Have Dimbe take Vanessa home and continue your evening

“Dimbe, please take Vanessa home, and I’ll be willing to bet you a night with any female patron you desire that her fat fuck of a daddy doesn’t last a week,” Katie offered. “Deal,” Dimbe said, shaking her hand and moving to remove the **** Vanessa from her spot sprawled out on the office chair. Katie turned around and headed back down the hallway into a main dining area that teamed with patrons. Katie walked about for a few minutes shaking hands with the proverbial high rollers—people who had a lot of money and came to the restaurant often. Every time she greeted a wealthy man, Katie made sure to bend over to shake his hand, giving the male patrons plenty of time to view her dangling breasts, and thus ensuring that they’d return at some point, probably quite soon.

Katie looked with pleasure upon the room. In one corner was a busty bar tender separating men from their money as she occasionally poured expensive wine all over her gorgeous chest. More tips and more sales that way. In another corner was a waitress a man who looked like a man of the cloth exiting the restaurant with a well-endowed waitress. “Father Connors, you ol’ dog you,” Katie said with a smile. She glanced down a dark hall, at the end of which she spied what was probably Dimbe dragging the beautiful Vanessa by her arms out of the restaurant and into the car that he would use to take her home. In the middle of all this sat the cream of the crop of fat, corrupt, and rich men opening their wallets, their own mouths, and often the legs of the women they wooed. It was splendid.

“Wait a minute,” Katie said, cocking an eyebrow. In the midst of all the men guzzling their beers and scarfing down their steaks, there sat a woman alone eating something Katie couldn’t quite make herself believe she saw. She moved in a little closer, as one does when hoping not to scare away a rare animal. “Dammit,” Katie said, “I can’t fucking see,” so she moved closer again and squinted again. “Is that a—,” she started. It was. It was indeed. “—a motherfucking salad!” Katie exclaimed. There upon the plate of this lone vegetarian warrior, this iconoclast, this calorie-counting rebel in a land where rolls of fat popped as often as rolls of bubble paper, sat an understated, elegant mass of green that, if the rumors about produce were true, had been neatly and painlessly picked from the ground rather than throttled into submission by the bare hands of some carnivorous conqueror clad in overalls and flannel (no doubt with “Strangle Hold” blasting in the background). “What. The. Hell.!?” Katie said.

Katie grabbed a nearby waiter. “Who is that woman?” she demanded of the pimple-faced busboy. “Uh, that’s Milyenka Rusenkov,” the boy said. “That name’s a bit of a mouthful,” Katie commented. “Yeah,” the waiter replied, “she’s a ballerina from some place in Eastern Europe. Started coming in a couple weeks ago, and I guess she just likes the salads, ‘cause that’s all she ever buys,” and the boy was off to his next table. “Well that won’t do,” Katie said as she approached the woman.

Milyenka was a woman of about 28 with long dark hair cascading down her back. She had high cheekbones and a firm, toned body all over. Her arms were thin and muscular; her boobs were pert. Her abs were flat as a board, and her legs were toned and fit, with a nice tight rump and thighs that, from the looks of her, touched pretty much never. “Hello,” Katie said, walking up to this lone woman, “I’m Katie, and I’m the new owner.” Milyenka looked up pleasantly as she shook Katie’s hand, “My name Milyenka Rusenkov,” she said, her voice dripping with a very heavy and very rough (if that is the right word) Eastern European accent, “I like food here very much salad is very great thank you,” she said, clearly knowing English but not quite being really comfortable speaking it around native speakers. “Well, you know we do have some other things too, if you’d like. We’ve got puddings and cakes and brownies and things, and they taste very good,” she said, looking down at the awkward but friendly woman with a smile. Milyenka paused for a minute, as if trying to make sure she knew in her head what all those English words meant before she answered.

