Fic: 'The Way to a Man's Heart (Or At Least, Into His Trousers)'
Title: The Way to a Man's Heart (Or At Least, Into His Trousers)
Author: PurpleFluffyCat
Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Ron/Lavender
Rating: hard R
Words: About 6000
Warnings: Infidelity
Summary: Henpecked at home, Ron - and his appetite - are tempted elsewhere... but what sweet treats will he find awaiting him?
Notes: Written for the 'Ronald Weasley Gourmet, Gourmand or Glutton Challenge' by chuffed4angst
Being married to Hermione was... challenging. After over ten years of it, Ron felt that he certainly deserved a medal of some sort, and probably a hefty cash bonus. He was accustomed to the nagging, of course:
"Don't leave those lying around."
"Have you remembered what day it is?"
"Do you ever think before you act, Ron?"
That sort of thing was as natural as the sky was blue or that the Chudley Cannons were the best team imaginable. However, just as he was then passing thirty, Ron started to notice a new theme being introduced to Hermione's daily moans and complaints, and it was all about... Ron shuddered to even think the words... it was all about his figure.
"I'd skip dessert today if I were you, Ron."
"Shall we sit down just the two of us, or will your stomach be joining us, too?"
"I'm amazed those trousers even do up any more."
As to the last of those statements, Ron couldn't deny the obvious truth. He had outgrown a lot of his clothes lately, and not in the impressive gaining-muscle-mass sort of way, either.
Yeah, ok, he thought, he was a bit thicker around the middle these days. But he was sure it was hardly anything, really. An inch, maybe - two, at the absolute max. Hardly anything to worry about. Barely noticeable, even; he couldn't see why Hermione was making such a fuss - but then again, he reflected, she got her knickers in a twist about anything at all.
The truth was that Ron loved to eat - always had done and always would, as far as he was concerned. The fact that he'd given up playing Quidditch that year in favour of more time in the pub had done nothing to dull his appetite, and although life as an Auror had it's exciting moments, there was nothing like a plate of pumpkin pasties to get you through a day of boring paperwork in the office. In fact, he had them directly supplied.
Lately, though, she'd become pretty unbearable about it. It was all to do with some swanky affair at the Magical Law Enforcement Association - she had just passed the final exams needed to reach judicial status and was being sworn-in at a gala ball later that month. It meant a lot to Hermione and Ron was proud of her, he really was - he knew he was one-hundred percent supportive. He didn't see, however, what all this had to do with his waistline, and thought that the daily disparaging comments and prods to his middle were getting really over the top.
The knut finally dropped however, one evening when Hermione started talking about the dress code for this gala-thingy. "I've told you a thousand times, Ron, that it's a formal occasion."
"Yeah, but you didn't say I've have to get frocked up in dress robes and everything!"
"That surely is the meaning of the term 'formal'? Or have you been living under a rock for the past thirty years?"
Oh bugger, those dress robes. They were without a doubt the finest and more expensive items of clothing he owned - bought about a year ago by Hermione at great expense for their tenth anniversary. Silk and cashmere with unicorn-mane embroidery at the collar, and designed to be closely form-fitting, they had been snug at the time of purchase. Ron hadn't tried them on for a long while, and buying new ones was completely out of the question for reasons of both cost and deeply-held sentimental value... but they'd be ok still... Surely they'd be ok?
Hermione must have seen all of that registering on his face. "I'm putting you on a strict diet, effective immediately. You have serious weight to loose before the end of the month, Ronald Weasley."
"Rubbish!" he protested, "I'm not any different!"
Hermione merely raised her eyebrows and grabbed at the flesh around his middle before stalking off. If his gut had wobbled up and down in her hand, Ron reasoned afterwards, it was only because she had squeezed unreasonably hard - the same would surely happen to anyone.
*****
The days following that fateful conversation became increasingly unpleasant as enforced starvation and the attendant resentment it caused took up residence in the household. No matter how much he complained, Hermione wouldn't give Ron his proper meals and snacks, insisting he ate only salads and healthy steamed fish and chicken in small portions, all while eyeing his stomach suspiciously.
Ron was miserable and his innards were growling incessantly. He was desperate for something greasy... something sweet... something tasty. It was therefore only a matter of time before the sneaky trips to fast-food purveyors started - and once began, they continued with fervour and abandon.
He just loved food, Ron thought, as he crammed his mouth with sweet treats for the third time one day... He wasn't really getting fat, he could handle it. He was a free man, wasn't he? And just to prove how free he was, he decided to order a second round of chips and donuts.
So what if he was already full? Never mind if these little trips to see him through that diet had burgeoned into his consuming more calories on a daily basis than he ever had before. It was his choice, wasn't it? And maybe he liked the feeling of his stomach stretching with more food than it could really take, maybe it helped him to cram in another mouthful, then another...
*****
With alarming speed the day of the gala arrived, and with yet further rapidity the moment came when it was time to get ready. Hermione had been dressed for hours already, looking beautiful in dark blue silk and quadruple-checking every detail of the ceremony to make sure she'd get it right. She herded Ron into the bedroom. "Right, I've laid out your robes on the bed. According to my calculations you should have slimmed down enough by now to wear them, so put them on and let's get going."
"Er, right," said Ron, and then he was left alone with nothing but those terrifyingly expensive garments for company.
Ron stripped and put on the robes... or he tried to, that is.
The trousers must have shrunk in the wash or something, he grumbled, because he could barely pull them up over his arse and there was no way they'd do up at the fly - they must have been boiled inches too small. That didn't really matter, though, Ron reasoned, because the posh top-robe buttoned and belted all the way down the front and reached nearly to the floor; he could leave the trousers open if all people would see of them were his ankles.
He slid the robe from its hanger and put his arms through, a little surprised he hadn't remembered how tight the armholes were. Then he came to the fastenings, and came to pull the sides of fabric across his front, but-
-No way would they button up! Not a chance. He couldn't even get the fastenings close to each other! However, that was really strange, Ron thought, because there's no way that Hermione would have washed a garment like that in hot water. Which only left the idea that... oh, God.
With a gulp, and for the first time in months, Ron turned to look in the mirror. The sight that greeted him was rather a shock. There seemed to be absolutely acres of space between the buttons and buttonholes, his stomach pouting out of the gap as it rolled over the waistband of his boxers, and the unfastened dress trousers ridiculously stretched across his hips in a wide 'v.' Bloody hell, that wasn't really him, was it? He moved the robe further apart to get a better look.
Oh, Merlin! He simply couldn't believe the size of his belly. It was huge, and round and... so flabby. His navel was a black hole embedded in soft flesh and fine red hairs, and turning sideways - oh crap! - he saw just how spectacularly it all protruded. Lifting his arms revealed yet another surprise - little white stretch marks painted over his abdomen - and his sides were covered in dimples and softly forming rolls. Rolls!
My God. Bloody arsing hell! Ron was in an utter panic. How on earth could have this happened? Why the hell hadn't someone just told him?!
To make matters worse, of course, he still had to do something about those robes - Hermione has said they had to leave in about twenty minutes... and that must have been at least ten minutes ago. Frantically, Ron tried to remember some expansion charms. He waved his wand ineffectually at the fabric a few times, and then finally managed to get it to grow a bit - warping the embroidery horribly but buying him a few precious inches.
