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Witcher weight gain shorts


Batman76

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So, it's been a long time for me. This was inspired by a comment from the phenomenal game the Witcher III, where a sorceress bemoans the difficulties of trying to keep a tiny waist while going to a party with 84 deserts. Nothing comes of it, but I really wish it did and there's not many WG stories set in the game. Here's the first part:

 

Triss Merigold had a problem and the source of that problem was Kovir’s cuisine.


Once an impoverished backwater, the mineral rich kingdom had imported chefs and food from across the known world to sate the palate of its suddenly enriched populace. The relocated halflings had made each feast and banquet a cornucopia of gluttony, with tables groaning under platters of deep fried fish still bubbling with oil, roasted boar swimming in cherry sauce, sugary sherberts of a hundred flavors, cakes the size of shields, pies the size of wagon wheels and puddings large enough to swim in. The upper class that attended such feasts devoured the fare like locusts and the once scrawny populace grew ruddy and healthy, then rosy cheeked and plump and then red faced, panting and fat by the end of the first year of the gold rush. Once brave knights had to be winched onto their protesting horses and graceful ladies who had ruled the ball room floor grew so fat that their elephantine hips had to be pried from the cruel arms of their chairs. Rather than cut their consumption the upper classes turned to alchemical solutions of various utility.


Occasionally a tubby maiden would find her face turning green and the occasional obese lord exploded into swarms of birds instead of slimming down, but for the most part the nobility shrank down to a more manageable size. Alchemy could only do so much of course, so Kovir noble women might be described as ‘voluptious, curvaceous and sleek’ instead of slender, graceful or fit, but they now rarely topped 150 lbs save for the deep winter when snow made travel impossible and waist lines bulge. Still corsets and potions meant those who escaped the wintry months unpregnant would merely have well fed curves by spring. Obesity became the mark of the middle class, who could afford the food but had neither the coin to avoid its consequences or the discipline to avoid the food. Many a waddling, panting bourgeoisie girl huffing on one errand or another was giggled at by curvaceous noble women who likely ate more and exercised less, but had their relatively slim waists secured by potions.


If you were rich enough in Kovir you really could eat your cake and have it to, provided of course you admitted that you needed to.


And that was Triss Merigold’s real problem.


When she arrived with her cortege of refuge mages from Novigrad, Triss was breath taking to most straight men in the world. Like all sorceresses she was stunning: eternally young and unmarred by scar, blemish or injury but when the body sculptors had altered her flesh at the mage’s academy Triss had gone for a different look than most. A common build for a sorceress was a waifish body type: very slender and only two or three inches above five feet, with narrow hips and breasts that were decently sized but not over ostentatious. Triss had opted for being a leggy, athletic looking five foot seven and one hundred twenty five pounds well distributed across round feminine hips and a big, bouncy busom both measuring thirty six inches. Combined with a tiny twenty three inch waist and Triss had a stunning hour glass figure that was obviously the result of magic.


All sorceresses had a figure that was the result of magic of course, many having been at best plain when they took up the Power, but Triss went a step beyond, loudly broadcasting to noble women that they couldn’t look so stunning without taking up the power or buying from those who did. Many a rich madam or maid did so, earning Triss a tidy sum to reduce middles made flabby by pregnancies or to perk up tits gone saggy from children. The red headed magic user earned a much higher and continuous sum maintaining such looks when the noble women, after showing off their dazzling new figures, went back to old habits and found their newly svelte waist popping out plump bellies and their pert tits starting to sag again after a few months of over indulgence and risking humiliation for blowing up again. It was an irony of course, that while she grew rich on maintaining the looks of others that Triss Merigold couldn’t easily maintain her own.


Sorceresses might be made beautiful as part of their training, but enough time, injury, disease and food would ruin their looks as well as any woman if they didn’t take care. Unlike other women though they could defy time and their appetites, a spell every year or so kept their faces unlined and it was rare to ever see a sorceress looking over thirty, although a few let the years add on if they were very researched focused for a period or if they sought a sterner look. Spells to flatten the stomach were applied more frequently; despite or perhaps because of their immunity to weight gain most sorceresses ate enough to founder a war horse and would enormous instead of elegant were it not for their spells. But Triss Merigold was totally allergic to the casting version of healing magic and couldn’t fix a broken nail without going into anaphylactic shock, much less narrow her thighs when too much bread pudding started making them rub at the top. If that had been Triss’ only recourse, she would have been middle aged and corpulent long since.


Fortunately, she could rely on amulets, rings and other enchanted jewelry that would alter a sick, injured or over fed body back to a healthy, whole and slender state. A pendant kept her young, a bracelet healed her injuries and sicknesses and an emerald ring kept her body lithe. They’d been gifted to her at the academy, ‘just in case’ for the ring as no sorceress would ever admit to being a glutton despite eating themselves sick in each other’s presence. Of course, only two could be worn at a time and Triss preferred the safety of the bracelet and the surge of energy from the pendant over the ring, which she told herself she didn’t much need. As long as her fingers didn’t grow to plump for a golden band to fit over, Triss could undo a month’s over indulgence and physical activity in a few hours. She never admitted to herself that she needed to wear the ring at least one weekend a month to keep the pounds off.


After separating from her on again/off again lover the witcher Geralt at the outbreak of the war, Triss headed to the rich and neutral city Novigrad. Three meals a day and at several snacks between she ate her feelings over the break up at the many pie and cake shops near her town house, who soon grew to know her by name. After a few weeks Triss was truly starting to need her ring: her buxom cleavage grew fuller and rounder to the point that they started to sag for the first time, while her chin had some softness underneath when she looked down. Well tailored pants met resistance from increasingly less athletic thighs and Triss’ trim waist the slightest little pinchable inch and some miniature love handles. A spackle or two of cellulite sprouted on her once flawless cheeks even as the round bottoms began to swallow up a bit more of her silken panties.


 Most women would have been proud to only have a few minor flaws, but Triss was aghast to discover she’d let herself gain near fifteen pounds when while preparing for a social function not a single dress could be coaxed to button around her slightly puffier frame. Devastated, Triss sent a servant with a message she was indisposed, as well as an order for a baker’s dozen cream puffs from a bakery on his way back. Berating herself, and wearing a looser night gown without a single belt or button to remind her of her plumper figure, she promised to not take the ring off for a week but passed out at her table with the thirteenth pastry in hand, the other twelve in her belly and the ring sitting on the table.


The roars of a mob attacking the party she’d planned to attend across the square awoke the well fed mage and despite the heavy meal still digesting Triss flew into action. A spell summoned a very tight set of travel clothes around her and she managed to grab an enchanted bag holding an evening gown, a purse of gold and an amulet that would heal injury or illness just fine and keep the grey hairs at bay. Anti-magic bombs burst over her house before she could teleport away, but Triss managed to squeeze through a surprisingly narrow gap in her back fence. More than a few buttons were left behind and it was with her pale, slightly plump belly showing that Triss ran into the night, pausing every bit to catch her breath. Hiding in back alleys and slums, stressed by constant pursuit and her efforts to keep the other magic users in the city safe and with her funds too short to splurge on luxuries meant that Triss’ extra weight was soon burned away. Indeed, after two months in hiding with her narrowing hips swimming in her trousers and her cleavage much less pronounced than before, Triss totally forgot her momentary pudginess and its remedy.


But upon arriving in Kovir, with its ballooning banquets and fattening feasts, with its well padded maidens casting envious glares at her street trimmed waist, Triss soon learned to hate herself for forgetting her ring.

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When Triss presented herself before the Royal Court of Kovir she was a vision of slender loveliness. Brilliant red hair was affixed high in a bun to frame her smiling face and show off her long, slender neck. The magical make up glamour, long denied her in Novigrad’s slums, was expertly applied to make her bright green eyes burn with intensity and her smile shine. Long gloves of green velvet clung tight to her slender arms, tied snugly just below her slim shoulders. A gown of the same shade was affixed tight about her lean body, clinging so closely she might have been nude. Rarely did she wear a corset and with her waist at a miniscule 22 instead of its normal 23 inches there was no need, for not even the thinnest of the local maidens could dream of having a belly as narrow as Triss’. How the strapless dress hung onto Triss was a mystery, for it was backless from the tops of her shoulders all the way down to an alluring glimpse at the beginnings of her firm little rear.


On her famous chest the garment dipped very low indeed; several months of scant meals may have robbed the bouncy mounds of some of their fabulous size but the boning of her dress meant that the soft orbs were pressed up almost to her chin. The fashionable sorceress had also gone a size smaller than her usual to take her weight loss into account, meaning that every step of her high heeled feet almost caused the pert melons to bounce free. Even when standing still the mere act of breathing almost brought her areolas into tantalizing view.

Freed from fear of the Witch Hunters and the Wild Hunt, relieved of so much stress and worry by her elevation to Advisor to Kovir’s King, Triss relaxed for the first time in months. She danced with a score of knights and noble men and she gossiped and chatted with scores of plump ladies who glared jealously at her tiny waist. And before that, and during it and after it she ate.


As much as Triss’ firm legs danced and whirled her jaw worked more, chewing and chewing and chewing on slice after slice of red velvet cake drowning in buttery icing, scarfing down cut after cut of succulent pie, munching and munching upon ice cold sherbert, gulping and gulping down glasses of wine and brandy. Long had Triss possessed a sweet tooth, nay an addiction to deserts and with one hundred and four of them on display she tried to have at least a bit of each and often more. Always a light weight, Triss’ pretty head grew tipsy and her hunger shrunken belly soon began to painfully protest at the sheer amount of desert. But gluttonous as she was with sweets Triss kept eating, until she was too sick to dance another step and so uncomfortably full that she had to sit down and send a small soothing enchantment into her swollen stomach.

Like all Sorceresses Triss was sterile, a loss she considered acceptable in exchange for power, beauty and youth, but any who did not know that would have assumed she was with child the way she sat cradling her swollen belly. For long hours she sat dreamily watching the proceedings of the ball, happy to be safe, rich and respected again. She forgot the last months of hell, she forgot losing Geralt to Yennefer and most importantly for her waist as she digested hordes of calories, she forgot that she didn’t have her ring.

She also forgot that it was the first of thirty straight days of feasting held by the Kovir court to welcome Summer.


After a week of all out gorging every night and spending all day in royal councils that were hardly lacking in snacks, Triss had returned to her usual slender but not quite drastically thin size. From lethargically sitting about, her legs had lost a little bit of the tone running from the Eternal Fire’s enforcers had put on them. Her hips had widened just a little and her waist had gone from ludicrously small to just this side of impossible. But to most the main thing to notice was that Triss’ bosom was back in all its bodacious bounty. Each perfect sphere was fuller, bouncier and all in all larger, straining against bodices and blouses, practically leaping out of brassieres and bras. Triss recognized their return, and unaccustomed to the idea didn’t pause to try and check their growth, and ensured that her gowns for the evening banquets were cut to show off her cleavage even more. Her dancing partners grew clumsier and clumsier as the sheer size of the mammaries pressed against them grew larger and larger. One Count actually fainted when a dollop of icing fell from the scarlett haired woman’s cup cake into the ivory canyon of her cleavage and she fished it out with a well-manicured nail and sucked the digit clean.

If Triss had cut her consumption there she’d have remained as she’d always been: hour glass and buxom, but slender and lithe all the same. She’d have been the envy of almost all the women she met and had her door beaten down by those same noble women looking to flatten their over fed stomachs and fill up their under sized breasts. Already several noble girls had done so and not since its sudden elevation to wealth had Kovir seen maidens so slim. Although none were as slim as Triss and by the way they ate all would soon have to see the Mage soon enough for a reduction of the fat at their middles.


It was a shame that Merigold was immune to her own magic, for her own appetite had guaranteed her a figure just as plump as her client’s true forms.


For three more weeks Triss ate and ate every night, gorging herself into a near coma with every dinner consisting of deserts, often followed by breakfasts of pastries and luncheons of something fried. Out bulged her waist (23 inches, 24, 25, 26, 27…) losing tone and shape as love handles began to form above her hips and a small mound of fat accumulated about her belly button. Her temporary food babies had become a permanent paunch that fought a winning war of expansion against her belts and pants while preparing for a death struggle against her breasts as the mage’s most dominant feature.

 

 Growth came to her breasts, although not as much as to her belly admittedly, and they showed ever more cleavage until men around her often trailed off in mid speech or walked straight into stone walls. Triss’ bosoms also started to sag down just the tiniest amount and small, silvery lines formed on their sides.


Every day Triss’ shapely legs grew a little less shapely as fat found her slim ankles and firm thighs. They tugged more and more at her already tight pants until the red head began ignoring them for skirts entirely. Round hips grew rounder, fuller and broader, until they resembled more the child bearing hips of a peasant woman than the shapely sides of a sorceress. Triss’ near perfect rear wasn’t spared either, growing softer, out wards and downwards with every long meal and lazy day. It developed a jiggle and a bounce as it gobbled at her underware and men who had long stared at her departure were now mesmerized, although they couldn’t glimpse the small patterns of cellulite on the other sides of her silk dresses.


Last to fall was Triss’ gorgeous face: her firm cheek bones softened up even as some excess grew under her chin, excess that never went away.


For most of those three weeks Triss was deep in denial, ignoring how her food intake rose every night with her stretching belly, how she danced less and less as her wind decreased, how when bathing she was finding things that were once firm were now soft and jiggly and how her clothes were growing more and more uncomfortable. But when on the last night of feasting Triss’ specially ordered jade dress could not be made to fit around her softened curves with the aid of magic or three sweating servant girls Triss had to admit she had a problem.


Staring naked at herself in the mirror Triss finally had to accept the truth: she’d grown plump.


