenly, about two thirds of it were already gone in fairly quick order as she stabbed at a tiny little tomato that didn’t want to get on her fork. She smeared it through some of the excess dressing in the attempt & took another large bite. 

“Pleased you enjoy it, madam.” He said with a slight nod. He leaned in & covered the plate with its silver dome. A bit before Marta seemed ready.

“Ohh.” she softly whelped as he removed it, sad to see it go. But she was immediately enticed by the second tray he replaced it with. Pulling its dome away, he revealed an immaculate presentation of three small, beautifully braised lamb shanks, each topped with sprigs of rosemary on a long, rectangular plate. “Oh my god…” Marta repeated, the aroma hitting her nostrils.

“Bon appetit.” The maître d' nodded, before slipping back towards the cart. Marta was about to dig in using the same utensils, but suddenly remembered her manners & set the others down. “Outside In, right?” she tried to remind herself. But she was in too much of a hurry to get this succulent looking lamb meat into her mouth. Trimming it off the bone seemed to take no effort at all, & hastily she bit into the first morsel.

“Oh FUCK!”

“Madam…” The maître d' sounded off in a way that could really only be described as a “harrumph.” “I certainly hope that’s not the type of language you intend on usi-”

“Oh… I’m… Sorry!!” She stuttered while also greedily going for more. “I just… it was…” It was hard to form the words. She needed more! And only after the second fork hit her tongue could she string a sentence together. “I didn’t expect it to taste THAT good. Like… pardon my language, again, but like “Holy shit! It’s… it’s… phenomenal!” The maître d' folded his lips inward, biting his tongue, but looking none too pleased. 

“So happy you enjoy it,” he strained through a sneer.

When Marta hit it with her fork, the meat seemed to just drop off the bone. It was that tender. She went through the first quickly & turned her attention to the second. She wanted more. She needed more! Only the second went faster than the first. Good thing there was still a third. She wanted to slow down. To savor it. But then she saw the maître d' ready to apply the silver dome.

“N-nuh…!” she swatted him away with her fork for a second. Just enough to greedily stab the rest of the meat off the bone in what was a little too big to be a manageable bite. “Mmmm,” she motioned to him, leaving just the bones & just a slight bit of the rosemary. Now, he was allowed to take this plate away, while she struggled to chew for a moment. But then another tray was placed in front of her. 

“Coquilles St. Jacques, madam.” The maître d' announced.

“Oh um…” Marta gulped, finally managing to down the rest of the lamb & take a breath. Again, it came in threes, but this time sitting on tiny, seashell shaped ramekins. “Some sort of… scallop…?” She asked, poking at it with her fork. Seafood wasn’t really her thing, but turning down free food was even less of her thing. 

“Yes, madam.” The maître d' finally answered with a sigh that seemed to express that a food critic should know better. She ignored it & dove right in. “Jesus!” was all she could exclaim after the first bit hit her tongue. Instinctively, she cupped her hand in front of her mouth, not wanting to lose any. “How is this even better than the lamb?”

“We have a fine kitchen staff, madam.” The maître d' said plainly, punctuated with a forced smile. But Marta didn’t notice it. She was too busy gobbling everything down.

Very quickly, a pattern started emerging. Marta ate, & ate rapidly. And just as she was about to clean one plate, the maître d' would swoop in with the tray’s cover & replace it with another serving tray. How many were even on that cart?! He’d remove the cover & it was usually either some basic, but amazing looking standard like Roast Beef. Or Meat loaf. Or, like in the case of the scallops, something sounding fancy & old-timey that she had never in her life heard of before. 

But the craziest thing was that each thing placed in front of her somehow managed to taste even better than the last! And this was quite a feat considering she had never, in her life tasted anything as good as that lamb before! None of it tasted bad. Or even just sort of… okay. It was all… just… amazing! In a way that almost felt a bit… unnatural. She started to develop a low key uneasiness about this suddenly. Not that it slowed her down, mind you.

The portions weren’t huge, but there were just so many trays. And they came one after the next. She couldn’t quite tell where they were even coming from, but it somehow felt like more than the cart could possibly carry. All the while, Marta was becoming very aware of the waist of her pants. It was going from comfortable, to becoming just a bit snug, to then start cutting into her. Under her usually comfy sweater, she could feel her button down feeling a little bit… constricting. Gaps spreading as the button cinches pulled tight under the sweater material. And over time, that only just seemed to slowly get worse. 

But the weirdest part of all was the fact that she didn’t feel even the slightest bit full! Like, she usually wasn’t that big of an eater. Fairly modest in fact, even if it was free. This? This wasn’t like her. And thanks to how great everything tasted, she was fully aware of each & every plate she had already cleared. In fact, if anything? She felt even hungrier now than when she first walked in. Was the impeccable cooking somehow driving her appetite? Making her crave more? Before she could give this idea any further thought? Another tray with another plate set before her to distract further her.