His magic, however, was at its limit and the robe still didn't close. There was nothing else for it, thought Ron, he'd have to try to suck in his gut and squeeze.
That, of course, was easier said than done. His stomach muscles had practically no tone left in them after months of laziness and there just seemed to be too much flesh to shepherd into it's casing - pinching and oozing everywhere, and forcing nearly-there buttons apart when Ron absolutely had to snatch a breath for fear of suffocation.
Finally, however, by some sort of miracle, he managed it. The robes were as tight as hell as they stretched perilously around his gut, buttons straining and creaking, but - mercifully - they were on.
"Ron? Ron? Where are you?" came Hermione's voice from the hall, and Ron reflected that he had fastened himself in not a second too soon.
"Just coming..."
Thankfully, she seemed too preoccupied to assess his appearance when he joined her. "Come on! We're late! Have you got your ticket?"
His ticket? Oh God, where was that? "Err, yeah..." Ron replied vaguely, eyes scanning the room. Luckily, he spotted it - where he must have left it on the floor, about a metre from where he was currently standing, "It's just here." In a rush, he bent over to pick up the crisp piece of parchment - and then recoiled in horror when an almighty ripping sound rent both the air and his robes.
Hermione gasped as shreds of embroidered silk fell to the floor. "What have you done?"
"I, errr..." Ron shuffled from one foot to the other, all too aware of the fresh air on his now-exposed belly and the limp strands of shredded fabric pulled across his flabby sides.
"You've swelled into a fat pig, that's what!" She was nearly in hysterics. "Just look at this mess! Just look at your gut!. And to think I believed you were on a diet..."
"Oh, come on now-"
"Don't you 'come on,' me, Ronald Weasley. I told you about those dress robes. I told you you'd have to loose weight. So I've been cooking you nutritionally-balanced slimming meals for over four weeks, just so you could look nice this evening, and you've been... you've must have been gorging yourself. Positively gorging yourself while I wasn't looking, to get like... like that. And now they don't fit, and everyone's going to be staring, and the whole thing will be ruined! Couldn't you, just once, just once have bothered to care about something that was important to me? Would it have really hurt to make an effort to look presentable at my inauguration? But, oh no! You had to go on indiscriminately stuffing your face with every object that didn't move until your seams split!"
"Oh, honestly, Hermione. It's not that I don't care, I-"
A wave of her hand cut Ron's sentence short and her demeanor suddenly snapped into one of dangerous calm. "There isn't time for any of that. We're already fifteen minutes late. We're going to have to fix it." Hermione then produced her wand and pointed it somewhat sharply in Ron's direction. She muttered a charm which repaired the worse of the damage to the robes as they hung limply around him in. "There."
Garments once more intact, Ron, however, felt no more hopeful. "Well, ok. You've done up the tears... but to be honest they're just going to rip again when I button them up again, aren't they?
"No, they aren't," said Hermione, with a steely glint in her eye that Ron had learned to dread. "Not after this." She then pointed her wand toward him once more - or more specifically toward his burgeoning midsection. "Lacio Strictus."
It was not a charm that Ron had heard before but he soon dearly wished never to hear it again. As soon as the words were uttered, he felt an invisible grip all over his pudgy stomach, back and sides, which squeezed him in.... "What the...?" he asked in consternation, to be answered only be Hermione's measured gaze.
The pressure was gentle at first, but it soon became stronger and stronger until Ron's belly was squashed in further than it had been for months, the fleshy acres of it moulded by the strictures of a vice-like grip... and then yet more, until he was afraid he'd be cut in half and would never breathe again... "Oh my God, Hermione! This bloody hurts! You're killing me!"
"Nonsense. It's perfectly safe; witches used to do it all the time. You'll just have to get used to it. I think five inches should just about do the trick." She looked a little thoughtful. "Maybe six."
With that, she waved her wand again and the constriction stopped dead at the agonizing level it had reached. Another flick saw the fastenings of Ron's robes meet - just about - across his middle; even with the charm, his paunch was obvious.
"You can't seriously expect me to go out like this..." Ron wheezed in desperation. He knew the answer all too clearly in advance however.
"If you've grown too fat for your robes, you'll have to be corsetted into them," Hermione answered briskly. "Now get into the Floo."
*****
Ron managed to pass the evening without passing out - just. Hermione's promise that the bloody awful constricting charm was perfectly safe was proving to be true, but that didn't mean that Ron liked it one bit. He couldn't take a proper lungful of air, and he was sure he'd be black and blue when it was taken off. If it was taken off, he thought with a shudder, but then reckoned that even Hermione wouldn't be that cruel.
The gala, to be frank, was deathly boring. Hermione spent the whole time in deep conversation with geriatric lawmakers of the dullest sort, leaving Ron to alternately pretend to listen, go off and talk to someone else equally boring or just skulk around in the corner. Of those options, he tended to favour the third - which gave him plenty of time to further lament his discomfort and fantasize about being released from such tortures.
One of the many downsides of the sodding corsetting charm, Ron found, was that he couldn't manage to properly indulge in the groaning buffet table that was laid out for the guests' pleasure. And oh, he felt so hungry! There were kebabs and pasties and cream cakes and lots of and lots of chocolate, and although he'd done his best to put away a few platefuls there was no way that he could eat as much as he wanted while being cut in two. Instead, he took to eyeing all that bounteous food mournfully, feeling his stomach rumble even as it was pinched, and resentfully dwelling on thoughts of cakes and pies; the mental images of his chubby body from only hours previous had evaporated completely.
It was in that state that his attention was caught by bounty of a completely different sort near the buffet table - a plump little arse bobbing along in a short black skirt. It came with an equally ample bosom being paraded in a blouse that was probably designed to encase rather less than with which it was challenged. Whoever that waitress was, Ron thought, she was damn tasty.
Hermione's willowy form was all very well, but truth be told, Ron had always appreciated something to grab hold of on a woman, and this buxom little number definitely turned his eye. It was only when the waitress turned around that Ron realized he had seen that face before.
"Lavender?!" He called out in surprise, "Err... excuse me, you aren't Lavender Brown, are you?"
Slowly, the waitress faced him. "The very same." she replied coyly, her lack of surprise suggesting she had spotted Ron some time before, "Why, if it isn't Ron Weasley."
"Oh, gosh, yeah." He suddenly felt all tongue tied, especially as she adjusted her posture to make the cleavage even more apparent. "So, err... how have you been?"
Lavender laughed. "Very well, thank you. I'm doing wonderfully!" She was pretty; he had always found her pretty. "Why don't you have some cake? I remember you always liked your food." She gestured toward the impressive spread before them.
"Yeah... but, I can't right now..."
Ron must have betrayed far more than he had intended in that second. Female and wily, Lavender glanced at Hermione mixing with the crowds then raised her eyebrows and leaned toward him with a lowered voice. "Ooooh. So how about you come to my house for tea and cake after work tomorrow, then. And I'll make pie."
