It made no sense; how had this meaty paunch developed overnight? A small layer of shame that hid once solid abs. I've exercised religiously for years, valuing a good diet and an excellent physique; determination spurred me to get rid of that extra chunkiness.
After work, I stuck to my word and really gave myself a full-body workout; that morning's embarrassment a key motivator in pushing myself beyond my limits. Taut calves and tender thighs were burning with well-earned soreness and I'd worked up a healthy sheen of sweat as well. Worked into a stupor, I watched as the sun set with a sense of accomplishment that only comes with exhaustion; sleep covered me like a heated quilt.
That night, my dreams stirred with the aroma of deep fried karaage, the pop of hot oil on tempura batter; pleasures I've only allowed in strict moderation. A table - my table - was lined end to end with a sizzling selection of delectable treats: donburi, tamagoyaki, kashipan, nikujaga...
The urge to pig out overwhelmed me, to gorge myself with no regard of the consequences on my gut; just a bite couldn't hurt, right? A gyoza here, some takoyaki there...
Some sixth sense urged me to break free of this dreamy food fantasy - an inner warning - and my eyes groggily flittered open in response.
I could feel the heat of the platters, smell them; looks like I wasn't dreaming at all.
"W-What is going on..." A knife and fork trembled in sleep-stiff hands.
Her voice was a velvet kiss, "Humph, I should've applied a bit more magic..." Its owner steps into a view from the kitchen: a cocoa-skinned satyr with a pair of curved ram horns; every sumptuous curve jiggles beneath the stranger's only article of clothing: a frilly, two-piece apron.
The mystery chef playfully wags a spatula at me, a gesture that oozes maternal concern, "...that won't do at all, now will it?"
As she speaks, a heart-tipped tail, slender as a whip, flicks laxly with anticipation. A black choker hugged her neck and large pentagram earrings dangled from the lobes of pointed ears.
This woman was a heartthrob, but force-feeding wasn't my gig, even if the cook had the body of a fertility goddess, "Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house? Are those - horns?" I sputtered off questions like an anti-aircraft gun.
She looked embarrassed, if only for a second, before turning her backside to me; Lord, her bubbly behind nearly drove me bonkers. "Well," the horned chef began in a sultry fashion, "all that matters, my dear boy, is..."
With a pirouette, the satyr spun to face me with a piping hot bento of unagi no kabayaki - sweet-sauced eel over steamed rice - and shot a frisky wink, "...is that you eat your seconds! It's okay to give in to your desires, my hungry little human!"
The satyr's goat-like eye has a black sclera, hinting at some Dionysian origin.
Every bulwark of resolve I'd raised melted like butter in the sun as wide orbs of amber looked into my soul and fanned my appetites; she has me.
"Since you're being such a sweetheart, I'll tell you my name; it's Satero," her voice seemed to hover above the table, taking on more than mere a sensual undertone, "Say 'aahh'!"
Falling, falling, falling. Resistance was futile. Soon enough I've raised a fork with a fresh piece of unagi speared on its end.
"Good boy," she leans in, her own appetite increasing as she watches me, "fu fu fu. All of this food is handmade by yours truly." An extra spoonful of white rice is added onto my plate. The first taste of sweetness was enough to elicit a slight moan, an intense burst of flavor that gave way to a cool, silky texture and a subtle saltiness. In between, the fishy flavor mixed smoothly with the grains, creating a symphony of flavors, a melting pot of sensations that only deepens as more bites are taken. Each one releases a new dimension of flavor, not so much complex but somehow richer than any other dish I've ever eaten; it's like taking a bite out of my dreams.
"What..." Words fail me at first, overwhelmed by a feeling of being utterly sated; all of the senses feel alive, completely satisfied.
"Oh boy," Satero's voice has risen in pitch, almost a giggle now, "you're gonna be a big eater! Eat up! Fu fu fu!" A hand reaches across the table to pierce a piece of steaming tamagoyaki, "Here ya go! Oh yes, eat up; what a good human you are!"
The chef places another spoonful of the special recipe onto my plate, bringing the experience full circle with a second helping; I could feel that her own appetite was being sated as she watched me consume her scrumptious dishes. How long had this woman been cooking for me in my sleep?
My will broke free for a moment, long enough to realize I'm gorging myself like her little piggy; I speak between my final mouthful, "H-Hey! No more! I'm on a diet!"
In a somewhat forward act, I pressed my finger into the satyr's plush belly, "You need a diet too!"
Satero's cheeks burn with unexpected timidity, noting how the tubby paunch jiggled against my index, "H-Hey! Don't touch there, human! I'm working on my weight! I-I promise I am...I just get so hungry..."
The torrid atmosphere cooled, but I had questions nevertheless, "Then why don't you cook for yourself? Clearly you're good at it."
"Well, I'm a satyr, we feed on the pleasure that other people experience," Satero's brow wrinkled in thought, seeing that I was still skeptical, "When you eat my yummy food, I feed on the energy that's released from your pleasure."
I was curious, and despite my skepticism of the explanation, the satyr's cooking wasn't the only thing of hers on my mind, "You feed on the energy of my pleasure?"
"Yes! I get nourishment from your hedonic energy!"
"I see...So do you have any other interest that...involve my pleasure?" I asked.
Satero recognized the innuendo, "N-No! Nothing lewd, pervy human!" Satero shifted in place, trying desperately to hide the plumpness of chocolaty legs behind the frills of her white apron. For all that body, the satyr didn't really know how to use it.
Satero blushed while stuttering, "I-I don't do that sort of thing! Cooking is my passion, so I feed on the satisfaction of people eating my food instead of...you know...S-E-X."
Manicured digits toyed at the straps of the ebon garter belt squeezing into her thighs, still flustered by the very mention of engaging in lewd activities; Satero seemed desperate for something. "Though I guess I have gotten a little chunky...that's why I came to you." Prostrating, Satero pressed her forehead against the living room floor, poking that lovely derriere to the sky, "Please help me lose this extra weight!"