Her ankles were rounder and fuller, not cankles yet on the way there. Gone was the tone from her thighs, just as the gap between them had vanished. Her hour glass figure had faded, hip and waist broadening together into a less distinguishable mass. Gone was her girlish ass and in its place the soft hips of a matron who was doing only a decent job of getting her figure back, provided you ignored the growing patches of cellulite. A non-deniable paunch sat atop her once washboard stomach and no matter what she couldn’t suck it in fully. When she sat it formed rolls and when she stood it bulged out as a testament to her gluttony. Above the damnable gut hung her breasts, now hanging truly for the first time. They’d gotten bigger and fuller true, but without the support of a dress or lingerie the posture of Triss’ mammaries had sagged down to an extent she had to check her youth charm’s functionality. Her neck had thickened, just as her soft chin had grown a friend.


A quick spell of weighing proved that Triss had blown up at over a pound a day in the last month, growing from her athletic looking 125 to a well fed, lazy 159. With horror the redhead realized that that was three pounds more than the Koviri maiden she’d slimmed down merely a day before, meaning she was just as plump as the local girls. 

‘I’ll have to do something about this…,’ Triss murmured to the soft body that was somehow hers, ‘…before its too late. I’m a King’s Advisor…a sorceress…I can’t get…fat.’

Just as she spoke, her stomach rumbled.

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  • 9 months later...

Hell, if anyone told me 17 years ago, when I read the Witcher books for the first time, that in less than two decades not only it will be made into a decent (W1), very good (W2) and downright awesome (W3) trilogy of games that's going to get so popular internationally that I will be reading WG fetish fanfic of it in English, I'd call them as mad as a herd of hatters. 

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  • 6 months later...

Too long away!

While Triss Merigold was nervously searching for a cure for her increasingly plush figure, stress fueling her appetite to ever greater heights as she did, her romantic rival Yennefer of Vengerburg was making her own unpleasant discoveries many thousands of miles to the south.

The last five years had been rough for Yennefer. She’d suffered having to flee from foes both magical and mundane, repeatedly endured imprisonment and used her considerable arcane might in several battles. Quite frankly, she needed a long vacation and had found the perfect place at the Corvo Blanco Vineyard. There, reunited with her lover Geralt in the idyllic Duchy of Beauclair with its peaceful populace and warm climate, she relaxed for several months. Shaded by the tall apple trees about the vineyard, the sorceress spent long hours reading. She took leisurely walks with the witcher in the evenings and made passionate love frequently.

Then Geralt was called away to hunt a giant in Skellige and Yennefer’s fate took a turn towards the softer side.

One warm spring afternoon, a month after Geralt had departed, the sorceress lay on a couch, a thick volume of a romance laid out in her lap. Determined to keep her own fashion in the southern sun, and her perfect ivory complexion, she was wearing her own take on a sundress: a loose, thin gown of alternating black and white stripes. It was split up the sides to the hips to show off her shapely slim legs, but cut loose on her torso, secured with a loose belt of soft fabric her waist. Yennefer’s raven black curls spilled down onto her shoulders and with a glance she telekinetically turned the page again. Like all of her profession, Yennefer was dazzlingly attractive.

She was short, only about 5’1, and very petite. Her hips were a little wide, giving her a bit of a pear shape, and the slopes of her ass were firm, smooth and just large enough to be noticed in any gown. Her belly was flat as a washboard and her waist wasp narrow, slender as a young woman could hope. The sorceress’ breasts were firm, perfectly symmetrical C cups with high brown nipples, a more than decent size that looked large on her dainty frame that balanced out her wide hips. Her neck was long and graceful, swan like in both length and whiteness, and bore its habitual choker necklace.

Yennefer’s face was striking, a sharp chinned diamond with high cheek bones, a long straight nose, soft pink lips and brilliant purple eyes. Although she lacked her friend and rival Triss’ athleticism, or former athleticism, Yennefer’s girlish gracefulness had just as much appeal. Her looks were to a large degree artificial of course, the fair features sculpted using spells decades earlier. Only part of her looks were maintained magically though, for while Yennefer was physically just into her second decade despite having just turned one hundred, she actually had a healthy appetite.

Yennefer did like to imbibe a bit it was true, but she liked her vegetables fresh and grilled instead of sugary confectionaries or fatty meat. At most social engagements, many lean sorceresses would stuff themselves like gluttons but Yennefer tended towards small portions of healthy fare. At least, she had for most of her life.

Right now, as the enchanter mentally leafed through her book, there was a small table next to her couch. On it was an empty plate, bearing apart from a fork only a few crumbs, a large glass with some grape juice residue at the bottom and a half empty basket of plump purple grapes. With a thought, a grape was lifted off the stem and hovered smoothly over to pop in between Yennefer’s pink lips, where it disappeared to join dozens of its brothers. The Sorceress’ graceful hands rested softly on her belly, which was comfortably full as it had been for several weeks from dawn to dusk.

‘May I get you another slice my dear?’ a kind old voice asked the sorceress, ‘this one just cooled off enough to eat.’

Yennefer turned away from her book, looking up to see Marlene, the Villa’s chef. She was an old woman, one whom Geralt had saved from a curse that had transformed her into a wight and given her shelter. Although she was somewhat befuddled in her wits, she doted on Yennefer like a grand daughter and didn’t seem to understand that the Sorceress was older than she, she was an excellent chef, particularly where pies came into the picture. Right now, the aproned old chef had a full version of Yennefer’s tray: its tall wine glass full of bubbly grape juice (Corvo Blanco’s vineyards not yet up to full wine), its basket filled with plump grapes and its plate bearing an immense piece of steaming apple pie with a heavy dollop of whipped cream atop it.

‘Yes, I suppose its been a bit since breakfast,’ the Sorceress said, violet eyes locking onto the steaming pie and having to swallow some drool, ‘having a slice for lunch won’t hurt me.’

Without rising, she used her magic to levitate the plate off of the tray and hover before her, where she gleefully took up the fork and stabbed it into the front of the dish.

‘Lunch?’ the old woman said, ‘it’s only half past nine. I’ll bring you lunch at noon dear, a good loaf of bread, a quarter wheel of cheese and some nice, sizzling bacon with a bottle of wine.’

‘Oh…,’ Yennefer said, looking down at the pie in her lap, a steaming mountain of sugar, calories and fat that was enough for a few meals on its own, ‘well, this might be a bit too much…’

‘I see,’ Marlene said sadly, her face falling, ‘I’ll just take it back up to the kitchen, then, up those long, high steps. Its too sweet for me, I put all that cinnamon and sugar in it you like, so I’ll just feed it to the pigs then.’

‘No, I couldn’t let you,’ said Yennefer hurriedly, waving her away, ‘I’ll just finish it.’

The sorceress could be quite harsh to fools or those who questioned her, but in regards to those who were truly simple and sweet she had a wide soft spot. One that was getting softer and wider by the day. The raven haired beauty took a large bite of pie to prove her good intentions, closing her eyes as the forkful of fried apples, sugar and crust lit up her tastebuds. She had to suppress a moan as she swallowed, the desert almost as good as an orgasm.

‘How does it taste?’ asked Marlene, ‘I made sure to use extra shortening in the crust.’

‘Its amazing,’ said Yennefer honestly, taking up another forkful immediately, ‘perhaps the best I’ve ever had.’

‘Oh good,’ beamed the old lady, ‘I’ll be sure to have one for you every morning.’

‘That’s…that’s not necessary,’ said Yennefer after she ate another bite, ‘I’ve got to keep my girlish figure of course.’

‘Of course it is!,’ the befuddled cook insisted, ‘we’ll never get you as full figured as a proper noble girl should be if you don’t eat well.’

Yennefer’s long lashes blinked a moment, ‘Pardon, did you say full figured? Marlene, I’m hardly full figured.’

‘Oh yes, why back in my day a girl wasn’t ready for her debut until her belly came past her breasts,’ the old woman said dreamily, ‘In my debut I was so thick I needed two corsets to get an hour glass figure. You’re a pretty young thing I’ll admit my dear, but still a little scrawny even now that you’ve stopped exercising since Master Geralt left.’

‘Did you just say a little?’ Yennefer asked very slowly.

‘Why, you’ve made a little progress with my cooking, especially in the last month,’ the old cook babbled cluelessly, ‘you eat like a champion, but your double chin only shows when you look down.’

Yennefer’s hand touched her chin. Was it softer? How had it felt before?

‘You keep your stomach nice and full, but it doesn't fill your lap yet and those love handles are only just hitting their stride.’

The sorceress touched her belly, which bulged pleasantly against her fabric belt. Surely it was all the pie she’d just eaten that was making it feel so round? It couldn’t be like this…permanently?

‘Your bust was already nice before, but now its swelling like a proper bosom. You should support them though, girlish perkiness does fade once you hit twenty.’

Yen’s hands felt her bust through the thin fabric of her dress. Each breast filled its hand and then some and there was a heaviness to them she hadn’t ever felt before.

‘Your hips of course don’t need much help,’ the old woman continued, ‘They already had a good child bearing width to start, they're getting wider every day.’

With mounting horror she touched her sides and then slowly brought her hands back up, their widths the same. Purple irises practically disappeared as her pupils widened when she saw the span.

‘Why, when Master Geralt returns in a few months, you’ll be so deliciously plump he’ll marry you an instant,’ Marlene finished.

Yennefer very slowly sat the plate down, the pie mostly uneaten. She stood up, was it harder? Oh gods it was harder to stand wasn’t it, and smoothed her skirts, grimacing at the swollen slope of her pie filled stomach. She turned to face the old woman, who was beaming innocently.

‘Marlene…standards of beauty have changed a little bit since your youth,’ the sorceress said, ‘when it comes to their weight, women of this day and age prefer ...well, they prefer to be curvaceous but....’

She trailed off at the glassy good will in the old woman’s eyes, ‘Oh don’t worry Lady Yennefer, I’m sure you’ll find a corset maker to help you make good use of your new curves.’

‘Reason is getting me nowhere,’ Yennefer groaned, ‘save fatter. Mentis Imperium!.’

A white cloud of light formed around Marlene’s head as Yennefer cast a spell, ‘you don’t want to feed Yennefer pies every day. Yennefer doesn’t need anymore pie, Yennefer is …ugh… plump enough she needs no more pies. Understand?’

‘Of course deary,’ the old woman said, more dreamily than usual, ‘No more pies for plump little Yenny.’

‘Good enough,’ Yennefer said with a sigh, snapping a finger and bringing the old woman out of the trance.

Marlene stood, a trifle unsteady on her feet, ‘I’m sorry Lady Yennefer, what just happened?’

‘Nothing important Marlene,’ Yennefer said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I must go check myself in the mirror.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Marlene said, ‘I know you young beauties, always checking to see how your curls and chest look in the reflection. Enjoy that chest while you have it, a bosom like yours is going to start sagging soon.’

Yennefer stifled an urge to vomit and turned on her heel. Marlene watched her sashay back to the villa, hips shaking from side to side with each step.

Such a pretty young woman, Marlene thought, she’s put on just enough weight to skip pies. I’d best go start baking her cake for tomorrow morning.

….

‘Shit,’ Yennefer exclaimed to herself in the comfort of her room, ‘shit, shit, shit, shit.’

The sorceress slammed a dainty fist onto her dresser, putting more  telekinesis into it than she’d meant and making the solid oak furniture split. She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing a reflection that for the first time in eighty years had changed. What looked back at the sorceress was a naked young woman in her twentieth year, thick black curls spilling to her shoulders. This was normal but…there were differences.

It started at her face, the sharp, commanding lines had softened noticeably, particularly Yen’s pointed chin. Barely believing her reflection, the sorceress touched her face gently, feeling her rounder cheeks and the soft extra chin that popped up unless she looked straight ahead. She spent an hour every morn applying her makeup and brushing her hair before this same mirror, but somehow she hadn’t noticed her face distort from diamond to a soft heart shape, nearly an oval now, hadn’t noticed herself sprout an extra chin for Gods’ sake. Even glamour make up wouldn’t hide that change.

Nothing else on her body had been spared either. A plumpness had settled in from her shoulders to her finger tips, when she tried on a ring it had to be forced up her thicker ring finger. Her neck was a little thicker, the soft fat mushrooming about her choker necklace. A moment before striking the furniture, she’d measured her breasts, they’d expanded from a pert 32C to a softer, lower 34DD, even the nipples stretching out a bit from their previously high resting place. They were as big as the oversized funbags Marigold preferred to sport, but due to their heaviness were near parodic. They even had some silvery stretchmarks on the sides!

Yennefer looked down at the measuring tape she’d thrown onto the floor and with a glance made it burst into ashes. It deserved it, for it had shown her that she’d put on a whopping six inches about the waist. Part of it was surely the large amount of pie and grapes greedily digesting in her belly, but Yennefer’s lean waist wouldn’t reappear once the sweet meal was gone. With horror she traced the soft circle of fat around her belly button, finger disappearing to the first knuckle. She pinched the flab at her sides, the love handles Marlene had complemented her on growing. With her palm she ran her hand down the bulging slope of her belly, from her fat coated ribs down to the small strip of velvety black hair above her pussy.

‘Gods, I look like I’m…,’ Yennefer began, placing her hands on her hips and unwilling to finish the sentence.

Pregnant. She’d wanted a child to love and cherish her whole life, but had been foiled, first by deformity before being educated and then by infertility. She’d have been willing to put up with any amount of weight gain and stretch marks for months at a time for a baby, but now she suffered the indignity of the fat without any benefit.

Fuming, she turned around, showing herself her new derrier. She’d wondered why her couch was growing more comfortable of late and now she knew why, her ass had been ballooning. She’d been proud of her hips, proud of the round firmness of her rear end. But now…now Yennefer had a fat ass. She levitated hand mirrors, letting her look at it from several angles, seeing every pale inch of the soft slopes. There were only a few patches of cellulite thank the Gods, but there was only a hint of tone. They’d gone from round, firm and high to wide, soft and low. Child bearing Marlene had called them, she looked like she’d born two already!

