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Jackson Returns, 1 (two-tone)
🕑 Added 2025-02-06 14:30:01 +0000 UTCNOTE FROM SARAV59:
To everyone reading, Happy New Year!!!
I’m excited to get back into writing this year.
~Cheers
STORY:
Jackson had spent the better part of his year locked in a large room. It was well lit and heated, but lacked any windows. He had tried to examine his surroundings in more detail on multiple occasions. To scope out a plan of escape.
But his complete lack of mobility made that damn near impossible.
He couldn't scratch his ass, blow his nose, or rub his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to bend and twist. He was utterly trapped.
Endless quantities of high caloric "Feed" filled his stomach at all hours of the day. His body no longer had any shape. Unless an amorphous blob could be considered one. He feared what was to come next.
He couldn't get any more dependent on Finley. He relied on him for everything now.
And yet...
He was more annoyed by the fact that his feeding tube had been removed, and not replaced.
"Just turn the machine on again,” Jackson thought.
He attempted to furrow his brow in annoyance, but his enormously fat forehead refused to budge. Leaving Jackson’s expression somewhat difficult to determine: A fat smile from a fat frown?
"Ding."
Jackson heard the elevator bell from out in the hallway and the sound of heavy footsteps.
Finley had arrived to take stock of his captive....
“Damn it, just give me back MY feeding tube!” Jackson thought...
__
Finley opened the feeding room door and stripped off his coat, leaving it on a hook by the wall.
The room was hot, and he would no doubt sweat through it. No need to soil nice Milan silk.
He was eager to unwind and complete his daily "chores". Especially after spending the afternoon listening to nonsensical financial reports.
Pausing for a moment, Finley patted his chest. Realizing he had taken off his coat he walked back to fetch it. Rummaging in the pocket he pulled out a box of matches and a cigar.
Striking a match, He held it to the cigar, letting the flame lick the tip and inhaling deeply.
"Ahhh..."
Exhaling though his nose he allowed the smoke to dance around his head and drift through the room.
Happily puffing away, he got to work. Taking out a towel, he started to clean Jackson's enormous body, stripping off excess oil, sweat, and dirt.
The warm temperature in the room made Jackson sweat. So It was important to keep him somewhat dry, to reduce the chance for any skin irritation or blemishes.
He could reasonably rely on one of his employees to do this during the day, but after hours he preferred to handle things himself.
After all, every pound on Jackson was put there by him. Every pound was his, and he wanted more.
Grinning to himself, he knelt next to Jackson to examine a small red patch of skin on what used to be Jackson’s waist.
Taking out a tube of skin cream he generously dabbed some onto his middle finger.
He then carefully slid his fingers into the crease of the affected roll. And with little difficulty he lathered cream up and down Jackson’s skin...