"Oh. Um. That's very nice of you-"
"-Good!" She flashed him a smile. "Here's my address." A small card was plucked from inside the top of her robes as Ron still tried not to stare at that impressive bosom, and then pressed into his hand. "See you then... Won-Won." Another smile and wink, and then she disappeared into the crowds bearing canapés.
The rest of the evening passed without event, and when they got home, Hermione made sure that Ron had undone all of the robes' fastenings before she would remove the tight-lacing charm... and that wasn't until she had spoken at length about some legal sub-clause that had been the topic of one of the evening's discussions. A couple of muttered words, however, and then he was free - air flooded back into his lungs with such relief Ron didn't care how far his belly flopped forwards. He didn't care, that is, until he registered the expression of mild distaste on Hermione's features.
She didn't say anything, however. Just, "Good night, then," before going to change into her sensible pyjamas. He certainly wasn't going to get his leg over tonight, then, thought Ron balefully. Not that that was news; they hardly ever did it any more.
With grumpy thoughts of a sore, hungry stomach - treacherously interlaced with notions of cream cakes and a round little arse and tits - Ron soon fell to sleep.
*****
The following morning was business as usual in the Weasley-Granger household. They had a perfunctory chat and then went about their business for the day - each to work, neither with a solid home-time at the other end.
Arriving at the office, Ron felt his rebellious streak surfacing and put in a double order for pumpkin pasties from the tea-tray. He then added some chocolate frogs for good measure; he could use cheering up.
The little card bearing Lavender's address was tucked into his top pocket, seeming to burn a hole in his robes. He kept fishing it out, staring, thinking, deciding, as images of her cute smile trotted through his mind and his wandering brain speculated as to what exactly was packed into that little black skirt.
By 5pm he had reached a conclusion - he was set to go there. Which was absolutely fine, wasn't it?
He was just going along to say 'hi', he reasoned. Just visiting an old school friend, nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn't every day you bumped into someone from way-back - perfectly natural to want to go along the next day and catch up. The fact that she used to fancy the pants off him had nothing to do with it. Neither did those plump little curves of hers. Absolutely nothing.
By the time he had made a hasty afternoon-exit and apparated to the street on Lavender's calling card, Ron had almost convinced himself that was the case. The fact that his palms were sweaty and his voice unsteady were completely unrelated, he was sure. He rang the bell of the specified house and waited for a reply, shifting his weight from one foot to the other on the doorstep.
Lavender greeted him with another sunny smile and a beckon inside; she didn't seem at all surprised that he had come. She was dressed, if possible, even more fetchingly than the night before - in a tight pink dress that hugged every curve of her chest, hips and tummy, and finished nice and early to give him a good view of those shapely, rounded legs. Ron found himself feeling very warm in a way that had little to do with the temperature inside Lavender's home.
She led him into the sitting room and gestured to a comfortable sofa. "Do sit down, you must have had a hard day. Being an Auror sounds so demanding!"
"Oh, you know... you have to be pretty tough," agreed Ron, affecting nonchalance as he puffed with pride and took a seat, "And what is it you do, exactly, err, Lavender?"
"I run a catering firm," she replied, settling near to him, "It's just a small company so everyone pitches in with everything - the waitressing, the planning, the cooking - it's going really well, actually! We're called the Gourmet Girls."
"That sounds great!" said Ron with enthusiasm, trying not to think what a tasty little morsel she indeed was.
"Oh, yes, it is. Now, I seem to remember offering you some cake? You clearly weren't tucking in properly last night and I'd take it as an insult if you didn't... sample all my wares..."
Lavender grinned again and the heat at Ron's collar glowed stronger. She then waved her wand and a coffee table laden with home-made cakes and pies and custards and chocolates came into view - all fresh and delicious and enough to feed dozens. Ron's eyes widened as his mouth began to water, and then his stomach growled loudly, causing Lavender to giggle.
"Go on, dig in!" Ron certainly didn't have to be asked twice. He served himself a large potion from five of the cakes at once and set about the serious business of eating.
All of Lavender's cooking was as good as it looked - rich and creamy, zingy and sweet, dark and luscious. Before he knew it, he was reaching for the cake slice once more, sampling pies and pastries in addition to seconds of actual cake, and then it was only fair to take a handful or two of chocolates...
They chatted as they ate, Lavender indulging also, but at a fraction of the rate that Ron was refilling his dish. He complimented her cooking at every turn and certainly meant it; she asked all about his most exciting and important missions as an Auror. All-in-all Ron was delighted at how easily the conversation flowed - but then again, he supposed, they always had got on really well, hadn't they?
By the time Ron was contemplating his fifth generous potion he was beginning to feel a little full. He could feel the heavy weight of cake and pie in his stomach and was aware of the tightness of his belt - even though it was on its very loosest setting. Those sensations began to gnaw at a memory from the previous evening; he'd done his very best to forget the sight of his robeless body in the mirror but the bloated feeling in his gut made that increasingly difficult - the way his stomach had stuck out, how much it had sagged... And what would Hermione say if he got even bigger?! That thought alone was enough to make him put down his fork in panic.
On the other hand, though, Ron did so love the taste of all those cakes... and how he craved the creamy texture of more pie-filling in his mouth; the sensation of swallowing all those silky chocolates! Surely just a little more wouldn't hurt?
Lavender must have noticed his hesitation. "Go on, have some more. You know you want to," she cajoled.
"Oh, I don't know..."
"Why ever not? Oh, unless you're not allowed to, that is." The glint in her eye confirmed the challenge.
Well, that did it. "Allowed? Of course I'm allowed. Yeah, some more would be great, thanks." He scooped several more pieces from the table and bit into one with fervour. Mmmm... strawberry jam...
He'd do whatever he bloody wanted, Ron thought, and right now that was eating cake! He was master of his own destiny, wasn't he? Another few delicious mouthfuls helped him to overcome any residual doubt; he looked just fine, thank you very much. Guys weren't supposed to go around staring in the mirror anyway, not unless they were poofs. And Hermione thought he was getting fat, eh? Well, he'd show her 'fat'! Utter rubbish.
With that, Ron swooped once more upon the tea-table, much to Lavender's delight. She kept the conversation going as he munched and chewed, helpfully suggesting he sample a little more of that pastry, or this cake, or those chocolate truffles.
The attention and the food together were making Ron go light-headed; he hadn't enjoyed himself that much in ages! Added to all that was the sweet sight of Lavender joining in. None of that ridiculous health-and-exercise-regimen business like he saw at home, but a small pink tongue carefully licking crumbs from fingertips and mouth, eyeing the next morsel then rubbing her plump little tummy in repose. It was all Ron could manage to keep eating himself, and not offer to rub it for her. What a gorgeous woman - and so nice, too!
It was all such fun that Ron filled his plate again, just so the visit wouldn't come to an end - or so he reasoned. His belly was starting to feel uncomfortably stretched from the inside from so much food, but he found that he almost...liked the feeling. It was a bit painful, yes, but painful in an... alluring, sensual way... like the bite of a lover's teeth on his shoulder in the throes of orgasm...