The angry sorceress had torched the measuring tape before it had touched her girthier hips and frankly didn’t want to know how big they were. Feeling her hefty buttocks shake with each step on the way up from the garden was bad enough, as was the feeling of her thicker thighs brushing against each other. Her legs had gained their own layer of lard and she despaired of fitting them into her favorite thigh high boots or tight riding trousers. Her buckles would surely not meet and her seams would explode if she ever managed to get them onto her flabby body.

‘What the hell have you done to yourself Yen?’ she demanded of her reflection, leaning on her arms and seeing her breasts sway and her stomach form a small roll, ‘eating like a pig all day from a mad chef who thinks you need to be two hundred pounds to win a man? What happened to eating healthy? What happened to will power? You weren’t like Triss, who’d need help getting through doors if it wasn’t for weight loss charms. Your Yennefer of Vengerburg, you have discipline.’

The plump body before her didn’t look disciplined, in fact, it looked pretty lazy. In gaining weight, Yennefer had lost the cool air of steely command she’d exuded. Instead she looked plump, easy going and very young, her ageless beauty having subsided beneath her cherubic cheeks.

‘Ugh,’ she groaned, ‘at least this isn’t permanent. One body modification spell and I can be back to normal. I just have to, ew, weigh myself.’

Yennefer cast a glance at the scale she’d summoned into existence. She rarely weighed herself, having no need to, but remembered that the last time she had, the scales had settled at a slender 110 lbs, where they were still set years later. Steeling herself, she stepped upon the contraption, the rack immediately slamming upwards. Biting her lip, the naked enchantress slid its weights along, stomach fluttering as the tens number went through the teens, twenties and thirties before finally evening out at 146 pounds. A small chart of heights and weights next to the scale listed out medical classifications and Yennefer’s fair skin paled further to see herself solidly in the overweight category.

‘Thirty six pounds?’ Yen demanded of herself, ‘I’ve gained thirty six pounds? How is that possible?’

Memories of cool spring mornings with a belly full of pie passed through her head, each morning followed by a warm spring afternoon with a belly full of lunch, a pleasant spring evening with a belly full of wine and roast duck and a night preceded by another wedge of pie. And she realized that she’d gone from walking several miles a day to walking maybe two hundred yards to her favorite reading spot in the gardens and that several times she’d teleported there out of pure laziness.

‘I’m lucky I caught on while I could still walk,’ the mage groaned, ‘Why didn’t I notice this?’

She cast an eye at her sundress, the loose waisted garment thrown over a chair. It was cool and fashionable, but she could have hit two hundred pounds before the seams at its loose waist started to stretch. The tight trousers she wore in the field or the tailored dresses made for court would have complained by pound number five and been impossible to wear by pound fifteen, but the sundress was made to beef up in. Even its belt was a simple knot, lacking the notches who’s shrinking number would have warned her that a pie every morning was a bad idea. She hadn’t even bothered to wear underwear, surely her lacey negligee would have warned her of her growing girth.

‘Okay Yennefer, you’re a sorceress, the best of your generation,’ she told the plump girl in the mirror, ‘this is temporary. One spell and you’re back to 32-23-34, alright? And that spell is…’

Yennefer stared, searching her memory and finding nothing.

‘When did I last cast that spell?’ she asked the chubby woman in the mirror, ‘Have I ever needed to cast that spell?’

The reflection didn’t answer, but Yennefer realized that she really never had cast a weight loss charm. Her own discipline, until now, had  made it so she didn’t need it and she preferred using her sorcerous powers for more serious things than a noble matron’s third chin.

‘Let this be a warning then,’ she said to herself, ‘at least all I need to do is check my grimoire. Its not like I missed a mandrake potion and started getting grey hairs and crows feet. Now, my grimoire is…’

Violet eyes cast around the room, but every book on the shelves was nothing more than a trashy romance. She realized that her spellbooks and alchemist tools were still packed away in a crate in the attic.

‘Garbage into your brain, garbage into your mouth,’ Yennefer frowned, not looking forwards to subjecting her puffier body to the cramped confines of the attic.

There was a rapt knock at her door, followed by the voice of the Villa’s steward, ‘Lady Yennefer, there is a messenger at the gate.’

‘Tell them Geralt is gone,’ Yennefer said, glancing from the door back to the mirror hurridly, afraid she’d find herself to have gained more weight in the interim.

‘The messenger is for you,’ B.B. insisted, ‘they are in a bit of a rush.’

‘A sorceress of my size, um, standing isn’t rushed, its beneath my weight, no, dignity,’ Yennefer said, slapping her forehead at the mental slip ups, ‘I’m not interested in any invitations to balls, parties or feasts. Especially feasts.’

‘Lady Yennefer, it is from the Duchess Anna-Henrietta,’ the steward said calmly, ‘she demands your presence at once, she’s sent a coach to carry you past the palace’s teleportation wards. It is an emergency of the utmost importance. As a vassal of hers, Master Geralt would be required to attend by law. As his assumed bride to be, you must go in her sted.’

Yennefer groaned silently, resenting the intrusion of politics when she already had thirty one unwanted problems accumulating about her waist and hips.

‘Tell them I’ll be down shortly,’ she said, ‘I’ll need time to prepare myself. An hour’

She cast an eye on her body, pale and doughy. She didn’t look like a proud, powerful and wise sorceress, she looked like a rich merchant’s daughter who’d been bought too many sweets. The layer of fat was making her look humiliatingly young and unexperienced. She even looked like she had…

‘Oh no, oh no I am not getting acne,’ Yennefer told the puffy red spot on the side of her nose, ‘Dissipati Peribunt!’

The small pimple vanished away in a puff of steam, leaving her skin smooth and supple. She touched the rest of her face, finding it oilier than she could remember. Another charm dried up her complexion, removing several nascent white heads as it did. Yennefer had suffered terribly from acne as a youth, it had been on of the first charms she’d learned.

‘Pull it together Yen,’ she told herself in the mirror, ‘slim down, get dressed and see what the problem is with the duchess. Then tomorrow morning take a long walk and eat a breakfast of kale.’

The enchantress left the mirror, going to the corner of the room and looking up to see a small trap door in the ceiling. Normally she would teleport, but given the attic was filled with various trophies, weapons and crates she didn’t want to appear with a sword lodged in her ass. With a motion of her hand it opened up and the ladder extended downwards to the floor. Yennefer looked at the twelve feet of narrow rungs she’d have to climb, then down at her chubby arms, puffy belly and thick thighs.

‘I’ll exercise when I’m thin again,’ she promised and began to levitate, before noticing herself in the mirror. She was still completely naked and her mind rebelled against rooting around in the attic so exposed. Hovering an inch above the ground she looked at the split dresser and the tall closets, all of them full of stylish clothes designed to fit a slim sorceress, not a tubby, lazy cream puff. Her eyes glanced at the treacherous sundress and she balked at thinking of putting it on, as if she’d bloat up another thirty five pounds once it went over her head.

‘Underwear it is then,’ she said, ‘I’ll just have to loosen them up after I put them on.’

She closed her eyes and snapped her fingers, then gagged like she was caught in a vice. Looking in the mirror, she saw her soft belly muffin topping over her lacey black panties, while beneath them her chubby thighs brushed together. She’d long preferred tight negligee, but this was ridiculous, the panties pulled so tight she could feel them disappearing up between her cheeks and she could see the dark velvet of her pubic hair over their top. Up top was no better, her inflated breasts forced together and spilling over the bra cups, while the straps cut cruelly into her shoulders.

‘I’m never eating again,’ Yennefer groaned and went to expand her panties, to be interrupted by a sharp rip.

Stretched across her wide hips, the panties had taken too much strain to hold. The small motion of her arm was enough to rip the overloaded fabric wide open. It hung there like the flag of a surrendering garrison. She went to grab it, only for her bra to rip at the middle, her heavy bust spilling out. The surprise was enough to break her concentration and she fell down onto her stomach with a heavy thump, driving the wind out of her

‘Are you alright Mistress?’ the steward’s voice came at the door a moment later, ‘it sounded like something heavy fell.’

‘Knocked over a jewelry box,’ Yennefer groaned when she had her wind back, ‘I’ll be down soon.’

‘The humiliations never end,’ the sorceress sighed, then dematerialized her underware, accepting her plumpness for the moment. In its place she materialized a dark silk bathrobe, just large enough to close over her full stomach. When she was thin it would hint at the treasure between her legs, now that she was overweight the fabric didn’t have quite enough coverage to give. In front her vagina could be plainly seen, in the back half her flabby buttocks hung exposed. Sighing, she tied the belt, finding barely enough fabric to knot and began levitating.

Yennefer paused at the entrance to the attic, summoning a light at her finger tips and sucking in her stomach. Her eye scanned the various crates and boxes, settling on a dark chest that housed her spell books. A smile split her face.

‘Ah, one slender Yen, coming up,’ she said and raised herself up, a fat girl grunt unconsciously escaping between her lips, ‘that’s never happening again. Never.’

Aghast, the mage went over to the crate, hovering and not willing to test the old floor boards with her weight. She opened up the crate, flickered through several tomes of eldritch lore and finally found the dark black cover of her grimoire. Satisfied she teleported back to her room and flipped open the book, finding the page labelled ‘Weight Loss Charm.’

‘‘A sorceress is beautiful, elfen and slim,’ Yen read the description she’d written as a girl, ‘but when she’s been to too many feasts and her thighs start to touch, she best slim down soon. For what good is a sorceress who let’s herself get fat?’ Ugh, now that I’m heavy that seems a bit insulting. Time for the text.’

She cast one last look over herself in the mirror. The fullness of her breasts was nice, although she could do without their lowness. But the rest of her, from her puffy cheeks to bulging waist, she never wanted to see again.

‘Good bye fat me,’ she said, ‘it wasn’t nice while it lasted. I’ll eat a lot of salad in your memory. Pondus Amitt!’

Golden light beamed from Yennefer’s skin, bright enough she had to close her eyes. She felt its glow suffuse her body, making her warm as toast. She felt lighter and was gently lifted up off her toes and then gently sat back down on them. She opened her eyes and…

‘What…no,’ she gasped, ‘this isn’t…I didn’t …how?’

Yennefer’s cheeks were still puffy, her chin still had a double, her breasts were still oversoft DDs, her belly was still nearing thirty inches around and her hips were still sturdy and childbearing. If she’d lost weight, it must have been measured in ounces.

Pondus Amitt!’ Yennefer demanded and again the spell flared, she kept her eyes open and saw herself rise but the bulk of her body didn’t shrink an inch anywhere, ‘Pondus Amitt!’

 

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Chapter 2: An Illusory Yennefer and the Double Wide Duchess of Touissant

Time.

Yennefer needed time, hours, nay days to research a weight loss spell and then months to test it. She swallowed and risked a glimpse through the curtains, seeing the Ducal Coach and its guard of horsemen waiting outside. She didn’t have days, she didn’t have an hour.

‘But I can’t leave like this,’ she said to herself, ‘people will see me, if word gets out…I’ll be a laughing stock. Maybe…maybe another spell!’

She flipped through the book with increasing desperation, finding nothing. A weight loss charm was taught the first year at Aretusia, it was so simple it didn’t need an alternate form. Yennefer had never heard of one failing once, let alone three times in a row. Something was horribly wrong and she had to find out how, but right now she needed to look skinny again.

‘Illusions!’ Yennefer hissed to herself, ‘Yes an illusion.’

She’d used illusions a few times, invisibility was particularly useful, but she’d not cast a glamour over herself since her school days. The magic would twist the light around her, it would make her look thinner for a time although anyone who touched her would note a startling softness most incongruous with a trim appearance. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but would do for now.

‘Nymphs of the earth, effrits in fire,’ she intoned as she read the spell, ‘mer in the water and djinn in the air, make me appear slender, trim, curvaceous and fair.’

Slivery light flashed over Yennefer’s form. In the blink of an eye her double chin receded, the firm lines of her face reappeared, her arms grew lean and her paunch sucked back into a lean midsection. In a moment she had had the same narrow waist, slim arms and lean face that she’d always sported, but the illusion spell didn’t hide everything.

‘And it leaves me with the tits of a tavern slut,’ Yennefer sighed, staring at her still over full chest, ‘and the ass of a brewery horse.’

The illusion left her chest the full DD cup they had been, but corrected the sagging and gave them a ludicrous pertness. Likewise, her rear remained immense in both width and breadth, but at least the cellulite had vanished.

‘Of course it left the breasts and hips, a man must have designed this,’ the sorceress growled and set about dressing herself.

She enlarged a fresh pair of negligee and loose fitting dress, then after putting them on shrank them down until they’d fit her reasonably well. A corset explained both the illusory pertness of her chest, while a long bustle skirt helped hide the immense breadth of her hips. She checked herself in the mirror one last time, styled her hair with another spell and touched up her make up with another, and then finally set out wearing a simple pair of pumps beneath the long skirt and holding a black medical bag.

The Sorceress was met in the Villa’s main hall by one of the Duchess’ Knights Errant, a young man who Geralt had introduced her to at one point, saying he’d helped the knight save his beloved from a curse. She dredged her memory and pulled up the name Guilliame.

‘Sir Guilliame, I understand it that the Duchess has need of me,’ Yennefer asked, putting on her best commanding mage voice and unconsciously sucking in her stomach even though the illusion gave her a wasp waist, ‘Do go on, my time is valuable.’

‘I understand milady, do you have anyway of contacting Sir Geralt?’ asked the young knight.

Yennefer imagined Geralt seeing her as she was now, plump and pudgy. It wasn’t that she feared him leaving her, but she knew that the teasing would never, ever at any point stop unless she teleported him into a volcano.

‘Sir Geralt is in Skellige and will be for months I expect,’ Yennefer answered, hoping that would be enough time to lose this bulk if she was forced to lose it through dieting and exercise, ‘my own considerable talents will have to be enough.’