“And our take on a classic:  Chicken à la King,” the maître d' announced. 

“Yes! More!” She felt the words leave her lips, almost involuntarily. Almost in a groveling snort. As if her hunger was doing the speaking for her. She already felt like she must have looked like a pig, how crap was it that her own lizard-brain was further ratting her out suddenly? She tried to correct her etiquette. Seem like an actual human being. “I mean… it looks… splendid.” Not a word she usually used, but it still fit. Maybe the maître d's anachronistic vibe was rubbing off on her too now? Whatever! She was just too damn hungry to worry about pleasantries at this point. Or anything other than the new entree, honestly. She opened wide as the first giant mouthful of creamy chicken approached her mouth.

How was that better than the roast beef? Or the lamb?! What was happening? Things did not seem right. Food, free or not, should never taste this good! 

“And finally, some Omelette Norvégienne.” the maître d' announced. 

“Om-whaaa…?” Marta’s pace had slowed a little as the maître d' also handed her a clean utensil & removed the serving dome.

“I suppose its more commonly known as a Baked Alaska.” the maître d' snidely explained under his breath.

“Oh. I’ve heard of… that. Per…-urp- perfect.” She managed. She had known that it was some sort of old-timey dessert, but had never seen it person, let alone taste it. Some sort of cake? But with ice cream? Weird! She had lost track of time, & it must have been sitting there for a while. But miraculously, the ice cream wasn’t even a bit runny.

Wait! But a dessert? A glint of relief flashed in her eyes as the maître d' bowed. 

“That’s the last item on the cart. Now if you’ll excuse me for just a moment, madam.” He ducked away, pushing the cart back towards the two way doors, weaving through the tables & causing the cleared trays to rattle.

“Euch…” She was still way more hungry than she was full, but Marta felt each & every single bite she had taken over the course of her free meal. And she felt… well… there was really no other way to say it… huge! Like stuffed in the way a sausage was into a tight casing, but not that she couldn’t still eat more. In fact way more. 

She brought the first stab of the bake alaska to her lips. Predictably, it tasted so wonderful, she quivered. Only each & every bulge of her food-packed body seemed to jiggle with her. Especially her new, round belly. Fuck! It was even bigger than the last time she looked. Now it was dominating her entire lap, pulling the threads of her sweater to their limits. All but one of the buttons on her shirt underneath felt as though they had popped. But there was too much of her dessert left to care about that right now. Ravenously, her arm automatically shoveled more & more of it into her mouth. She tried her damnedest not to moan the way her subconscious urged her too.

As she took scoop after scoop, & shifted a bit in her chair, even her arms & thighs felt cushier. More plush. And was… was she sitting higher now somehow? Fuck. If everything else had thickened up, her ass must’ve been… well. She could feel it! The way her pants clung & cupped the lower half of her. She couldn’t shift in them without the thick fabric making stretching sounds. But then, she realized she was out of her Omelette Norv-whatever, & let her fork down with a load rattle, only to run her finger around the rim of the plate to get the very slight bit of ice cream that had bothered to melt. That’s when she caught the eyes of the old woman again.

“What’re you lookin’ -urp- at?” Marta growled with the best sneer her swollen face could muster. For the briefest of seconds, the old woman averted her large, doll-eyed gaze.

"Ech!" was the noise that left Marta's lips, but her mind was racing a mile a minute. Without food to distract her, the panic set in. And it was overwhelming. It caused her mind to race a mile a minute. “Something is seriously wrong with me! It’s like I’ve lost all control!” She worried to herself. Was it because everything was so delicious, driving her to eat? Or was she somehow suddenly just that hungry? One thing was for certain though. “I’ve never eaten this much in my entire life!” She wobbled, as she adjusted herself in the chair a little. The sturdy legs still let out something of a creak, as she was suddenly glad it didn’t have arms. Hell, if that was the case, she would’ve been stuck! “And the worst part of all is that I just want to keep on going! I just know I won’t be able to help myself if they decide to bring out even more food! And they seem like… awfully eager to just keep right on feeding me!”

She tried to look over her shoulder, towards the direction she came in, but turning too fast was a horrible idea. Instead, she only locked eyes with the strange old woman who hadn’t seemed like she had moved much despite the growl a moment ago. She was still staring at her. And the complete pig she had quickly become! With her cheeks turning a bright red, Marta tried to rock forward. “I really ought to make a break for it! But dammit! I’m like… way, way too stuffed to even move!” There was just so, so much of her now. And her belly felt so… heavy! “It’s like it’s too late!” Her stomach interjected with a grumble. Almost against her wishes, it was as if it was working overtime to make room! And suddenly, a wonderful aroma started to emanate from the kitchen. Given the lack of any other customers, she worried that could only mean one thing. Well, she half-worried. “Oh god! I’m just so… so… HUNGRY! I’m torn!” Her wiggling & jiggling slowly subsided, as she started to wonder if maybe it was just a little too late. After all, it was free! “Maybe I should just… embrace… this feeling…?”