Ron slumped in his position on the sofa, the horizontality giving a little relief to his gut in his endeavour to fill it yet further - and he managed a few more mouthfuls, that sweet ache becoming more intense with every swallow. A couple of bites after that, though, Ron thought that he was beaten - he was so full he could barely move and even breathing had become that little bit more difficult - he reckoned he had really better stop.
As he put down his plate and fork, however, Lavender delicately creased her brow. "But Won-Won! There seem to be a few slices of pie left. I do hope you can help me? It would be such a shame for my baking to go to waste." She shuffled across the sofa, pressing her thigh against his, "It would make me really happy if you could eat some more..."
He was pretty much full to bursting, but his mouth was already watering again at her request. "Yeah, sure. I'll see what I can do."
"Oh good!" Lavender giggled, but then her features settled into a far more molten expression. "But first, what about my sweet treat?"
She turned in her seat to face him, perching on the edge of the sofa, pert and ready. Ron stayed perfectly still, unsure as to what would happen but nevertheless feeling his pulse quicken. Lavender then leaned closer, her small hands coming rest on his chest... and then, with a naughty grin, her fingers started to work on the buttons of his shirt, starting at the collar, one by one...
"Lavender... you shouldn't..." Ron protested weakly, but he made no attempt to move or push her away as he lay there, glutted - and suddenly rather aroused.
"Shouldn't I?" she replied, with mock-innocence. "Wouldn't you like to be properly appreciated, then?"
Ron opened his mouth to try to find one compelling reason why this should all stop, but a little stroke in the region of his nipple sealed the deal and he let out an involuntary moan. Merlin, it was ages since Hermione had bothered to do that.
"Yes? Oh, good, I'll carry on then." She tittered and undid a few more buttons.
Lavender's fingers trailed across the flesh she was exposing, leaving tingles in their wake and a pooling of heat in Ron's blood. Very soon his upper half was completely exposed to her caresses, and Ron's head lolled back, eyes closed and lost in the pleasure of the sensations amid indulgent gasps. He didn't think Hermione had ever touched him like this!
When Lavender spoke again, it brought him back to his senses, however. "Quite the little belly we're growing here, eh, Won-Won?" she asked sweetly, giving his full stomach a prod.
"Yeah, um..." He suddenly felt dreadfully uncomfortable. Oh no, her too! And he'd just eaten so much cake. It all suddenly seemed like a very bad idea and he shifted, vainly trying to cover himself, about to move-
"-Don't worry. I like it!"
A moment passed - her smiling, he unsure whether to flee but wondering whether he could even manage to stand. Luckily, however, the expression on Lavender's face told him that she wasn't making fun of him. "You... you do?" He moved his hands back to his sides but tried not to glance down at his swollen middle as he did so, lest he disbelieve her.
"I think it's really cute! And a lovely surprise, actually. You didn't seem to look nearly as soft and yummy at the gala last night in those robes." She applied both hands to his belly, splaying her fingers across the roundness and sending little sparks of electricity all over Ron's skin.
"Err, yeah. A sodding corsetting charm might have had something to do with that." He flashed a dark look off into space.
"She didn't!" Lavender cried, "How cruel! I would never even think to do something like that. A man like you - a real man, that is, Won-Won, ought to be looked after and doted on exactly as he is! Fed and watered, and kept house for, and all sorts of nice things that a proper wife ought to do. Just like your Mum did for your Dad, right?"
That one certainly made Ron think. "...Yeah. Yeah, definitely!" he said, with no small degree of self-righteousness, all while her hands rubbed small, comforting circles across his plumpness, "A man should get to do what he wants! And be fed properly and all that."
Lavender grinned broadly. "Right then! I think I said something about more pie... You just lay back and relax, and..." She brought a sweet, calorie-laden slice to his mouth and Ron opened wide almost before he realized what he was doing.
"Mmmm... that's good..." She did have a point, he thought - and was making it extremely well.
Another mouthful was brought to him, then another. Lavender's fingers trailed across his lips as she fed him and it was impossible not to suck upon those sweet digits just a little as each sinful piece slipped inside. So rich, so good, so hugely full... so full and huge...
Minutes later, Ron had no idea exactly how much more pie he had eaten, but he was positive it was an awful lot. The thing was, it was just so wonderful - lying back, being fed so attentively, feeling her hands all over his torso - he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. It was as if he could stay there forever.
His stomach, however, was beginning to have other ideas. Ron had long passed feeling uncomfortably-full and then he felt stuffed to bursting. "Oh God... it's so lovely, but..." he murmured between creamy mouthfuls, "I really don't think I can eat any more right now..."
"Oh?" Lavender pouted prettily, still teasing his lips with her touch. "But there's so much left." She then wrinkled her brow in the illusion of thought. "Maybe I could ease things a little for you..." She placed her hands squarely on his belly - hardened and straining upwards in distended protest - and began to massage.
Luckily for Ron, self-conciousness in Lavender's presence had long since disappeared; there wasn't the slightest chance he could have sucked in his stomach even if he had wanted to, and right then he couldn't think of anything save the feel of her hands as they rubbed his stuffed belly, vaguely hoping she could stretch it larger to relieve the pressure of food. He found it all so delightful that any sense of time and place blurred away, eyes closing dreamily, drifting off on a glutted cloud of fat and sugar. In fact, Ron barely noticed when her hands slipped under his gut to his belt buckle, undoing his trousers... Barely noticed, that is, until one round little hand was clutching his erection.
"Oh God..." he moaned, eyes squeezed shut, stomach and cock both engorged and pushed upwards into her delicious touch. He felt so full and tight all over... but he was greedy, he wanted more. "Keep going..."
She quickened her pace with a smug chuckle and brought another rich slice of dessert to his lips, which Ron devoured with abandon. He felt like he was going to explode... but what a wonderful explosion it would be.
"Yessss..." he hissed, and was then struck by a thought that made his pulse race even faster. "Now feed me and fuck me..."
Lavender chuckled happily. She must have been thinking along the same lines, because a flick of the wand and mere seconds later they were both naked and she had straddled his prone form, welcoming him into her flesh as she crammed yet more pie down his throat -
- God, it was brilliant. Sinfully, wickedly brilliant.
Lavender's big boobs bobbed in Ron's line of sight and he gratefully pawed at them while her own full little belly rubbed against his hugely swollen gut and they bucked together urgently and artlessly. Absolutely bloody marvellous; just what he wanted. None of that making-love-once-a-month-in-carefully-subdued-lighting like he got at home, but real and rude and piggishly gorgeously almost-painful...and... and...
...Ron came hard with a shout, and Lavender followed swiftly after him.
It took some while for them to regain their breath, but when Lavender moved away she was smiling and rubbing his middle once more. "There's plenty more where that came from, you know, Won-Won," she said with a giggle, "And I can make more pie."
Ron's brain barely functioned but he knew already that a repeat performance would be too good to pass up. "Bloody hell, yeah."
"Wonderful! I'll see you after work tomorrow then. I'll make your favourite flavour."
Ron grinned as he lolled. Everything about him felt limp and sated... save his belly of course, which was achingly taut and sated. For the first time that day he brought his own hands to his paunch and felt the size. Impressive, he thought, as his palms overflowed with his straining, wobbly flesh. Getting bloody huge, actually!