‘Yes, I see,’ said the knight, ‘Come with me then, the Duchess sent her own coach. She has a problem that requires a, let us say personal touch.’

‘I will do my best, after all I am a physician as well as a sorceress,’ the woman said, subconsciously brushing her dress across her stomach, ‘let us continue, as quickly as possible.’

The walk to the carriage took no time at all, although it was far enough from the main door that the Sorceress sprouted a faint sheen of sweat across her forehead. Toussaint’s roads were excellent, but the carriage still rattled and bounced across the gravel and stones as its team of horses hurried towards the capital. Yennefer felt every pot hole and crack as the vibrations made her jiggle inside the confines of the corset, her soft, sensitive belly being constantly pinched by the laces and rods.

‘This is something a fat girl does,’ she whispered to herself as she undid the laces with another spell, ‘you are acting like a fat girl.’

But she still sighed with relief when her paunch was able to spread out, although the increased jiggling of both her stomach and breasts was both distracting and humiliatingly arousing. She felt her cheeks blush as her nipples brushed against the soft fabric of her blouse.

With the immediate pain gone, worry decided to hit her then. Yennefer hadn’t had a spell fail since school, especially not a simple charm like a weight loss cantrip. She had said the spell correctly, she was certain of that, she had felt it’s initial affects on her. Nor had her connection to the power failed, every other spell she had tried was an instant success. If anything her telekinesis and levitation seemed stronger and more immediate than before. She hadn’t had to channel energy from the elements as she usually did after several spells either, upon checking the reserve of mana within her she found it shockingly full. There was more raw power in her than usual.

‘If there’s more raw power in me, then why am I still…unpleasantly plump?’ the mage asked herself.

As the carriage gobbled up the miles, Yennefer became aware of another complication brought on by her gluttonous habit. It started with a low growl below her belly button that took her by surprise, then coiled upwards into a trembling roar about her mid section. Over the last month or so, Marlenne’s innocent ministrations had turned the once aesthetic sorceress into a habitual overeater. She was accustomed to a large breakfast, be it a large omelet with bacon and toast, as soon as she rose, a heavy lunch of bread, cheese, vegetables and ham and then a heavy dinner with roast meat as its main course. Interspersed liberally throughout were servings of delicious apple pie, swimming in sugar and cinnamon, and numerous bunches of grapes. Yennefer’s stomach hadn’t been empty during the day light for weeks and the sudden growl of the expanded organ was disquieting and discomforting.

‘Freya’s fertile hips, its not even lunch time,’ the sorceress hissed to herself, ‘you can last until then.’

More miles passed and the groaning grew louder, showing no sign of stopping its petulant demands. Yennefer put a hand to her waist, trying to massage away the increasing pains. She’d dealt with pain, but this was pure torture. Nor could she sit through an audience with her stomach growling like a dragon in heat.

‘Its just a small snack,’ Yennefer said, hands weaving a complex gesture that made a somewhat smaller than normal slice of Marlene’s pie appear before her, ‘just to tide me over until I can get myself under control. Its not like I’ve given myself an eating disorder or anything.’

The pie wasn’t as warm as she was accustomed too, but it hit the spot. The sorceress promised herself a very long walk in the morning as the carriage ground to a halt and she relaced her corset, then checked herself to ensure the illusion was still in place. Yennefer found herself inside the court yard of Beauclair’s towering palace, its stately white arches and towers soaring away into the heavens.

‘Follow me, Madame,’ Sir Guillame insisted, bowing and sweeping his arm, ‘the Duchess is at the top.’

He gestured at a ramp that wound its way up the castle. A very long, steep looking ramp.

‘Madmoiselle,’ Yennefer insisted, ‘and is there another way up? Perhaps a carriage, I would not like to be tired before my examination.’

‘There is no other way sadly and it is too steep for a carriage,’ the errant insisted, ‘please follow, it is only half a mile all told.’

Along the way, the knight talked, telling Yennefer about his upcoming nuptials and his eternal gratitude to Geralt for saving his betrothed. Yennefer could barely follow him, all her attention focused on keeping herself going. She’d added nearly a third of her body weight in less than a month, all while her muscles softened and weakened on her couch. Her thickened thighs made her usually firm strut slower, each step bringing with it a chafing sensation. That faint sheen of sweat thickened as she walked, the warm Touissant sun heating up her black dress. A sharp pain stabbed into her side, a stitch from a body unaccustomed to any activity beyond lounging.

How out of shape can I be?’ the sorceress demanded of herself, then used a spell to ease the pain at her side and to evaporate the sweat, ‘Long walks aren’t going to fix this. I’ll need to jog. Maybe even lift weights.’

After what seemed an eternity of sweaty, exhausted agony, the sorceress reached the Ducal throne room high atop the palace. Her breathing was heavy at that point, not a pant but not the quiet breathe of a sorceress either. The Knight Errant cast a quizzical look at her.

‘Too much teleportation,’ she admitted half truthfully, ‘kills the wind.’

‘I see,’ said the knight with a puzzled tone, as he opened a door for her to the throne room. A small gathering of nobles conversed and argued before the ducal throne, giving Yennefer time to catch her breath and look around.

Duchess Anna Henrietta was a strikingly beautiful woman herself, a silken gown as expensive as a small village wrapped around  a tall, lean figure while elaborately braided golden hair spilled across her shoulders. Yennefer had a good deal of experience with beautiful women, she was one of course, and tended to mistrust those who weren’t sorceresses, not that she didn’t trust sorceresses either. In her experience they tended to be threatened around women who weren’t in danger of ever going gray, gathering wrinkles or, and Yennefer had to admit this felt true herself now that she was on the wrong side of the overweight line. Anna-Henrietta had eight inches on her in height and lacked six around the waist, even inside the illusion of a slender version of herself Yennefer felt short and dumpy. That her hair would be raven dark in twenty years while the Duchess’ would be gray felt small comfort at that point.

 After a few minutes, a steward announced her arrival and the crowd parted that the Sorceress might walk through the room. She passed through several ladies in waiting who all seemed very tall and very thin. While her illusion was intact, her clothes were loose and she’d opted for more comfortable shoes than her customary stilettos, robbing her of four inches of customary height. She let herself read the minds of the slim women around her and instantly found several envying the impressive heft and pertness of Yennefer’s chest. Well supported by the corset and on a frame that seemed much smaller than what the sorceress usually had, her breasts seemed absolutely enormous. She let herself smile at that and held her head higher, conceding that being plump had at least a few benefits. Finally she reached the throne, making eye contact with the Duchess.

‘Your Grace,’ Yennefer said, giving a curtsy that was very good considering that the atrophied muscles in her soft legs felt like they were on fire as she bent, ‘I understand that you have need of my talents.’

‘Lady Yennefer, it is good you are here. The rest of this room may leave us,’ the Duchess said, an imperious tone in her voice, ‘these discussions are private.’

As the nobles filed out, Yennefer wondered what the issue was. She considered reading Anna-Henrietta’s thoughts, but that would be a bit rude in a potential client. Instead she struck a calm pose and waited, as if she hadn’t a care in the world and her stomach wasn’t starting to demand lunch.

‘What goes on here is in the strictest confidentiality,’ the Duchess said, ‘you cannot speak a word of it to anyone else.’

‘Not a syllable,’ Yennefer said, ‘now what necessitated my presence?’

‘To begin with, I am not Duchess Anna Henrietta,’ the woman confessed, raising her hands to her hair and revealing the golden curls to be a wig covering short black hair, ‘My name is Syanna, I am the Duchess’ sister.’

‘And the real Duchess?’ asked Yennefer, raising an eyebrow and silently preparing a spell in case she needed to defend herself.

‘Follow me,’ the false Duchess said, rising with a rustle of gold silks, ‘but you must prepare yourself, it is a shocking sight.’

Yennefer cocked an eyebrow and followed Syanna out of the throne room. The disguised woman stopped at a seemingly random tapestry and pushed it aside to reveal a hidden door that opened to reveal stairs. Her tired thighs quivered at the sight, but fortunately they went downwards only a single flight to another door that Syanna stopped at and knocked hesitantly.

‘Anna?’ the woman asked, ‘Anna, the Sorceress is here. May we come in?’

‘Yes, please bring her in,’ came a voice, strained from crying.

The door opened with a hiss of oiled hinges, revealing the opulent bed chamber of the Duchess of Touissant. Gilt framed paintings by several masters hung on the walls, while an immense four posted bed dominated one room and several over stuffed sofas arranged around a coffee table another. Sitting on one couch was a woman who could have been Syanna’s twin, save for her long golden hair, tear smudged eyes and a hundred plus pounds of body fat.

On the coins issued by her mint, Duchess Anna Henrietta was every bit as trim and lean as her sister, but that was clearly a thing of the past. Her firm, square shaped face was a puffy round moon replete with a heavy double chin. Her thick, jowly neck led down not to the delicate shoulders of a noble woman in her prime, but the thick, soft upper body of a matron a decade older, while her arms were thick and meaty with flab hanging from their bottom. Even her fingers were thick and clumsy, sausage like they’d be too large for any of the Duchess’ wide array of jewelry.

Yen would have put the Duchess as a C cup on her coins and portraits, but the fat swollen melons were now larger than Yennefer’s head and low enough to be called saggers. Sitting, her heavy gut split into two distinct rolls divided by a crevice at the belly button so deep the Sorceress could have put her finger in it up to the last knuckle and had to suppress an urge to do so. Heavy love handles sagged to the sides, over hanging meaty hips that must have been four feet in circumference. Her thighs were closed, preserving what little dignity Anna had, and each pillar like leg was likely as thick as Yennefer’s old waist measurements. The Duchess’ once graceful ankles had burst into flabby cankles that had all the grace of a milk cow. Imagining this huge woman on the dance floor, or perhaps anywhere not next to a plate of food, was ridiculous.

‘Lady Yennefer, how good of you to come,’ the true Anna said, voice strained and somehow deeper, ‘I would rise to meet you but…I am not well.’

The Sorceress didn’t gasp or open her mouth. This was a medical case before her now, a patient that needed help. She put away any prideful feelings of superiority at seeing a rival laid low, although she did let her disguised and hidden tummy relax, and became clinical.

‘Your Grace,’ she said, curtseying again and ignoring the complaints of her own soft thighs, ‘I am at your disposal.’

‘I am glad to see you and that you’ve come so quickly,’ the noble woman answered, ‘I…I cannot go out in such a state.’

‘I understand, then let us not beat around the bush,’ Yennefer began calmly, ‘this weight did not come from Touissant’s fine cuisine, did it?’

‘No,’ the Duchess said, eyes tearing up, ‘when I went to bed last night, I was as slender as you are. When I awoke, my sheets were soaked in sweat and I felt sluggish, every movement like I was trapped in tar. Sitting up it felt like I was chained to a lead weight, only when I staggered to the mirror did I see…did I see what had happened. I kept my door closed and only opened it for Syanna, thankfully we’ve been reunited recently.’

‘Yes, I am glad I was here,’ the fat woman’s slender sister said, ‘As children we frequently disguised ourselves, thankfully as adults we still look nearly identical.’

‘Looked Syanna, looked,’ the depressed Anna insisted, ‘now I could pass for your fat aunt.’

‘Ladies, please do not interrupt,’ Yennefer insisted, ‘I will need to do a full physical examination before anything else.’

Tools were summoned from Yennefer’s bag: calipers, enchanted magnifying glasses, a hypodermic needle, measuring tapes as well as, impossibly given its dimensions, the scale from her room. The transformed duchess stood with a most un noble grunt, conceding to the Sorceress’ investigation. Most of the tools told the illusioned sorceress nothing beyond the Duchess being very, very fat. When the scale was adjusted, it showed Anna Henrietta weighed, for a noble beauty, an immense two hundred and forty pounds, putting her well into the obese range.

‘May I ask how much you weighed before this change?’ Yennefer asked.

‘Were you not my doctor, I would say one hundred and nineteen pounds,’ Anna admitted, ‘but I was carrying a little bit extra. The winter feasting season had just ended and I’ve found it harder to stay thin as my twenties pass on. I was, what I thought was a rather hefty one hundred and thirty. I’d give ten years of my life to be within twenty pounds of that now.’

‘Hmmm, one hundred and ten pounds in a night,’ Yennefer said, raising a magnifying glass to her eye and through it seeing white circles of magic radiating off of the Duchess’ heavy gut, ‘I am certain that you were enchanted. This is at least no plague, but I must know the source. Have you had any change in diet or habit recently? Eaten anything strange or that may have been handled by someone with a grudge against you?’

‘My palace staff are very well paid and my diet for the past week has been rye bread, salad and boiled vegetables. I’ve been walking more as well, two or three miles a day,’ Anna said, ‘Like I said, my dresses had been a little snug after winter and I wanted to be in shape for the summer balls.’

‘Yes, Touissant’s food can have most disastrous effects on a lady’s figure,’ Yennefer said, unconsciously putting a hand on a stomach that to the other women seemed very flat, ‘but this isn’t from over eating. Have you done anything that would make someone want to curse you? Turned away any beggars? Refused any suitors?’

‘My palace feeds anyone who comes to the gates,’ Anna insisted, ‘and while I have several suitors at the moment, it has been some time since I’ve directly rejected one.’

‘Hmmm, well magic is radiating off of you,’ Yennefer said, ‘nor does your skin have any stretch marks one would expect. It is as if you’ve been obese since childhood, which means this is powerful magic. Have there been any new policies in your duchy? Any expansions of logging into previously uncut woodlands or excavations of old ruins?’

‘Well, maybe,’ the Duchess admitted, ‘I’ve signed some permits for exploration near Lynx Craig and for some mining in the Gorgon foot hills.’