“No very thank you though,” she said, “must stay small as I must competition soon in ballet so must no be big,” she said, always keeping the pleasant smile but using predictably broken English. Bless her blockage-free little heart for giving English her best shot though. “All right, well do find me if you need anything,” Katie said as she walked away. Milyenka waved kindly and went back to her salad in silence. “The nerve of that bitch,” Katie said to herself as she walked off into a corner to watch events unfold some more, “I’m all for a healthy meat suit, if for no other reason than to make sure I don’t keel over when I jump into my next one, but dammit, this is a restaurant where people are supposed to enjoy eating. Greenery is a food of the weak, and anyone who consumes only greenery and takes pride in a fucking thigh gap of all things deserves to be strapped to a gurney and fed pure fat via IV,” Katie seethed.

Katie paced about in the back of the restaurant for a few minutes, making sure the bar was running along smoothly and that the waitresses had enough buttons undone on their tops to keep the men around. She happened to glance over and see the beautiful, fit Rusenkov wipe her mouth politely with a napkin, stand from her table, and head to the bathroom. “Wrongs must be righted,” she said with great determination, as she quickly clicked her high heels in the direction of the restroom. She stepped gingerly through the door and found Rusenkov standing at the mirror in the midst of fixing her hair or something. A lacey white top covered her breasts and torso. She turned around when she heard the door close.

A look of surprise crossed her face when she saw Katie, the woman who had addressed her before. “Um, still I want only salad because it is very good thank you,” she said, seemingly automatically since the proper English response would have been closer to “What the fuck are you doing in here?” Katie grabbed the woman roughly by the shoulders and spun her around so that she was again looking in the mirror. Her face betrayed a look of **** confusion and fear, and she tensed up, ready to scream. Suddenly, Katie placed her hand firmly on the woman’s lower back. A red glow enveloped Katie’s eyes, as it did Rusenkov’s. The ballerina’s taut body relaxed. Her mouth hung open, and she seemed to have her eyes about half closed. “Here’s the deal,” Katie began, “you’re in my fucking restaurant, so what I say goes,” she said firmly, “and I say that you are so very hungry that no salad will ever fill you,” she sad as she leaned is close and whispered into the woman’s ear. “No salad,” she replied. “That’s right,” Katie affirmed, “you want brownies and chocolate and cakes and sweets,” Katie declared. The entranced woman pushed back, “Must stay small, must competition soon.” Katie just laughed. “Yes, you want to stay small, but the food is so undeniably good. The chocolate fudge as it tumbles down your throat is some warm and wonderful, the cake icing tastes so good as you move it around inside your mouth. You’ve denied yourself all these things for years while training for all your precious competitions, but no longer,” Katie said, a delightful smile crossing her face as she beheld her enthralled, gluttonous prey, resting her head on the woman’s shoulder like a little devil who urges people to forget their inhibitions.

Katie reached her free hand around to Rusenkov’s front and massaged her stomach delightfully. “You’ll eat all of these things when you get back to your table until you can physically eat no more for the night. Only then will you stop, my little glutton. You’ll gaze down in confusion at yourself. You didn’t want to eat so much, but you just couldn’t stop.” “Could not stop,” the woman said, slowly nodding her head. “But you love it so very much that you will come back here tomorrow to do the very same thing all over again, and you’ll look down at your plump little body, your pudgy little belly,” she said as she massaged it some more, “and you’ll realize that you’re losing control, but that it feels so good.” “Pudgy belly feels good,” the woman echoed.

“Oh and let’s throw in some sloth while we’re at it,” Katie said, “wouldn’t want my little Pillsbury Dough Ballerina to be getting an ideas about physical fitness, so you’ll be slow, lethargic, and tired, but nearly always hungry!” “Pudgy belly, plump . . . hungry,” the woman replied. And finally Katie let the woman go, as red disappeared from both of their eyes. In the few seconds it took her to regain her senses, Katie calmly walked out of the bathroom and beckoned for one of the kitchen staff.

“Assign a couple more waiters to Rusenkov’s table, and tell the pastry chef to get his ass in gear. Our beautiful ballerina is about to have a massive attack of the munchies,” Katie declared. Milyenka soon burst from the restroom, her belly growling loudly as she jetted by, and she headed back to her table, shoving the uneaten salad away from her as she sat.