Ron grinned again. He was a glutton for food and a glutton for love. He decided that from then on, he was going to revel in every minute of it.
Author: PurpleFluffyCat
Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Ron/Lavender
Rating: hard R
Words: About 6000
Warnings: Infidelity
Summary: Henpecked at home, Ron - and his appetite - are tempted elsewhere... but what sweet treats will he find awaiting him?
Notes: Written for the 'Ronald Weasley Gourmet, Gourmand or Glutton Challenge' by chuffed4angst
Being married to Hermione was... challenging. After over ten years of it, Ron felt that he certainly deserved a medal of some sort, and probably a hefty cash bonus. He was accustomed to the nagging, of course:
"Don't leave those lying around."
"Have you remembered what day it is?"
"Do you ever think before you act, Ron?"
That sort of thing was as natural as the sky was blue or that the Chudley Cannons were the best team imaginable. However, just as he was then passing thirty, Ron started to notice a new theme being introduced to Hermione's daily moans and complaints, and it was all about... Ron shuddered to even think the words... it was all about his figure.
"I'd skip dessert today if I were you, Ron."
"Shall we sit down just the two of us, or will your stomach be joining us, too?"
"I'm amazed those trousers even do up any more."
As to the last of those statements, Ron couldn't deny the obvious truth. He had outgrown a lot of his clothes lately, and not in the impressive gaining-muscle-mass sort of way, either.
Yeah, ok, he thought, he was a bit thicker around the middle these days. But he was sure it was hardly anything, really. An inch, maybe - two, at the absolute max. Hardly anything to worry about. Barely noticeable, even; he couldn't see why Hermione was making such a fuss - but then again, he reflected, she got her knickers in a twist about anything at all.
The truth was that Ron loved to eat - always had done and always would, as far as he was concerned. The fact that he'd given up playing Quidditch that year in favour of more time in the pub had done nothing to dull his appetite, and although life as an Auror had it's exciting moments, there was nothing like a plate of pumpkin pasties to get you through a day of boring paperwork in the office. In fact, he had them directly supplied.
Lately, though, she'd become pretty unbearable about it. It was all to do with some swanky affair at the Magical Law Enforcement Association - she had just passed the final exams needed to reach judicial status and was being sworn-in at a gala ball later that month. It meant a lot to Hermione and Ron was proud of her, he really was - he knew he was one-hundred percent supportive. He didn't see, however, what all this had to do with his waistline, and thought that the daily disparaging comments and prods to his middle were getting really over the top.
The knut finally dropped however, one evening when Hermione started talking about the dress code for this gala-thingy. "I've told you a thousand times, Ron, that it's a formal occasion."
"Yeah, but you didn't say I've have to get frocked up in dress robes and everything!"
"That surely is the meaning of the term 'formal'? Or have you been living under a rock for the past thirty years?"
Oh bugger, those dress robes. They were without a doubt the finest and more expensive items of clothing he owned - bought about a year ago by Hermione at great expense for their tenth anniversary. Silk and cashmere with unicorn-mane embroidery at the collar, and designed to be closely form-fitting, they had been snug at the time of purchase. Ron hadn't tried them on for a long while, and buying new ones was completely out of the question for reasons of both cost and deeply-held sentimental value... but they'd be ok still... Surely they'd be ok?
Hermione must have seen all of that registering on his face. "I'm putting you on a strict diet, effective immediately. You have serious weight to loose before the end of the month, Ronald Weasley."
"Rubbish!" he protested, "I'm not any different!"
Hermione merely raised her eyebrows and grabbed at the flesh around his middle before stalking off. If his gut had wobbled up and down in her hand, Ron reasoned afterwards, it was only because she had squeezed unreasonably hard - the same would surely happen to anyone.
*****
The days following that fateful conversation became increasingly unpleasant as enforced starvation and the attendant resentment it caused took up residence in the household. No matter how much he complained, Hermione wouldn't give Ron his proper meals and snacks, insisting he ate only salads and healthy steamed fish and chicken in small portions, all while eyeing his stomach suspiciously.
Ron was miserable and his innards were growling incessantly. He was desperate for something greasy... something sweet... something tasty. It was therefore only a matter of time before the sneaky trips to fast-food purveyors started - and once began, they continued with fervour and abandon.
He just loved food, Ron thought, as he crammed his mouth with sweet treats for the third time one day... He wasn't really getting fat, he could handle it. He was a free man, wasn't he? And just to prove how free he was, he decided to order a second round of chips and donuts.
So what if he was already full? Never mind if these little trips to see him through that diet had burgeoned into his consuming more calories on a daily basis than he ever had before. It was his choice, wasn't it? And maybe he liked the feeling of his stomach stretching with more food than it could really take, maybe it helped him to cram in another mouthful, then another...
*****
With alarming speed the day of the gala arrived, and with yet further rapidity the moment came when it was time to get ready. Hermione had been dressed for hours already, looking beautiful in dark blue silk and quadruple-checking every detail of the ceremony to make sure she'd get it right. She herded Ron into the bedroom. "Right, I've laid out your robes on the bed. According to my calculations you should have slimmed down enough by now to wear them, so put them on and let's get going."
"Er, right," said Ron, and then he was left alone with nothing but those terrifyingly expensive garments for company.
Ron stripped and put on the robes... or he tried to, that is.
The trousers must have shrunk in the wash or something, he grumbled, because he could barely pull them up over his arse and there was no way they'd do up at the fly - they must have been boiled inches too small. That didn't really matter, though, Ron reasoned, because the posh top-robe buttoned and belted all the way down the front and reached nearly to the floor; he could leave the trousers open if all people would see of them were his ankles.
He slid the robe from its hanger and put his arms through, a little surprised he hadn't remembered how tight the armholes were. Then he came to the fastenings, and came to pull the sides of fabric across his front, but-
-No way would they button up! Not a chance. He couldn't even get the fastenings close to each other! However, that was really strange, Ron thought, because there's no way that Hermione would have washed a garment like that in hot water. Which only left the idea that... oh, God.
With a gulp, and for the first time in months, Ron turned to look in the mirror. The sight that greeted him was rather a shock. There seemed to be absolutely acres of space between the buttons and buttonholes, his stomach pouting out of the gap as it rolled over the waistband of his boxers, and the unfastened dress trousers ridiculously stretched across his hips in a wide 'v.' Bloody hell, that wasn't really him, was it? He moved the robe further apart to get a better look.
Oh, Merlin! He simply couldn't believe the size of his belly. It was huge, and round and... so flabby. His navel was a black hole embedded in soft flesh and fine red hairs, and turning sideways - oh crap! - he saw just how spectacularly it all protruded. Lifting his arms revealed yet another surprise - little white stretch marks painted over his abdomen - and his sides were covered in dimples and softly forming rolls. Rolls!
My God. Bloody arsing hell! Ron was in an utter panic. How on earth could have this happened? Why the hell hadn't someone just told him?!
To make matters worse, of course, he still had to do something about those robes - Hermione has said they had to leave in about twenty minutes... and that must have been at least ten minutes ago. Frantically, Ron tried to remember some expansion charms. He waved his wand ineffectually at the fabric a few times, and then finally managed to get it to grow a bit - warping the embroidery horribly but buying him a few precious inches.