‘I see,’ Yennefer said, tapping her stomach, ‘this land is covered in a web of ancient magic Duchess. It may be that either place has spirits or powers that were disturbed and took their vengeance out on you. Why it left you so unmarred though I am unsure.’

‘I am hardly unmarred, lady Sorceress! Were your figure to expand a bit, perhaps you would not be so flippant!’ Anna snapped.

‘Trust me when I say I know exactly how you feel your Grace,’ Yennefer said cooly, ‘but while you are no longer the belle of the ball, you are barely touched considering curses. You may be fat but you’ve not been turned into a tree or transformed into a were beast or even been rendered that unhealthy. You are fat yes, but your blood pressure was still within normal range. Tell me, are there any other sorceresses in Touissant?’

‘Surely you would know better than I?’ asked the Duchess, ‘Does your Lodge not keep in contact?’

‘I have been deep in research,’ Yennefer said, as if reading trash romance and gaining a third her body weight was research, ‘so I have been out of contact for some time. Fringella Vigio was your court sorceress, has she returned?’

‘I know she was pardoned by the Emperor, but we have not heard any word from her since,’ Syanna said, ‘nor did my sister do anything to her. Why do you ask?’

‘Because this seems like something a sorceress would do to another sorceress she was jealous of,’ Yennefer said, ‘although usually that’s confined just to our school days. There are several angles of research for me to try now at least. The magic radiating off of you has a traceable pulse, one I can match once I’ve seen other castings from the same person or source. Once I do that, I will be able to break the curse. If you will excuse me ladies.’

She curtsied again, and again felt the strain, only to be interrupted by the Duchess, ‘Wait, you are leaving! But your spells! I know sorceresses have a way to make someone thin.’

‘Indeed, although I would ask how you know?’ asked Yennefer.

‘As a girl she was very fond of sweets,’ Syanna teased, ‘Ample-Anna and Skinny Syanna mother used to tease.’

‘I see, but this is no ordinary fat,’ Yennefer explained, ‘your heaviness comes from a spell. It could have a trap in it if magic is used to counter act it. You could triple in size or every woman in a hundred miles could grow just as big. For now…well, your highness, I am sorry but you must wait.’

Anna bit her lip, tears in her eyes, only for her sister to put a hand on her shoulder, ‘Come sister, she speaks wisdom. You must use this as an opportunity to relax, to let me bear the brunt of things.’

‘I suppose things have been stressful of late,’ the obese duchess sighed, ‘all right, I will wait. But not here, locked in my room. I’ll retire to one of my estates until a cure can be found, some fresh air will do me a world of good. Yennefer, forgive my outburst. As soon as I can be dressed, let us dine together.’

Yennefer was hungry, desperately so, her belly demanding she stuff herself to the brim. But in Anna’s immense figure she saw her own future staring back at her. Two more months of over eating and she’d be just as obese as the Duchess. Sampling a Ducal feasting table was no way to get her appetite under control. Also, she had only a few hours until her own glamor faded and needed to be recast.

‘I’m sorry your grace, but I must begin my research at once,’ Yennefer said, ‘Once you are cured, I will of course be happy to attend.’

And at that point, I pray my stomach won’t be sitting in my lap,’ she added mentally.

The Sorceress departed, leaving the two sisters alone.

‘That could have gone better,’ said Anna, sitting heavily on the couch.

‘It could have gone worse,’ said Sylvia, ‘Do not fret though, I’ll summon a seamstress. We’ll have some gowns prepared for you at once and then we can dine. You haven’t eaten anything all day.’

‘I hardly think I need to eat,’ the obese woman sighed, ‘but I am starving. And don’t order me too many gowns, as soon as Yennefer is back I’ll be just as slim as you again.’

‘Of course dear sister,’ Sylvia said as she turned away, hiding a feral smile, ‘Of course you will be.’

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3 hours ago, WaxerRed said:

You have no idea how happy I am to see this continue, Great Work!!

 

Thanks for the encouragement!

Chapter 3: The Defeat of Diet and the Vanquishing of Exercise

‘Geralt, am I big enough yet?’ Yennefer cooed.

She sat on the four poster bed, sausage fingers resting on her hamhock knees. The waterfall of her sixty inch waist spilled over her tree trunk thighs, four distinct rolls hanging down over her plump sex. Enormous breasts, striated with bright red stretch marks, flopped down on either side of it, their size larger than any bra stitched by a regular tailor. A dimpled smile split her round moon face, extending down from her piggy eyes to the heavy jowls of her throat. She must have weighed nearly a quarter of a ton and was easily as tall as she was wide.

‘Not yet,’ the Witcher told her, handing her a stoppered bottle, ‘take this, the Satyr Solution will really add mass to you.’

She drained it in one smooth motion, feeling burning heat fill her. Yennefer’s already colossal body expanded, her arms and legs spreading wide as she swelled. The flabby apron of her stomach touched the floor, the bottoms of her sagging breast right after. With a groan, the bed collapsed backwards, its wood too weak to support a thousand pound ball of fat. Hopelessly unable to support her self, Yennefer toppled backwards, an explosion of goose down as she hit the mattress.

Soaked with sweat, Yennefer’s eyes snapped open as she sat up. Her hand instantly went to her belly, finding it slim. Well, it was plump but she was gaunt compared to the fat mountain she’d been in her dream.

‘Literally the fuck,’ the Sorceress said snapping her fingers and lighting candles around the dark room, ‘am I going mad as well?’

As she stepped from her bed, Yennefer realized her belly felt quite full. She looked down and saw an empty tray, bearing only a few crumbs of white cake. Her pink tongue gingerly touched her lips, finding a ring of white frosting.

Marlene,’ the Sorceress snarled.

When she’d returned from the palace, she found her literal minded cook had abandoned pies and instead prepared a wedding cake’s worth of a new desert. Starving, but maintaining an immense self control, Yennefer had had a small supper of roasted asparagus and fish, just keeping her daily calorie count at the even mark, and staying ravenously hungry while staring at the mountain of cake. Exhausted, she’d made herself a bath and tried to research, from her own spell books and from the small mountain of history books, spell books and folklore she’d bought from Beauclair’s book sellers and charged to the Duchess’ account. However, she’d been too hungry and exhausted to get anywhere and eventually retired, stomach still growling.

‘So now I’m sleep eating,’ Yennefer growled, rubbing a  stomach that was even fuller than the day before, ‘if the Lodge could see me now, I don’t know if they’d laugh or cry. I’m barely going to be able to eat all day now with half a sheet cake in my belly.’

It was still mostly dark outside, earlier than Yennefer had awakened in some time. She was tired and groggy, not to mention full, but sleep was out of the question, at least until she’d found a way to keep herself from pigging out in the night.

‘First thing first, I need to find out if I can reduce this,’ she said, pinching too much of an inch at her waist, ‘be it magic or, urk, exercise.’

Making a weight loss charm was easy, a matter of enchanting a silver medallion with a cantrip that would in theory start burning two thousand calories a day off of her. Her hopes for it weren’t high, not after the other spell had failed, but it was best to remove any doubt. It flashed 146.5 on its front as she put it on.

 Because her hopes were low though, she prepared a few items of clothing: baggy pants, a thin shirt and flat heeled boots. She’d had them made when Geralt had insisted on trying to teach her a few sword tricks, failing when it had quickly turned into sweaty, passionate sex instead.

‘I’d much rather be doing that,’ she intoned to herself as she gingerly pulled on the clothes, not trusting her materialization spell after splitting her underwear yesterday, ‘even at this weight.’

The clothes had been made to be roomy and as such were only snug, although she struggled with the button for a moment, having to actually suck in her plush belly. They fit, after a fashion, but the painful tug at her waist wasn’t comfortable enough to exercise in and she didn’t want anyone to see her muffin top hanging between pants and vest. A current of power stretched the clothes out until they were comfortable and the pale flesh hidden, although her soft arms were exposed.

‘Okay, exercise,’ Yennefer told her self in the mirror,  frowned at and then banished several pimples on her cheeks, and continued on, ‘I should…run? Jump rope?’

Since she’d started out thin and lean, Yennefer had never really exercised. There’d been plenty of activity, from dragon hunts to daring escapes, but that had flowed naturally from possessing a slim young body. Now she was starting from nowhere and hauling thirty five pounds of lard with her every step.

‘No, stretching,’ she remembered, ‘stretching is important.’

Yennefer had been very flexible not long ago, but that had faded with her waistline. When she touched her toes, her belly pouched up over the pants and her ass strained even the expanded seams. When she lay on her back and pulled her knees to her chest, there was a further warning sound that led her to quickly loosen her clothes. After a few minutes, the enchantress was breathing heavily.

‘Stretching, sucks…balls,’ she panted.

Slipping on the flat boots, she tip toed down stairs, not wanting to wake any sleeping servants. She went through the kitchen, passing Marlene snoozing contently by the hearth and steadfastly not looking at the cakes laid out on the table. One had a large section cut out of it, making Yennefer balk and raise her daily caloric count upwards. She drew a glass of water from the pump, greedily drained it and walked outside into the chill morning air, the sun a red line on the horizon.

‘Jogging,’ she told herself, ‘jogging. Just pumping the arms and legs, burning four hundred calories an hour. By maybe noon I can eat again today.’

Yennefer was not able to jog until noon.

Her body felt clumsy from the get go, a full body jiggle spreading through her with every step. Despite the stretching her limbs felt stiff and awkward, unused as they were to any activity at all. Geralt had taught her deep breathing for exercising, but her breaths soon came quick and shallow. Sweat formed on every inch of her despite the morning cool, darkening the thin shirt with sweat stains. A stitch formed almost immediately Five minutes after she started, the sorceress passed by the villa’s main gate, half a mile from the main house.

‘Keep…*huff* …going,’ she gasped to herself, pace meandering on the road.

Another half a mile and eight minutes later she was kneeling on the road, gasping so hard she was on the verge of hyperventilating. More sweat than she’d known was in her poured from her skin, plastering her hair to her face and sticking the shirt to her thick curves. Her lungs burned like she’d swallowed hot coals, her limbs trembled with effort and her feet may as well have been on fire. It was with difficulty she stopped herself from vomiting over herself.

‘Ugh…ugh,’ the usual cool woman groaned, standing up very slowly, ‘AHHH!’

Her left thigh throbbed, an arrow in the muscle would have hurt less. She staggered upright, unable to put any weight on it and surely not able to get back to the villa on her own power. Wobbling, she summoned a portal, falling through it onto her bed.

‘I…think…I think that went well,’ Yennefer groaned, ‘at this rate *huff* I’ll fit back into my clothes somewhere around the time the sun burns out.’

It took several minutes until the sorceress managed to get up, even after magically soothing her cramped thigh muscles. Coated in sweat, she dematerialized the clothes down to the laundry basket, saw that in addition to looking plump as ever she was also sweaty and disheveled, and then summoned steaming water into the long bathtub in the corner of the room. She splashed down into it, moaning at the warmth and poured some soap into it to deal with the smell of her body odor.

The exhausted woman spent an hour lounging in the tub before she even bothered to wash her hair. Even that seemed at the very edge of her efforts, her arms trembling as she ran them through the thick black hair. Utterly spent, she fell half asleep, able only to rub a soapy loofah over her full belly.

She dreamed of herself laying on her couch, reading a book and munching grapes, weighing well over two hundred pounds and stroking an enormous and obviously pregnant belly that strained against a black and white maternity dress with a hand that bore a gold wedding ring.

Purple eyes popped open as the door swung wide. Marlene entered humming, the old woman’s sinewy arms bearing a tray with half a dozen fried eggs, a small slab of bacon and a mountain of hashbrowns. Yennefer yelped with unusual modesty, unaccustomed to being seen less than perfect.

‘Marlene! Knock!,’ she demanded.

‘Oh don’t worry deary!,’ the clueless old woman cooed, ‘Just bringing you some breakfast, don’t want you to waste away with the amount of work you’re doing. Barnabas said you were working for the Duchess personally! And you only being nineteen!’

‘Marlene, I’ve told you this many times,’ Yennefer sighed, ‘I am not actually a young lady, I’m over a century old.’

‘Haha, you won’t fool me deary,’ the cook laughed, placing the heavy tray across the top of the tub, ‘you a hundred! That’s what I am after that curse ate up my life.’

Yennefer frowned as the cook stood. Marlene’s white hair was thicker today, shaded more iron grey than snowy white. And she stood straighter, her shoulders less slumped and the wrinkles on her face shallower. She didn’t look a hundred, she was maybe sixty.

‘Are you feeling alright Marlene?’ Yennefer asked, mouth watering at the food in front of her.

‘Oh, never better! Cooking for you makes me happy as a clam, seeing a girl grow to woman hood!’

‘Marlene, I am on a diet,’ Yennefer told her sourly, swallowing drool.

‘Yes deary I know,’ the cook winked, ‘your second course will be up in a moment, as soon as the cinnamon rolls are done. We’ll have you plump as a partridge soon enough.’

Yennefer debated putting another suggestion spell on Marlene, ordering her to take away the fattening fare and replace it with raw spinach. But then her stomach growled loudly and her willpower fell like a sand castle before the tide. She sighed, admitting defeat after less than a day of fighting her hopeless war of diet and exercise.

‘I’ll save the cinnamon rolls for later,’ the Sorceress sighed, sitting up in the water, her sore muscles screaming at the small movement, ‘for now, this will be fine.’

‘Of course, I’ll bring them up in an hour,’ Marlene cooed and then shuffled out of the room.

Yennefer looked down, both at the mountain of food and the soft squishiness of her torso.

‘Let’s see, this is maybe five times what I burned jogging this morn,’ she sighed, ‘and I’m going to eat this. I’m going to eat all of this and I’m going to get fatter still, because I have the will power of a kitten.’

She took a bite of egg, smiling as the thick yolk ran over her tongue.