“There were a few more items, as well. Compliments of the chef.” The maître d' smiled his forced smile as he pulled another cart with him past the two way doors. It looked just as stacked as the first.

“Oh god…” Marta could only wince, softly. Helpless to resist, the reality of actually “embracing” this, set very in quickly. And she wasn’t sure she was all that into it.

“Just so you could partake in the whole experience.” He finished his thought.

This course started with a thick, creamy bisque. Again, she couldn’t stop herself, & again it tasted amazing, warming every new inch of her all the way down her gullet. Next? A full Cornish Hen, roasted in garlic & rosemary. Her heart sank the instant the dome was lifted. But it didn’t stop her from diving in. At this point, etiquette seemed to dive right out the window. No fork, no knife. The compulsion just struck her & she started ripping at it with her fingers. Instead of being appalled as she anticipated, this time, the maître d' just let out a smirk. Almost a bit telling in its own way. But she was too famished to give a shit about him or his reactions now. She just needed to eat!

And eat she did.
A few seconds later, she heard a popping rip. It must’ve been a seam somewhere. Her chinos? Yeah, there was cool, drafty air touching her inner thigh. Pop. Then the other side. But she was too hungry to care.

Another tray. Wait, the lamb? Again?! She looked to the maître d', confused.

“I told the chef you were a bit partial last time.” He nodded. Marta gulped. The fix was in. This definitely wasn’t right. She wasn’t the one pulling a scam & her heart sank deeper. But she was in no place to stop herself either, grabbing the bone in her hand & ripping the meat off with her teeth this time. They tasted… better, now?! HOW?!

It just kept coming. Tray after tray. Plate after plate. Cart after cart. And all the while, Marta had absolutely no control. More seams popped & ripped. Her dressy day-off fit became completely ruined, by her from the inside, growing.

She could feel herself getting round, heavier, fuller. But she was powerless to do anything about it. She just needed to eat! It was all just too good not to! She lost herself in each ecstatic bite. And the steady stream of each of those ecstatic bites, almost felt like it was turning her brain to mush. She was becoming less & less in control of her actions. The moans she had been suppressing not only started happening but became loud & animalistic.

“More!” she’d cry, if the maître d' was just a little too slow with unveiling a new dish. Or the undecipherable grunts she let out if he came in with the serving dome just a second or two too early, before she could clear a plate!

Even in all of this, her belly grew & rounded out to be unavoidable. It was becoming cumbersome for her to reach things. Too much belly in the way, making it hard to grab at the table.  So instead of serving her there, the maître d' actually seemed to start serving her on the natural shelf her body was creating! “More! MORE!!” she screamed. “I -urp- need it!”

She couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Or how many carts it had been at this point. She had been awash in a sea of consumption, wonderful taste, & hunger for a while.  But there was suddenly a crack, & the weird, shocking split-second sensation of weightlessness. Just enough to jostle just a slight bit of clarity back. At least before she landed back onto the cushion of the chair, only this time on the floor, rolling to her side awkwardly. There was just so much of her now, it was more of a spill than a fall. And the way the floor pressed in her belly, shook some gas free in the form of a belch. She didn’t care about it. In fact, once she recovered, she only cared about one thing.

“Mmmmm-m-m-mmmm…” Marta couldn’t help herself from humming on her side. Even though she didn’t really want to. After all, she was just so impossibly full, she felt a bit sore even trying to muster up the vibration to make the sound from deep within her now tight, mostly round body. But she had long since given in to the hunger. And the hunger was compelling her to do it. To beg. Or at least attempt to. “Mm-mmm-mmmore… please...” The hunger managed to squeak out in a plea, willing her to sound as pathetic about it as possible. To play on their sympathy. The tears welling as every other fiber of her being struggled desperately to regain control & try to do something otherwise.

“Didn’t I tell you, Reginald?” An old voice rasped. The maître d' seemed to make way for someone. Someone Marta was far too fat & round to see at first. She was stuck. And while she couldn’t see them, her arms & legs just felt… useless. Not only were they too heavy, but they just felt… inadequate given how much more the rest of her all was at this point. Hell, even prone, in this “laying” position, her bulging flesh kept her head a bit high off the ground. Fuck! How fat was she even?!

“Ms. Pendergrass.” The man acknowledged as the old woman lookie-loo from the corner came into Marta’s line of sight one again. Her eyes still piercing, but now, a sinister smile curled across her face as well, making her gaze somehow infinitely worse.