His magic, however, was at its limit and the robe still didn't close. There was nothing else for it, thought Ron, he'd have to try to suck in his gut and squeeze.
That, of course, was easier said than done. His stomach muscles had practically no tone left in them after months of laziness and there just seemed to be too much flesh to shepherd into it's casing - pinching and oozing everywhere, and forcing nearly-there buttons apart when Ron absolutely had to snatch a breath for fear of suffocation.
Finally, however, by some sort of miracle, he managed it. The robes were as tight as hell as they stretched perilously around his gut, buttons straining and creaking, but - mercifully - they were on.
"Ron? Ron? Where are you?" came Hermione's voice from the hall, and Ron reflected that he had fastened himself in not a second too soon.
"Just coming..."
Thankfully, she seemed too preoccupied to assess his appearance when he joined her. "Come on! We're late! Have you got your ticket?"
His ticket? Oh God, where was that? "Err, yeah..." Ron replied vaguely, eyes scanning the room. Luckily, he spotted it - where he must have left it on the floor, about a metre from where he was currently standing, "It's just here." In a rush, he bent over to pick up the crisp piece of parchment - and then recoiled in horror when an almighty ripping sound rent both the air and his robes.
Hermione gasped as shreds of embroidered silk fell to the floor. "What have you done?"
"I, errr..." Ron shuffled from one foot to the other, all too aware of the fresh air on his now-exposed belly and the limp strands of shredded fabric pulled across his flabby sides.
"You've swelled into a fat pig, that's what!" She was nearly in hysterics. "Just look at this mess! Just look at your gut!. And to think I believed you were on a diet..."
"Oh, come on now-"
"Don't you 'come on,' me, Ronald Weasley. I told you about those dress robes. I told you you'd have to loose weight. So I've been cooking you nutritionally-balanced slimming meals for over four weeks, just so you could look nice this evening, and you've been... you've must have been gorging yourself. Positively gorging yourself while I wasn't looking, to get like... like that. And now they don't fit, and everyone's going to be staring, and the whole thing will be ruined! Couldn't you, just once, just once have bothered to care about something that was important to me? Would it have really hurt to make an effort to look presentable at my inauguration? But, oh no! You had to go on indiscriminately stuffing your face with every object that didn't move until your seams split!"
"Oh, honestly, Hermione. It's not that I don't care, I-"
A wave of her hand cut Ron's sentence short and her demeanor suddenly snapped into one of dangerous calm. "There isn't time for any of that. We're already fifteen minutes late. We're going to have to fix it." Hermione then produced her wand and pointed it somewhat sharply in Ron's direction. She muttered a charm which repaired the worse of the damage to the robes as they hung limply around him in. "There."
Garments once more intact, Ron, however, felt no more hopeful. "Well, ok. You've done up the tears... but to be honest they're just going to rip again when I button them up again, aren't they?
"No, they aren't," said Hermione, with a steely glint in her eye that Ron had learned to dread. "Not after this." She then pointed her wand toward him once more - or more specifically toward his burgeoning midsection. "Lacio Strictus."
It was not a charm that Ron had heard before but he soon dearly wished never to hear it again. As soon as the words were uttered, he felt an invisible grip all over his pudgy stomach, back and sides, which squeezed him in.... "What the...?" he asked in consternation, to be answered only be Hermione's measured gaze.
The pressure was gentle at first, but it soon became stronger and stronger until Ron's belly was squashed in further than it had been for months, the fleshy acres of it moulded by the strictures of a vice-like grip... and then yet more, until he was afraid he'd be cut in half and would never breathe again... "Oh my God, Hermione! This bloody hurts! You're killing me!"
"Nonsense. It's perfectly safe; witches used to do it all the time. You'll just have to get used to it. I think five inches should just about do the trick." She looked a little thoughtful. "Maybe six."
With that, she waved her wand again and the constriction stopped dead at the agonizing level it had reached. Another flick saw the fastenings of Ron's robes meet - just about - across his middle; even with the charm, his paunch was obvious.
"You can't seriously expect me to go out like this..." Ron wheezed in desperation. He knew the answer all too clearly in advance however.
"If you've grown too fat for your robes, you'll have to be corsetted into them," Hermione answered briskly. "Now get into the Floo."
*****
Ron managed to pass the evening without passing out - just. Hermione's promise that the bloody awful constricting charm was perfectly safe was proving to be true, but that didn't mean that Ron liked it one bit. He couldn't take a proper lungful of air, and he was sure he'd be black and blue when it was taken off. If it was taken off, he thought with a shudder, but then reckoned that even Hermione wouldn't be that cruel.
The gala, to be frank, was deathly boring. Hermione spent the whole time in deep conversation with geriatric lawmakers of the dullest sort, leaving Ron to alternately pretend to listen, go off and talk to someone else equally boring or just skulk around in the corner. Of those options, he tended to favour the third - which gave him plenty of time to further lament his discomfort and fantasize about being released from such tortures.
One of the many downsides of the sodding corsetting charm, Ron found, was that he couldn't manage to properly indulge in the groaning buffet table that was laid out for the guests' pleasure. And oh, he felt so hungry! There were kebabs and pasties and cream cakes and lots of and lots of chocolate, and although he'd done his best to put away a few platefuls there was no way that he could eat as much as he wanted while being cut in two. Instead, he took to eyeing all that bounteous food mournfully, feeling his stomach rumble even as it was pinched, and resentfully dwelling on thoughts of cakes and pies; the mental images of his chubby body from only hours previous had evaporated completely.
It was in that state that his attention was caught by bounty of a completely different sort near the buffet table - a plump little arse bobbing along in a short black skirt. It came with an equally ample bosom being paraded in a blouse that was probably designed to encase rather less than with which it was challenged. Whoever that waitress was, Ron thought, she was damn tasty.
Hermione's willowy form was all very well, but truth be told, Ron had always appreciated something to grab hold of on a woman, and this buxom little number definitely turned his eye. It was only when the waitress turned around that Ron realized he had seen that face before.
"Lavender?!" He called out in surprise, "Err... excuse me, you aren't Lavender Brown, are you?"
Slowly, the waitress faced him. "The very same." she replied coyly, her lack of surprise suggesting she had spotted Ron some time before, "Why, if it isn't Ron Weasley."
"Oh, gosh, yeah." He suddenly felt all tongue tied, especially as she adjusted her posture to make the cleavage even more apparent. "So, err... how have you been?"
Lavender laughed. "Very well, thank you. I'm doing wonderfully!" She was pretty; he had always found her pretty. "Why don't you have some cake? I remember you always liked your food." She gestured toward the impressive spread before them.
"Yeah... but, I can't right now..."
Ron must have betrayed far more than he had intended in that second. Female and wily, Lavender glanced at Hermione mixing with the crowds then raised her eyebrows and leaned toward him with a lowered voice. "Ooooh. So how about you come to my house for tea and cake after work tomorrow, then. And I'll make pie."
"Oh. Um. That's very nice of you-"
"-Good!" She flashed him a smile. "Here's my address." A small card was plucked from inside the top of her robes as Ron still tried not to stare at that impressive bosom, and then pressed into his hand. "See you then... Won-Won." Another smile and wink, and then she disappeared into the crowds bearing canapés.