‘I need to do some research,’ the mage admitted, ‘otherwise…otherwise I’m going to get just as big as the Duchess.’

 

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Chapter 4:

‘Now girls,’ Margarita Laux-Antlle lectured in Yennefer’s nightmare, the Rector of the Magic School stalking across the floor of the Aretuza’s lecture hall with a swish of green silk, ‘appearance can be everything in magic. No client will work with a sorceress who cannot perform the simple task of keeping up her appearance. To that order, two examples are before you: a beautiful sorceress and a bad sorceress. Let us compare and contrast.’

The gorgeous blonde woman was flanked by two doors. She turned to the one on her left and opened it with a minor spell. A woman strolled in with a confident strut, the only sound the click of her heels. In the strange logic of dreams, Yennefer realized it was Triss Merigold and that her rival stood cool and calm wearing naught but a pair of high heels and a grin.

‘Start here, what is positive about this sorceress?’ asked Margarita.

‘Her face is lean!’ one girl yelled, ‘It shows her intelligence and beauty, unhidden by fat!’

‘Good! What else!’ Margarita yelled.

‘Her good looks are timeless,’ another answered, ‘she could be twenty or two hundred and none could tell! As such, she must be a powerful and experienced caster!’

‘Very good!’ agreed the Rector, ‘Let us move further south. What about her breasts?’

She gently thrust the wand under one pink nippled tit, making it rise.

‘Big as small melons! Yet without a trace of sagging!’ some girl in the amorphous crowd of the lecture hall noted, ‘Only a girl before her twentieth year or a sorceress could have ones like that!’

Triss smiled deeper and shook her shoulders, giving her high, firm tits a bounce.

‘And what does this mean for her career?’

‘That men will want her and women want to look like her!’

‘Good, continue moving down,’ Margarita insisted, thrusting the wand into Triss’ flat, narrow waist and finding no give, ‘Why should you have a flat belly?’

‘It says we have discipline!’ someone in the lecture hall answered, ‘That we can avoid temptation.’

‘Good, good,’ Margarta answered, ‘you girls have studied! And her hip region, what about that?’

‘Broad but lean! Unmistakably feminine with no trace of excess!’

Triss turned, offering a pert backside for contemplation.

‘No sign of cellulite! Smooth as polished marble and tight enough to bounce a sovereign off of!’

The red haired sorceress turned again, Margarita pointing to her tight, pink pussy.

‘Smooth and clean! Tight and firm!’

‘Excellent and her legs!’

‘Long, lean and athletic! There’s a gap between them and every man and woman who sees their ivory length can’t help but want them around their waist!’

‘Perfect job girls!’ Margarita said, ‘Triss here is indeed an excellent specimen of sorceress. Anything to say Triss?’

‘Remember girls, to get a body like this,’ the red head said, running her hands laviciously up her curves, ‘all you need is magic!’

‘Very true, but now for the bad,’ Margarita agreed, ‘Yennefer, please enter!’

The other door groaned open. For a moment no one was there, but then Yennefer waddled in, naked as Triss was but for shoes. Her gargantuan hips brushed the doorframe, her pace was as unsteady as a newborn calf, her flabby chest heaved with exertion and she was coated in sweat. She stood next to her rival, a foot shorter and two hundred pounds heavier, having lost several inches in height and found them many times over in girth.

‘I’m sorry,’ the obese mage groaned, ‘there were so many stairs…’

‘Fat girls speak when spoken too!’ Margarita snapped, ‘and they’re never spoken too!’

A blush hit Yennefer’s acne studded cheeks as the Rector continued, ‘Now girls, point out her flaws.’

‘Her face makes her look like a pig, greedy and stupid!’

‘Her acne makes her look like a teenager, any sorceress who can’t manage her skin must be a rank novice or extreme incompetent!’

‘She’s got food around her mouth and on her chins! She can’t even clean herself!’

‘Her tits are like a cows’! They point straight down and sag onto her belly!’

‘Her gut is so big it hangs down in front of her pussy! And its covered in stretch marks!’

‘Indeed girls, indeed,’ the Rector agreed, ‘lets take a look at that pussy!’

Yennefer’s apron gut was raised up, exposing a black tangle of ungroomed pubic hair. The girls in the audience laughed at the dark patch and the plump pussy.

‘Look! She can’t even clean herself!’

‘Indeed, she’s become a complete slob,’ Margarita agreed, ‘now, turn around cow, if you can.’

Sniffling, the dark haired blob of a woman turned with a jiggle, exposing several rolls of back fat and a cellulite coated ass more suited for a brewery horse than a famed beauty.

‘How can she actually stand carrying that around!’

‘It’s wider than she is!’

‘It looks like the moon!’

Yennefer blushed, her cheeks reddening as she began crying. Margarita smacked her across the ass hard with the wand, the crack and pain making her jump up in the air. Everything jiggled as she leapt and her weak legs gave out as she fell, causing her to spill onto the ground. Struggling, grunting, Yennefer tried to stand up, arms and legs too weak to support her pale blob of a body.

‘Crying is for pigs!’ the lithe blonde yelled, ‘does she look like a pig girls?’

‘Yes!’

‘A complete swine!’

‘A total hog!’

‘No!’ Yennefer sobbed, ‘I’m not a pig!’

‘Why, yes you are,’ Triss laughed, the spectacular red head stalking over on her long legs, ‘and you should eat like one!’

With a snap of Triss’ fingers, a wooden trough piled high with cupcakes and cookies appeared on the ground. Yennefer began drooling involuntarily and tried to fight her desire to plunge her face into the pile of confections. For a moment her old pride and discipline held, but then her trembling forearms gave out and she fell into the pile, spilling into the trough and knocking it over. Dough and icing was smashed into the soft rolls of her quivering rolls and her cry of pain let a doughnut fall into her mouth. Fat and sugar overwhelmed her and she began devouring them by the handful, icing getting all over her face and into her hair. She started expanding with every bite, her trembling body spilling over the ground.

‘This is the real you Yen,’ Triss laughed, flaunting her perfect body in front of her, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Geralt is taken care of.’

Yennefer’s eyes snapped open.

The sorceress found herself in a dark room, just as in her dream. Sweatness was on her lips and she licked them, finding them coated in icing. As her purple eyes adjusted, she found herself not being humiliated at her Alma-Matter, but laying on the floor of the Villa’s kitchen. Her plump body was curled around a vast platter that had been filled with cupcakes before her sleeping form had gotten to them, while counters had several other similarly devastated platters.

‘Not…’ Yennefer gasped as she stood up, ‘not again.’

Standing was awkward, her belly was immensely full and as she rose, she realized the pale dome stuck out well past her breasts. Every morn for the last week she’d awoken from one erotic nightmare or another about her weight to find herself in this lair of obesity, finding herself having eaten a weeks worth of confectionaries over the night. Her near demonic tormentor Marlene seemed utterly impressed to find the devastation every morning, cooing as if it was adorable and then baking throughout the day.

‘This isn’t my fault…’ the sorceress gasped, ‘this isn’t my fault.’

You could brainwash the old woman into not baking anything, her mind reminded her. You could find a way of restraining yourself at night. You could buy a home in the city. You could stop waking up soaking wet between the legs at the dreams of yourself being stuffed, teased and humiliated.

As she stood up, Yen noticed that she’d removed her weight loss charm during the nightly feeding frenzy. Rolling her eyes, the thing was clearly useless but she wanted it on her anyway in case it was somehow slowing her growth rate, she bent to retrieve it. It was difficult, she was painfully full and her sore muscles, the sole seeming result of her exercise program, protested. She didn’t even wince at her fatty grunt as her over full gut slid against her thick thighs, but she stood up quickly at the loud *RIP* that split the kitchen. Eyes wide, she froze, left hand on her knee and right grasping towards the necklace, feeling the cool breeze touch her bare cheeks.

Ten days straight of waking up in the kitchen and having to tiptoe back through the large house had convinced Yennefer of the need to no longer sleep naked. She had closets worth of scanty lingerie, but they had been made for a woman with a slinky figure and sky high self confidence, not a woman with an ever doughier body and an increasingly meek personality. So, she’d taken out a pair of black silk pajamas, the pants and jacket loose enough to fit even her expanded form.

Until now it seemed, when days and nights of gorging had grown her out of even that.

Marlene murmured in her sleep, turning over but not getting up. Yennefer bent over, the sigh of a few seams in her ears, and snagged the necklace. She slipped it over her head, the silver pentagram turning into a bright 158 for a moment, and then tip toed out of the kitchen.

Passing through the main room of the ground floor, Yennefer caught sight of a figure on her left and jumped, stifling a scream. A short young woman stood there, barely out of her teens, with a terrified look on her soft face, puffy fingers over her mouth, a look of shame, guilt and terror on her face. Her face, hair and clothes were dirty, smeared with crumbs and icing. Her flabby, heavy body was very wide on the bottom, it was built for lazy afternoons reading about the romances and adventures other people had whilst transferring bon bons from a tray to her mouth. The three bottom buttons on her pajama shirt had come undone, a pale moon of a belly hanging over the rim of them, a few red stretch marks bordering her belly button. Once loose, the pajama pants were stretched tight around her thickened thighs. If Yennefer had seen this girl in the halls of Aretuza, she’d have assumed it was an overweight novice too young to cast a single charm sneaking out to the kitchens to gorge herself and sentenced her to weeks of humiliating work.

But it wasn’t a novice seeking a midnight snack, it was herself, having ballooned up to 158 pounds, the very edge of obesity. When she was skinny, and often in high heels, Yennefer’s shortness hadn’t even been noticeable, but now with an extra half of her body weight rounding her out, barefoot and in her pajamas, she looked childish. If anyone had seen her she’d be humiliated and her legs tingled with the mad hope they would.

‘What the hell happened to you Yen?’ the sorceress asked herself, heart thudding in her chest, ‘You’ve…you’ve got to take control of yourself. Yes you’re fat, no doubt about that, but this…this is crazy. You’re turning into someone else and its someone you don’t want to be.’

She stood up straighter, raised her chin so that there were only two of them and looked herself in the eyes.

‘You’re Yennefer of Vengerberg and you’re in control here,’ she said softly and firmly, ‘are you fat? Yes, but that’s no excuse. You’re going to take control of this and yourself, not lay around feeling sorry for yourself. You  are gaining a pound a day eating shit. Now chins up, you’re going to clean up, you’re going to get out of this lard trap, you’re going to help your client and you’re going to get skinny again.’

She looked at herself in the mirror, with one charm cleaning away the acne, cleaning her face and brushing her hair until it shown. Another got rid of the stretch marks on her belly and a third made the over tight pajamas stretch out so as to not pinch at her softened waist. She stood up straight, sucked in her belly, took a flattering pose and looked at her self and smiled, yes she was fifty pounds over her fighting weight, yes her appetite was out of control and yes she had no idea how to stop it, but cleaned up and with the right cut she looked like a woman, a well fed and soft bodied one, but one who looked pretty and well kept, providing you liked women with some heft to them.

Head held high, the sorceress stalked back to her chambers. She ignored the slight waddle demanded of her brushing thighs, the jiggling each step up the stairs sent up her thick legs, through her soft belly, across her heavy breasts and into her soft cheeks and the cold air biting against the expanse of her exposed ass.

Entering her room and lighting the candles with a snap, the sorceress summoned hot water into the bath. Turning towards her desk, and avoiding looking at the heavy woman in the black pajamas who lived in her mirror, she went over her notes.

‘The witch of lynx crag has been a legend in Touissant for centuries,’ she read from her own notes, ‘a terrible temptress who has seduced many brave knights sent to defeat her and cursed many peasants who strayed onto her land. Her true identity is unknown, but she is believed to be a sorceress of some great power who jealously guards her territory.’ Certainly sounds like a likely candidate for the caster of the curse, now I just need to confront her.’

Yennefer looked up at herself. Barefoot, she seemed very short and very wide. Her soft pajamas fit better thanks to her magical alterations, but they were still…clearly cut to favor a wasp waisted stunner, not a near obese woman. Where her waist was supposed to taper, it bulged, where the slacks were supposed to hang loose they were tight.

‘In new clothes,’ she admitted to herself and dematerialized the fabric, seeing herself looking swollen and pale, ‘In new, flatteringly cut clothes.’

 Nude, she looked over herself, unsure of how she felt. She'd been working out every morning for an hour, walking and jogging several miles and using some handweights to try and coax some tone into her soft arms. Yennefer's hard work had been rewarded by balooning up another thirteen pounds: widening her hips until they brushed her chair arms, thickening her thighs until they brushed with every step

, growing her paunch out onto her lap, fluffing her breasts up into E cups and making her double chin permanent from each angle. Her wind hadn't improved and she was in terrible shape, but she didn't seem to be getting into worse shape at least. And given how fat she was getting and with no signs of stopping, trying to at least slow her physical decline was good.

'How big am I going to get?' Yennefer asked herself, sinking into the tub with an unnoticed fat girl grunt and a splosh of displaced water, 'Two hundred pounds? Three hundred pounds?'

She sat back, hands on her swollen gut, 'Will I keep going until I can't go up the stairs? Until I can't see my feet? Until I can't walk?'

The raven haired beauty felt a tingle between her legs and blushed at the thought of herself so huge as to be trapped on a bed. She thought of her enormous stomach hanging to the ground, a cascade of fat rolls deep enough to lose a hand in, as her hand wandered down the slope of her belly to her pink pussy and gently rubbed her clit with two fingers. Her mind turned to breasts bigger than her head hanging heavily, the nipples like saucers and her free hand touched her current impressive chest, pinching with zeal. She ran her tongue over her lips at the thought of a life devoted solely to gorging, to growing ever bigger, a soft moan escaping her lips.

'How much can I eat?' she asked between pants, 'How big can I get?'