“A significant portion of the girls from her time?” The old woman’s voice hissed. “They’re absolutely perfect! Completely suited to our needs! They deny themselves the things they truly want! They end up getting so, so hungry! Not to mention, they’re just so wrapped up in themselves, they don't even realize what's happening to them until it's far, far too late." It was hard to process. Especially in her current condition. And on the cold patch of an albeit, beautiful old Persian rug. Marta wanted to take offense to what this woman had said. She felt as though she was supposed to anyway. But the phrase "from her time" got in the way. It stuck in her craw & confused her. And contending with her new, seemingly massive size, the sheer amount of food inside her, & her overwhelming need to consume everything in sight? It all seemed to make everything a little too hard to deal with right now.

"Ohhhhhoooohhhhhhh..." A coo was all she was ultimately able to offer.

"Yes, I suppose you were correct, Ms. Pendergrass." “Reginald,” the maître d' concurred.

The old woman extended a bone finger, only to jab it into certain portions of Marta’s round side. 

“Ooooooph!” she attempted to recoil. It hurt, but there was little she could do about it. It did jostle a little more air out of her though. “-urp-” The old woman’s grin sunk into a slightly more devious expression. Much to Marta’s dismay. She wanted to yell. She wanted to shout! She wanted to call her a fucking monster for doing this to her. But nothing like that came out. Instead?

“Sss-so…. So…. h-huh-hungry…” Marta managed. "Puh-please...!"

“Oh, we know, dearie!” This “Ms. Pendergrass” seemed to chortle. “You must be absolutely famished at the moment. Still.” Tugging on Marta's round cheek in a soft pinch the way an old aunt would. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to give you a little while. Just at first! Just to let things... digest a little. After all, if we even thought about giving you an aperitif right now, it could spell utter disaster for you. And the lovely walls of our fine, fine establishment! And you wouldn't want that, now would you dearie?” Oh god! Was she serious?! Feeling ready to burst was bad enough, but the third party confirmation made her feel even worse. At the same time, that part of her brain, the side screaming "No!" wasn't in the driver's seat right now. And it was frightening to realize the very people who had done this to her had a better sense of her preservation than she herself, as she could only feel her thicker lips pucker up & sputter a little.

“Buh-but…” Marta attempted to blubber in protest. Her lizard-brain needed more food! Despite what it had done to her!

“I know, dearie! I know!” The old woman smiled, as if trying to seem empathetic even though Marta knew full well her intentions were sinister. “And don't you worry your pretty, little... well.. your pretty head! We’ll sure be feeding you again soon enough. Even more! Just you wait! For now, perhaps you should maybe just save your energy. After all, you’re going to need it.”

"Ohhh..." The moaning noise that leaked out of Marta fell somewhere between disappointment, relief, & existential angst, as the old woman in the mink stole slowly straightened up to address the maître d' again.

"Reginald?"

"Yes, madam?"

"Why don't you carefully escort our lovely young critic here downstairs? Introduce her to some of our other previous diners, yes?"

"It would be an honor & a privilege, Ms. Pendergrass." Reginald turned to Marta, with a cocky sneer. “Come along, madam.” Marta instinctually reached up for him, straining the pick up her heavy, wobbly arm. She expecting that he might somehow attempt to help her up. Instead, he laid his hands into her turgid & tender side & began to apply pressure.

“Oooooooh!” she stiffly cooed. She suddenly realized he had absolutely no intention of helping to walk her anywhere. He was going to roll her! For fuck’s sake! She was literally big enough for him to roll! And without him having to bend over all that much either! She could feel her bulges spill end over end, as her skin felt the cold hard carpet through the rips & tears of what had been her outfit. She clenched her eyes, moaning again. “Ohhhhhhhh!” a pained, anxious moan. Between being stuffed to capacity, Reggie’s constant prodding, & seeing the room spin end over end, she couldn’t take it! He seemed to try to take some care, but she was just so wide, it was hard to maneuver her through the slalom of tables in the dining hall. She bumped into chairs & table corners, each making her wince.

“Do please cooperate, madam.” Reginald scolded softly. As if Marta could somehow help it. She realized that he was maybe just saying it to rub it in, eliciting a slight whimper.

“And remember darling,” Ms. Pendergrass shouted from deeper in the dining hall. Marta kept her eyes clenched, but it sounded like they were reaching the main corridor again, given the distance & the slight echo. The old woman continued with a snicker. “Every thing has some cost associated to it. It just might not always be what your pretty little head anticipates.”

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Hope you enjoy. Sorry. This one took me absolutely fucking FOREVER, with everything I've got going on at the moment.

Things are a little backlogged, but I'm moving onto finish the current Bellflower chapter that I had already started, so that's next! And I do have another inflation piece in the works that will hopefully be done soon as well! Thanks for the patience! You guys rock!