The rest of the evening passed without event, and when they got home, Hermione made sure that Ron had undone all of the robes' fastenings before she would remove the tight-lacing charm... and that wasn't until she had spoken at length about some legal sub-clause that had been the topic of one of the evening's discussions. A couple of muttered words, however, and then he was free - air flooded back into his lungs with such relief Ron didn't care how far his belly flopped forwards. He didn't care, that is, until he registered the expression of mild distaste on Hermione's features.
She didn't say anything, however. Just, "Good night, then," before going to change into her sensible pyjamas. He certainly wasn't going to get his leg over tonight, then, thought Ron balefully. Not that that was news; they hardly ever did it any more.
With grumpy thoughts of a sore, hungry stomach - treacherously interlaced with notions of cream cakes and a round little arse and tits - Ron soon fell to sleep.
*****
The following morning was business as usual in the Weasley-Granger household. They had a perfunctory chat and then went about their business for the day - each to work, neither with a solid home-time at the other end.
Arriving at the office, Ron felt his rebellious streak surfacing and put in a double order for pumpkin pasties from the tea-tray. He then added some chocolate frogs for good measure; he could use cheering up.
The little card bearing Lavender's address was tucked into his top pocket, seeming to burn a hole in his robes. He kept fishing it out, staring, thinking, deciding, as images of her cute smile trotted through his mind and his wandering brain speculated as to what exactly was packed into that little black skirt.
By 5pm he had reached a conclusion - he was set to go there. Which was absolutely fine, wasn't it?
He was just going along to say 'hi', he reasoned. Just visiting an old school friend, nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn't every day you bumped into someone from way-back - perfectly natural to want to go along the next day and catch up. The fact that she used to fancy the pants off him had nothing to do with it. Neither did those plump little curves of hers. Absolutely nothing.
By the time he had made a hasty afternoon-exit and apparated to the street on Lavender's calling card, Ron had almost convinced himself that was the case. The fact that his palms were sweaty and his voice unsteady were completely unrelated, he was sure. He rang the bell of the specified house and waited for a reply, shifting his weight from one foot to the other on the doorstep.
Lavender greeted him with another sunny smile and a beckon inside; she didn't seem at all surprised that he had come. She was dressed, if possible, even more fetchingly than the night before - in a tight pink dress that hugged every curve of her chest, hips and tummy, and finished nice and early to give him a good view of those shapely, rounded legs. Ron found himself feeling very warm in a way that had little to do with the temperature inside Lavender's home.
She led him into the sitting room and gestured to a comfortable sofa. "Do sit down, you must have had a hard day. Being an Auror sounds so demanding!"
"Oh, you know... you have to be pretty tough," agreed Ron, affecting nonchalance as he puffed with pride and took a seat, "And what is it you do, exactly, err, Lavender?"
"I run a catering firm," she replied, settling near to him, "It's just a small company so everyone pitches in with everything - the waitressing, the planning, the cooking - it's going really well, actually! We're called the Gourmet Girls."
"That sounds great!" said Ron with enthusiasm, trying not to think what a tasty little morsel she indeed was.
"Oh, yes, it is. Now, I seem to remember offering you some cake? You clearly weren't tucking in properly last night and I'd take it as an insult if you didn't... sample all my wares..."
Lavender grinned again and the heat at Ron's collar glowed stronger. She then waved her wand and a coffee table laden with home-made cakes and pies and custards and chocolates came into view - all fresh and delicious and enough to feed dozens. Ron's eyes widened as his mouth began to water, and then his stomach growled loudly, causing Lavender to giggle.
"Go on, dig in!" Ron certainly didn't have to be asked twice. He served himself a large potion from five of the cakes at once and set about the serious business of eating.
All of Lavender's cooking was as good as it looked - rich and creamy, zingy and sweet, dark and luscious. Before he knew it, he was reaching for the cake slice once more, sampling pies and pastries in addition to seconds of actual cake, and then it was only fair to take a handful or two of chocolates...
They chatted as they ate, Lavender indulging also, but at a fraction of the rate that Ron was refilling his dish. He complimented her cooking at every turn and certainly meant it; she asked all about his most exciting and important missions as an Auror. All-in-all Ron was delighted at how easily the conversation flowed - but then again, he supposed, they always had got on really well, hadn't they?
By the time Ron was contemplating his fifth generous potion he was beginning to feel a little full. He could feel the heavy weight of cake and pie in his stomach and was aware of the tightness of his belt - even though it was on its very loosest setting. Those sensations began to gnaw at a memory from the previous evening; he'd done his very best to forget the sight of his robeless body in the mirror but the bloated feeling in his gut made that increasingly difficult - the way his stomach had stuck out, how much it had sagged... And what would Hermione say if he got even bigger?! That thought alone was enough to make him put down his fork in panic.
On the other hand, though, Ron did so love the taste of all those cakes... and how he craved the creamy texture of more pie-filling in his mouth; the sensation of swallowing all those silky chocolates! Surely just a little more wouldn't hurt?
Lavender must have noticed his hesitation. "Go on, have some more. You know you want to," she cajoled.
"Oh, I don't know..."
"Why ever not? Oh, unless you're not allowed to, that is." The glint in her eye confirmed the challenge.
Well, that did it. "Allowed? Of course I'm allowed. Yeah, some more would be great, thanks." He scooped several more pieces from the table and bit into one with fervour. Mmmm... strawberry jam...
He'd do whatever he bloody wanted, Ron thought, and right now that was eating cake! He was master of his own destiny, wasn't he? Another few delicious mouthfuls helped him to overcome any residual doubt; he looked just fine, thank you very much. Guys weren't supposed to go around staring in the mirror anyway, not unless they were poofs. And Hermione thought he was getting fat, eh? Well, he'd show her 'fat'! Utter rubbish.
With that, Ron swooped once more upon the tea-table, much to Lavender's delight. She kept the conversation going as he munched and chewed, helpfully suggesting he sample a little more of that pastry, or this cake, or those chocolate truffles.
The attention and the food together were making Ron go light-headed; he hadn't enjoyed himself that much in ages! Added to all that was the sweet sight of Lavender joining in. None of that ridiculous health-and-exercise-regimen business like he saw at home, but a small pink tongue carefully licking crumbs from fingertips and mouth, eyeing the next morsel then rubbing her plump little tummy in repose. It was all Ron could manage to keep eating himself, and not offer to rub it for her. What a gorgeous woman - and so nice, too!
It was all such fun that Ron filled his plate again, just so the visit wouldn't come to an end - or so he reasoned. His belly was starting to feel uncomfortably stretched from the inside from so much food, but he found that he almost...liked the feeling. It was a bit painful, yes, but painful in an... alluring, sensual way... like the bite of a lover's teeth on his shoulder in the throes of orgasm...
Ron slumped in his position on the sofa, the horizontality giving a little relief to his gut in his endeavour to fill it yet further - and he managed a few more mouthfuls, that sweet ache becoming more intense with every swallow. A couple of bites after that, though, Ron thought that he was beaten - he was so full he could barely move and even breathing had become that little bit more difficult - he reckoned he had really better stop.