She moaned and groaned, limbs spasming as she neared climax. Yennefer's mind raced with expanding inches and rising numbers, of  slow waddling and quick eating, of heaving breasts and surging stomachs. With a final lurch of pleasure she came, limbs tingling and magic firing as her mind released itself. Numbed, the woman slumped into the tub, letting herself float for a moment with a dreamy smile. A strange, niggling worry entered her head after a moment, growing faster and faster.

'What the hell did I just do?' she snapped at herself, sitting up with a splash, fat rolls forming on her belly, 'Did I ...did I just masturbate to how fat I'm going to get?'

Yennefer shook her damp curls, 'I need to do something about this...what I don't know...but...I have to do something.'

She stuck out a hand, making her shampoo levitate towards her. However, when she caught it a surge of magic turned it into another cupcake. Not watching, the sorceress bit into it, frosting dancing on her tongue. After several mouthfuls, she looked at what she was holding and threw it across the room.

'And I need to do it quickly,' she reminded herself.

 

 

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  • 2 weeks later...
10 hours ago, Idle-Minded said:

I started this thinking "Oh, The Witcher fats and it was started in June of '16. It's gotta be done right?"

I was wrong and I shake my tiny fist at the god of unfinished stories. At least the last chapter was in October and my fingers are crossed at more!

Check https://montyisfat.deviantart.com/art/Madam-Binge-Ch1-429286413;

and I still hope he will update. ;-(

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On November 8, 2017 at 8:09 PM, Idle-Minded said:

I started this thinking "Oh, The Witcher fats and it was started in June of '16. It's gotta be done right?"

I was wrong and I shake my tiny fist at the god of unfinished stories. At least the last chapter was in October and my fingers are crossed at more!

Soon, I hope to be able to add more chapters.

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Yennifer prowled through the dark pine woods of Lynx Crag, silent and graceful as a panther.

A panther that has spent its life lying on a cushion being hand fed sweet meats and never having to hunt a single day that is. A faint sheen of sweat covered the full figured sorceress despite the cool of the mountainous crag, her heart was beating strong and her breathing was of a woman who’d run for her life for a considerable distance, large breasts rising and falling with each breath. It made sense, as one mile uphill from the portal she’d cast to this spot on the mountain was indeed a significant distance for a woman of her condition. She stopped, leaning up against a tree and slowly, taking a long pull from her canteen, careful to not accidentally turn it into sugary lemonade or sweet wine.

‘If this isn’t motivation,’ Yennefer gasped softly to herself, sticking the canteen onto the broad belt that hung around her thickening mid section, ‘I don’t know what is.’

The sorceress was wearing what was once her usual attire: high black boots, skin tight black leggings and a relatively loose white and black blouse. When Yen had been a rail thin stunner, tights had framed perfectly slim legs and an ass so tight an oren would bounce off of it. Now, the plus sized fabric was pulled around two thick, lazy legs that quivered with muscle pain from hauling her 160lb body up hill, used as they were only to exercising on flat terrain. Yen’s ass, wide and low, bulged out against the fabric, giving her a permanent wedgie. Before she set back on her path, she paused to gingerly remove it and to adjust her belt, a new one broad enough to act as an impromptu corset that kept her buttersoft paunch from hanging over her waist as a muffin top. A knot of string kept her pants together, her waist too thick for the pants to button around.

‘It’s a bit snug, but at least I’m still in the petite sizes,’ Yennefer said, ‘I’m still a…chubette.’

Slumping down on a rock, Yennefer thought back to earlier that morning. Then the Sorceress, in the very sundress that had let her puff up to such a state, had gone to the tailor, she’d been recommended to a specialist shop. The Round Belle was an establishment that catered to a particular clientele, noble women whose figures had through pregnancy or gluttony grown beyond the hour glass physique most tailors cut too. Its owner, a statuesque Elvish woman named Rosette, had proven to be a veritable connoisseur of the expanding female figure.

It hadn’t taken a moment from Yennefer’s entry for Rosette to realize she was dealing with a beauty who was rapidly ballooning. The awkward waddle of newly thickened thighs, the still good posture of shoulders unused to carrying a chest above a C and the way the garment was strained around its wearer’s stomach and hips instead of drawing attention to the chest all pointed to a slender woman rendered hefty in only a few months. Better, the vivid purple eyes combined with a girlish face, access to serious wealth and a complete and utter lack of stretch marks made the elf certain she was dealing with a sorceress, who despite having powers to reshape herself, had eaten herself into the thick thighed girl in front of her. Rosette had to suppress a shudder, for the thought of the shame such an arrogant beauty must feel every moment spent plump and jiggly was like sexual catnip to the gorgeous elf.

Yennefer had planned to imperiously give over her measurements and then pick the garments up in the morning, but Rosette had swept the sorceress off her feet (metaphorically of course, the svelte elven redhead had no hope of lifting a plump mage fifty pounds her heavier). In a moment the sundress had been discarded and Yennefer had stood in too tight undies, every vulnerable inch being measured, poked and proded by the stacked Rosette who reminded her uncomfortably of Triss.

‘This Beauclair food, it is frightful what it does onto your figure!’ Rosette said, grinning as she saw the 31 around Yennefer’s belly, ‘How long did it take dear?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ the mage answered, eyes locked onto a tray of lemon cookies drizzled with chocolate, each of which contained four hundred calories of butter, cream and sugar.

‘Your weight, my little northern accented beauty!’ Rosette said, bringing the measuring tape around Yennefer’s wide hips, ‘You have the bone structure and posture of a prima donna ballerina, once not long ago you could have passed for one I’d say! How long, two years since you started gaining?’

‘Well…I’d say about two, yes,’ Yennefer said, technically true if one added ‘month’ instead of year, mouth salivating at the sight of the cookies, it had been hours since she’d eaten…

‘And you’re only what, nineteen?’ Rosette said, knowing the answer was going to be a lie, ‘my my, to see your figure go so quickly and not even a baby to make you round out.’

‘Its quite a shock to realize,’ Yennefer said, IQ dropping every second the platter was in front of her and not in her mouth.

‘Its usual for your metabolism to fall once you get to a certain age, but do not worry! Many girls are only big for a little while, some can slim down with heavy exercise and careful diet,’ the tailor went on, lifting the lid off the cookies and letting Yennefer smell their heavenly aroma.

EAT. COOKIES. Yennefer’s brain screamed to her, a low growl coming from her stomach.

‘And others, if they’ve the wealth can find a sorceress,’ Rosette said, going dangerously close, ‘I hear there’s a very good one living nearby, one who could melt the fat right off you in a moment.’

‘Really?’ asked Yennefer, hope knocking away hunger even as her hand reached for the tray.

‘She’s a northerner…Jennifer or Yennefer,’ the elf teased, silently scooting the cooking tray until it was just beneath Yennefer’s soft fingers, ‘thin as a rail, so I’ve never seen her.’

‘I’ll…have to look her up,’ the disguised mage said, realizing she was holding three of the cookies.

‘Oh, don’t worry dear, they’re zero calorie, its like eating a cloud!’ Rosette lied, although a cloud of butter wasn’t far off the mark.

Yennefer didn’t really believe they were zero calorie cookies but rapidly ate one with machine like intensity. Another swiftly followed it and Rosette grinned.

‘I eat two dozen a day just to stay full,’ the tailor continued lying, running a graceful hand over the green skirt that lay flat against her washboard belly, ‘and its like magic. I’ll make sure your chef gets the recipe.’

‘That would be lovely,’ said the sorceress, on her fifth cookie, a decent meal forming in her belly.

Leaving out fattening food and claiming it had no ill effects was a blatant lie on Rosette’s part. But a full customer is a happy customer and her measurements were more accurate when going around a belly stuffed with sweets, given it was her clientele’s natural state. Better yet, it insured repeat services as waists continued to expand. She smiled at the hefty mage, knowing exactly what she’d be thinking of later that night, and began looking at her measurements.

‘Good news is that you’re probably at a plateau in your weight,’ Rosette said, continuing to lie, ‘a skinny girl like you, these curves are just temporary until your body adjusts to new surroundings. Once you adjust to living here rather than in the north, your appetite will shrink and your metabolic rate will recover, all of this will just melt off. Think of the clothes you’re getting today as a souveneir from your temporary stay in a softer country.’

Yennefer wasn’t stupid. She knew every word Rosette was saying was bull shit, her gaining fifty pounds immune to weight loss spells was not some precursor to a phoenix like rebirth of her figure. But the damnably slender and high breasted tailor had promised the clothes to her today and she needed those before venturing out to Lynx Crag.

‘Why, how very kind of you,’ she said with a raised eyebrow, ‘I’m sure that the weight will melt off, especially with food like you have out. And you say you can have a suit of clothes for me today?’

‘Of course, a nice empire waist dress to show off your bosom and some loose pantaloons for long evenings by the fire,’ the elf said.

‘I would prefer some more …active wear, tights and a bodice suitable for riding horses and walking long distance. Not long ago I was quite active, before I started…getting soft,’ Yennefer said, pinching a soft roll of blubber at her waist, ’returning to that might help reduce some of my current weight.’

‘Oh, but of course it will,’ Rosette said, taking in the utter lack of muscle tone and the seventh cookie her client was eating, ‘it’s a good thing you’re only in the petite range, that will be easy to cut some pants for.’

She didn’t tell Yennefer that the store’s size range was designed solely to salve her customer’s egos. Rosette knew quite well that Petite meant a size twelve in more specific terms, left a bit tight in the waist because the customer was vain enough to hope the pants would fit for more than a month  and wouldn’t complain they were too tight. This sorceress, who cold only be the famed Yennefer of Vengerburg carrying an extra fifty pounds, would probably be solidly into the Duchess sized range by her next visit.

It only took an hour of sewing and stitching, the Elf altering some stock garments she had while Yennefer polished off the last of the treats and took a brief fatty nap on a soft arm chair, surrounded by paintings and statues of women that were all decidedly rubenesque. Throughout, Rosette gossiped about this noble woman or that who had, in her long career the wealth and no longer so slim, found themselves fattening up. A long list of current favorites for the Queen of Love at the next tournament were suddenly out of the running due to rapid expansions in size. Yennefer filed that away as the last and thirteenth tart went down her throat and Rosette finished the clothes. The pants went up Yennefer’s soft thighs easily, and the loose blouse and vest did as well, cradling the sorceress’ full chest but getting tighter as they went down her swollen tummy. But when it came time to button it, not even a rock troll could get the pants to close around Yennefer’s stomach.

‘Its…its too tight,’ a red faced sorceress admitted after twenty minutes of jiggling struggle, ‘you’ll have to let it out.’

‘Oh, no, its perfectly fitted to you,’ Rosette said, ‘you’ve just…eaten a few too many cookies. Eyes a bit bigger than your stomach, no?’

There had been a bakers dozen of the treats, more like scones or tarts than cookies. And all of them were in Yennefer’s belly right now, adding several extra inches to it. Rosette, her face hidden beneath the swell of paunch, smiled. She’d never had a client eat that many lemon tarts.

‘Well, I suppose that’s true,’ the hefty Yennefer said, feeling sluggish with several thousand calories in her.

‘Here, I’ll show you a trick that heavier women sometimes need,’ the tailor said, running a strong thread through the pant’s button hole and then tieing them around the metal button. The arrangement kept Yennefer’s pants pulled together, but anyone could see how the garment was held on.

‘Pardon, but that’s a bit of a, well a fat girl’s trick isn’t it?’ asked Yennefer hesitantly, not wanting to admit that she needed it.

‘No, it is…a tactic for girls who are temporarily disadvantaged by their size,’ Rosette said, patting the tummy softly, ‘We’ll put a nice broad belt over it to hide it and give your belly some support while its swollen. Now, I’ll have three or four dresses ready for you by the end of the week. All cut to flatter your current size…will you be paying in Orens or check?’

It was at that point, that Yennefer realized she had forgotten her purse back at the vineyard. She fumed at herself, for she’d been too focused on avoiding the tantalizing smells that continuously came out of the Villa’s kitchen no matter what spell she casted on the increasingly youthful chef. Sighing, she held up a hand, soft fingers opening a portal. A golden hole opened in the air above her palm, the purse falling into it with a clink.

‘Oh my, I had not realized that you were a mage!’ the svelte tailor said with a curtsy, ‘I’ll be sure your identity is held in the strictest confidentiality!’

‘Oh yes, I’m sure you’ll only gossip about how I’m so gluttonous I ate myself out of pants I was measured for an hour earlier,’ Yennefer said with a huff, pouring a stream of gold onto the table, ‘that should be sufficient Rosette, know that I won’t be coming back after I receive my delivery!’

Yennefer saw the anger in the elf’s eyes, her pale skin, green eyes, red hair and full bosom reminding her of Triss. That was when the sorceress did an evil thing.

‘Imperatit!’ Yennefer said, instantly putting the gorgeous elf into a suggestive state, ‘You’re going to forget what I just said, and that I’m a mage. As far as you know, I’m just a rich merchant’s daughter who’s getting fat. But you won’t be looking down that pretty nose at me much longer! That bakers dozen of tarts I just ate? You’ll be eating one every breakfast! In fact! You now have no will power around food whatsoever! I saw the way you were looking at me, Ms. Fat Fetish and so from now on you’re on a see-food diet! You see food, you buy and eat it! By this time next year, you just won’t be the owner of the shop, you’ll be its biggest client!’

Yennefer snapped her fingers, the white haze around Rosette fading.

‘I’m sorry Miss, did you say something?’

‘Only that your tarts were amazing,’ Yennefer said, ‘make sure you have plenty around. Even when I’m skinny again I may drop in and have some, they’re very good.’

‘Yes…,’ Rosette said, putting a hand on a suddenly starving tummy, ‘say, what did you say your name was again?’

‘Merigold,’ Yennefer said, ‘Triss Merigold.’