As he put down his plate and fork, however, Lavender delicately creased her brow. "But Won-Won! There seem to be a few slices of pie left. I do hope you can help me? It would be such a shame for my baking to go to waste." She shuffled across the sofa, pressing her thigh against his, "It would make me really happy if you could eat some more..."
He was pretty much full to bursting, but his mouth was already watering again at her request. "Yeah, sure. I'll see what I can do."
"Oh good!" Lavender giggled, but then her features settled into a far more molten expression. "But first, what about my sweet treat?"
She turned in her seat to face him, perching on the edge of the sofa, pert and ready. Ron stayed perfectly still, unsure as to what would happen but nevertheless feeling his pulse quicken. Lavender then leaned closer, her small hands coming rest on his chest... and then, with a naughty grin, her fingers started to work on the buttons of his shirt, starting at the collar, one by one...
"Lavender... you shouldn't..." Ron protested weakly, but he made no attempt to move or push her away as he lay there, glutted - and suddenly rather aroused.
"Shouldn't I?" she replied, with mock-innocence. "Wouldn't you like to be properly appreciated, then?"
Ron opened his mouth to try to find one compelling reason why this should all stop, but a little stroke in the region of his nipple sealed the deal and he let out an involuntary moan. Merlin, it was ages since Hermione had bothered to do that.
"Yes? Oh, good, I'll carry on then." She tittered and undid a few more buttons.
Lavender's fingers trailed across the flesh she was exposing, leaving tingles in their wake and a pooling of heat in Ron's blood. Very soon his upper half was completely exposed to her caresses, and Ron's head lolled back, eyes closed and lost in the pleasure of the sensations amid indulgent gasps. He didn't think Hermione had ever touched him like this!
When Lavender spoke again, it brought him back to his senses, however. "Quite the little belly we're growing here, eh, Won-Won?" she asked sweetly, giving his full stomach a prod.
"Yeah, um..." He suddenly felt dreadfully uncomfortable. Oh no, her too! And he'd just eaten so much cake. It all suddenly seemed like a very bad idea and he shifted, vainly trying to cover himself, about to move-
"-Don't worry. I like it!"
A moment passed - her smiling, he unsure whether to flee but wondering whether he could even manage to stand. Luckily, however, the expression on Lavender's face told him that she wasn't making fun of him. "You... you do?" He moved his hands back to his sides but tried not to glance down at his swollen middle as he did so, lest he disbelieve her.
"I think it's really cute! And a lovely surprise, actually. You didn't seem to look nearly as soft and yummy at the gala last night in those robes." She applied both hands to his belly, splaying her fingers across the roundness and sending little sparks of electricity all over Ron's skin.
"Err, yeah. A sodding corsetting charm might have had something to do with that." He flashed a dark look off into space.
"She didn't!" Lavender cried, "How cruel! I would never even think to do something like that. A man like you - a real man, that is, Won-Won, ought to be looked after and doted on exactly as he is! Fed and watered, and kept house for, and all sorts of nice things that a proper wife ought to do. Just like your Mum did for your Dad, right?"
That one certainly made Ron think. "...Yeah. Yeah, definitely!" he said, with no small degree of self-righteousness, all while her hands rubbed small, comforting circles across his plumpness, "A man should get to do what he wants! And be fed properly and all that."
Lavender grinned broadly. "Right then! I think I said something about more pie... You just lay back and relax, and..." She brought a sweet, calorie-laden slice to his mouth and Ron opened wide almost before he realized what he was doing.
"Mmmm... that's good..." She did have a point, he thought - and was making it extremely well.
Another mouthful was brought to him, then another. Lavender's fingers trailed across his lips as she fed him and it was impossible not to suck upon those sweet digits just a little as each sinful piece slipped inside. So rich, so good, so hugely full... so full and huge...
Minutes later, Ron had no idea exactly how much more pie he had eaten, but he was positive it was an awful lot. The thing was, it was just so wonderful - lying back, being fed so attentively, feeling her hands all over his torso - he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. It was as if he could stay there forever.
His stomach, however, was beginning to have other ideas. Ron had long passed feeling uncomfortably-full and then he felt stuffed to bursting. "Oh God... it's so lovely, but..." he murmured between creamy mouthfuls, "I really don't think I can eat any more right now..."
"Oh?" Lavender pouted prettily, still teasing his lips with her touch. "But there's so much left." She then wrinkled her brow in the illusion of thought. "Maybe I could ease things a little for you..." She placed her hands squarely on his belly - hardened and straining upwards in distended protest - and began to massage.
Luckily for Ron, self-conciousness in Lavender's presence had long since disappeared; there wasn't the slightest chance he could have sucked in his stomach even if he had wanted to, and right then he couldn't think of anything save the feel of her hands as they rubbed his stuffed belly, vaguely hoping she could stretch it larger to relieve the pressure of food. He found it all so delightful that any sense of time and place blurred away, eyes closing dreamily, drifting off on a glutted cloud of fat and sugar. In fact, Ron barely noticed when her hands slipped under his gut to his belt buckle, undoing his trousers... Barely noticed, that is, until one round little hand was clutching his erection.
"Oh God..." he moaned, eyes squeezed shut, stomach and cock both engorged and pushed upwards into her delicious touch. He felt so full and tight all over... but he was greedy, he wanted more. "Keep going..."
She quickened her pace with a smug chuckle and brought another rich slice of dessert to his lips, which Ron devoured with abandon. He felt like he was going to explode... but what a wonderful explosion it would be.
"Yessss..." he hissed, and was then struck by a thought that made his pulse race even faster. "Now feed me and fuck me..."
Lavender chuckled happily. She must have been thinking along the same lines, because a flick of the wand and mere seconds later they were both naked and she had straddled his prone form, welcoming him into her flesh as she crammed yet more pie down his throat -
- God, it was brilliant. Sinfully, wickedly brilliant.
Lavender's big boobs bobbed in Ron's line of sight and he gratefully pawed at them while her own full little belly rubbed against his hugely swollen gut and they bucked together urgently and artlessly. Absolutely bloody marvellous; just what he wanted. None of that making-love-once-a-month-in-carefully-subdued-lighting like he got at home, but real and rude and piggishly gorgeously almost-painful...and... and...
...Ron came hard with a shout, and Lavender followed swiftly after him.
It took some while for them to regain their breath, but when Lavender moved away she was smiling and rubbing his middle once more. "There's plenty more where that came from, you know, Won-Won," she said with a giggle, "And I can make more pie."
Ron's brain barely functioned but he knew already that a repeat performance would be too good to pass up. "Bloody hell, yeah."
"Wonderful! I'll see you after work tomorrow then. I'll make your favourite flavour."
Ron grinned as he lolled. Everything about him felt limp and sated... save his belly of course, which was achingly taut and sated. For the first time that day he brought his own hands to his paunch and felt the size. Impressive, he thought, as his palms overflowed with his straining, wobbly flesh. Getting bloody huge, actually!
Ron grinned again. He was a glutton for food and a glutton for love. He decided that from then on, he was going to revel in every minute of it.