 

‘Maybe that was mean,’ Yennefer thought as she cut the memory off, rising up from the rock with a huff, ‘I mean, making her fat is one thing. If I lose my figure, there's no reason someone else should keep their's...but taking Triss’ name though...’

She thought of her last vision of Triss. Long, lean, athletic and with a gravity defying rack, compared to herself, short, wide, lazy and increasingly saggy.

‘Eah, she could use a few pounds too,’ Yennfer said, looking up at Lynx Crag, not knowing that Triss was matching her pound for pound.

It was a dark, foreboding peak with an eerie cabin standing upon its summit. There was a trail leading up, a very narrow, steep trail. Yennefer thought about levitating her way up, her raw magical power was at least growing in sync with her hips, but it would leave her vulnerable to a magical attack from a mage rumored to be incredibly powerful.

‘Onwards and upwards then…’ the sorceress groaned, walking onwards on sore feet and trying not to admit she had a bit of a waddle.

 

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Two hours later and a sweat soaked, panting Yennefer found herself near the top of Lynx Crag. Soft hands were on her soft knees, she was bent over, greedily sucking in air and ignoring how her belt cut into her toneless waistline and how her tights pulled at her ass. There were dark spots in the fat woman's vision and she sucked in the last of her water, throwing the bottle away with only a hundred or so feet between her and the cabin at the top.

'You can do this Yennefer,' the sorceress huffed, taking a deep breathe and at last summoning magic.

The levitation spell hurtled her up, Yennefer rocketing like a very soft missile. As she arced up, the mage activated shields and prepared bolts of telekinetic force, ready for an imminent combat. Instead she found herself assaulted by the aroma of a feast.

Before the cabin, a long trestle table was laid out: goblets full of wine, deep stone bowls of whipped potatoes so heavy with butter they were practically liquid, long trays of rolls gleaming with butter, at least four roast pigs and one huge cake, nearly six feet of thick white icing. Yennefer hadn't eaten since she'd teleported from the tailor and after so much activity, her poorly conditioned body screamed for sustenance. She hung in the air, stunned more thoroughly as if pole axed.

'What in the world?' Yennefer asked, 'By the power, is this some sort of joke?'

The door slid open, revealing a tall, elegant woman that Yennefer instantly knew as a sorceress. Magical power flowed off of her, the kind that needed centuries to accumulate, far more than Yennefer, a youthful 100 possessed. She had shoulder length auburn hair and hazel eyes surrounded by dark eye shadow, framing a lean diamond face, not girlish like Yennefer's increasingly cherubic features but a mature late twenties, maybe even thirty. Yennefer balked at seeing the faint signs of aging on the witch's face, a sorceress old enough for potions to only keep her thirty must have nearly five hundred years of experience. Her body was impressive, the dress was skin tight and showed that the woman beneath it wasn't just lean and athletic, but jacked. Her biceps bulged and she probably had six pack abs going by how the tight dress hung tight.

'Ah, I see you've arrived at last,' the tall woman said dismissively, putting down a tray of iced drinks, 'I thought you might try to approach stealthily, but I have wards miles away from here for someone of your...magnitude.'

'You expected me then?' Yennefer asked, slowly floating to earth.

It wasn't that levitating herself was that hard, Yennefer indeed found her reserves far higher than usual, but she didn't want the other mage to know she could hang so easily.  And she wanted to be lower to the ground, nearer that food.

'Since you started dwelling in Beauclair,' the other mage said, 'I knew eventually you'd come all the way out here, although I'm surprised it didn't take longer?'

'Why would you be surprised?' Yennefer asked, only six feet above the table, hair swirling in the currents of her own power.

'Because you seemed to be enjoying beauclair so much,' the witch laughed, 'I thought you'd be well over three hundred pounds before you got here!'

Yennefer snarled, casting a bolt of lightning at the red headed witch. Its size surprised her, easily it was one of the most powerful spells she'd ever cast and the other sorceress barely caught it. What she didn't notice was that her pants suddenly loosened, three pounds of excess suddenly vanishing. Her arms trembled, holding the giant bolt and barely throwing it to the side and then launched a counter attack, hurling a fireball at Yennefer's face. The raven haired woman raised up her hands and caught it as if it was made out of paper. For a moment time seemed to freeze, Yennefer seeing the very mana of the spell, enough energy to light every candle in beauclair for a year. By reflex, Yennefer inhaled, the fireball merging into her body.

The short sorceress felt warm, a pleasant warmth like a post orgasm or a hot bath. She also felt her body swell up: the string on her button hole snapped in concert with three other buttons as her puffy paunch bulged outwards, six inches of seams ripped open along her back side showing cellulite coated ass cheeks, a strap tore with a rip as her breasts mushrooming over her bra, breaking more buttons, and her second chin bulged further. The once petite sorceress hung heavy, swollen with both power and fat, weighing in at nearly a hundred and eighty pounds.

'Was that the best you've got?' Yennefer asked coyly, floating down over the table.

'Try this, you bloated pig!' the witch yelled.

More spells came at the pale skinned beauty, who either blocked or absorbed them. Yennfer felt herself thicken and bulge with every fireball, feeling the warmth of her thighs spreading into each other, the heavy sag of her stomach pulling down, the rip of her seams, but she felt her power grow too, when she crested two hundred pounds she had more manna at her finger tips than any woman in the entire lodge of sorceresses had ever possessed. The witch, exhausted and panting, tried throwing another spell only for not even a spark of magic to go forth. Yennefer smiled and with a finger levitated her opponent up to her level, helpless.

The sorceress exulted. She was stronger than she'd ever been and had humilated an opponent she had been afraid of. Yes, she was weighing in at two hundred pounds now but that was just a detail when she had extreme sorceress might.

'I tried it and I liked it,' the dark haired woman laughed tapping the slim witch on the nose, 'and I'm ready for anything else you have for desert. Your little trap here failed, now I've got all the power and you've got nothing. Let's see how this goes.'

The witch pulled something from her pocket and threw it at the ground. It exploded into a green cloud of crackling lightning, a dimeretium bomb. Yennefer felt her connection to the power vanish in a heartbeat, going from the world's most powerful mage to a powerless fat girl who was floating three feet above the ground. Both women fell like stones.

With athletic grace, the fit witch fell into a three point stance. Yennefer thumped right down onto her heavy ass with enough impact for her belt to pop off. She felt every ounce that had just gathered to her flesh falter away, leaving her bloated, winded and stunned.

'Now you're just a two hundred pound blob,' the witch of Lynx Crag sneered, 'and I'm in the best shape of my life. Let's see how this goes.'

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@Batman76, I appreciate how you strive for adherence to the lore, character mannerisms, and overall "feel" of the various fantasy settings you adapt for weight gain fiction. I think that's a big part of what makes any kind of derivative or fan fiction work. You do it with sufficient skill and appreciation for detail that I'm always eager to read your take on kinking up these kinds of well-established properties via vaguely in-universe-plausible means. ^_^

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Yennefer scrambled backwards, coughing as she tried not to breathe in the magic dulling gas. Every motion felt as if she was wading through deep mud, every motion sending her body jiggling. Her arms and legs seemed dull and sluggish, slow to respond, once for a portrait she'd worn a suit of ceremonial armor but the layers of steel had been nothing compared to the buttery fat coating every inch of her body. Tight bands of agony were on at her thighs, chest and waistline and she was having trouble breathing, all from the remnants of her new and ruined clothing. At the start of the fight she'd been tired and out of breath, now with an extra fifty pound of blubber having sprouted on her in moments she was barely able to move.

'Here's what's going to happen to you as punishment for coming to my Crag,' the auburn haired witch sneered, easily strolling forwards, 'first, I'm going to beat you.'

'I've got to do something,' the sorceress thought, trying to figure out what that something was as she awkwardly rose up, her knees creaking.

Denied power, she couldn't make her enemy so much as sneeze. Geralt had given her some rudimentary training in hand to hand fighting for just such an occasion, but that training had been for a lean, agile woman. It would have been hard enough just as the fat woman she'd been, now that fifty very unfamiliar pounds were weighing on her muscles she was likely only to fall over. Despairing to do something, she threw a punch at the trim red head who easily caught it and threw her backwards once more.

'You're adorable, its like fighting a baby,' the witch laughed.

Yennefer tried to put a hand on the table and pull herself up, but her new body was clumsy and she slipped, falling again onto the wide spread of her ass. The Witch ripped away the green skirt of her dress, revealing a pair of long sculpted legs Yennefer would have died for even when slim. Her tormentor kicked out a foot, driving her heel right into Yennefer's belly button and knocking her over. A gasp of pain burst from her mouth and she toppled backwards, the ripping of seams sounding as her expansive bulk tore through more of her clothes, letting her heavy breasts spill out bare and naked. The Witch sprang onto Yennefer, straddling her with steely legs and pinning her doughy arms to her broad belly, and drove one fist into Yen's face with a meaty thud.

'When I get tired of beating you,' the witch grinned, 'I'm going to sacrifice you. The old gods of this country have been awakened by the new convergence of spheres and they are hungry, willing to trade power for sacrifice. And you, an activated source, why you're a perfect meal for them. When you've been eaten up, we're going to finish our plans and rule the world with an iron fist.'

Yennefer managed to pull an arm free, her soft flesh resisting the witch's attempts to grasp it. Rolling her head, she managed to see the edge of the gas and tried to pull towards it. Maybe if she could reach it...

'Oh, trying to get free?' the witch laughed, 'Let's cure you of that delusion.'

The witch pulled something from her pocket, a coil of silvery metal. It slapped around Yennefer's neck with the speed of a serpent, its ends meeting and sticking. The Mage felt it burn with a cold sensation, numbing and stiffling her.

'Dimeretium necklace,' the Witch laughed, 'its cut you off from any access to the power, even that within you.'

Yennefer writhed, stiffling a scream. The gas had been bad enough, but she could still feel magic outside of it. Now she felt nothing, a hollow aching void where her power had been, her body seeming to collapse in on itself.

'Haha, how's it feel to be powerless?' asked the witch, craning in over Yennefer's bloated gut, her steely abs pressing against her pinned opponent's cookie dough gut.

What Yennefer felt was like the reverse of a sneeze. Everything seemed to suck inwards, silently coiling up inside her. The flabby roundness of her face suddenly sucked back into her cheeks, restoring the sharp angles of her features. The heavy saggers of her breasts drew in and up, becoming firm, tight and comparatively small. Her hips narrowed dramatically, while her ass suddenly became so tight most swords would blunt against it. With a bizarre gurgle, Yennefer's wide lovehandles and sagging paunch instantly vanished, replaced with a shredded stomach. The clumsy tree trunks that were her thighs became more toned and firm than they'd ever been, while small but firm biceps sprouted on her suddenly lean and dextrous arms. Even her skin returned to normal, soft, supple and without a hint of the stretch marks it born a moment earlier. Near a hundred pounds of fat had vanished off her in a heart beat, leaving behind the firm muscles that had been growing to carry all that flab. One moment Yennefer had been twice her fighting weight but the dimeretium had in cutting off her power made her in better shape than she'd ever been.

The Witch of Lynx Crag was as surprised as Yennefer. Denied her soft perch, the redhead toppled forwards and fell flat against the brunette. Yennefer wrapped her arms and legs around the taller woman's head and shoulders, pinning her arms and with a jerk, flipped herself on top. She sprang upwards, delivering a kick to the thin woman's stomach that drove the wind out of her. Freed, Yennefer pulled back, suddenly as agile as a ballerina, trying to find some sort of weapon while tugging at her necklace, the dimeretium having shrank to match her narrower neck. Sudden fitness was an amazing boon but the witch still had eight inches of reach and probably thirty pounds of muscle.

'I don't know how you managed to do that,' the witch gasped to the sorceress as she got up, 'but I'm going to feed you up until your twice as heavy as before.'

Yennefer saw her opponent's hazel eyes settle briefly on the food. Denied the will power protections of an empowered mage, Yennefer suddenly felt the table's contents pull  on her triply hard. She wanted to throw herself at the food, she wanted to gorge herself until she couldn't move. Her shoulders slumped and her face went slack as she turned her back on the witch and reached a hand towards a mountainous bowl of mashed potatoes, hand trembling in trepidation.

'There you go, you can take the fat off the woman but you were always a lard ass at heart,' the witch laughed strolling closer, 'and you will be again in a moment.'

Yennefer smiled, plunged her hand into the pile of whipped potatoes and threw the buttery mass into the other mage's face. The Witch's mouth formed an O of surprise, allowing the handful a useful entrance. Flavor and sensation flooded into the mage's brain, even as her eyes went wide in horror when she swallowed.

'NO!' the witch snapped, 'NO! Not that!'

Her limbs moved of their own accord, the witch jumping onto the table. A turkey was ripped wide open and the witch tried to turn her head aside as they raised steaming handfuls of fresh meat to her lips. She force fed herself, swallowing mouthful after mouthful. She moved like an animal, gnawing and swallowing everything she could get her mouth on. In a moment, her clothes were smeared and stained and as Yennefer watched, she began to gain weight.

By the time the turkey was done, her arms and legs had lost any hint of tone, her breasts surged up, overflowing her bodice and a new double chin was forming. The witch kept eating, the pale flow of her gut gradually sneaking out first underneath her dress and then breaking its buttons one by one. Her limbs thickened and softened, her reach faltering as they had to fight against each other to move to more food. The narrow diamond face became round as a moon, while her lean hips broadened with every breath, forming a shelf of cellulite coated ass flesh. With a plop her breasts came free, bright red stretch marks along their sides as they flopped against her ever growing belly which was already starting to drag on the table top. Within half an hour almost all of the food was gone, leaving a wreckage of picked clean bones and empty plates.

Once elegant, mysterious and dangerous, the long lean witch of Lynx Crag was now a bloated, food stained parody of herself. She lay flat on the table, the sag of her enormous apron gut and the water melons of her stretched out breasts smashed flat beneath her. One sausage like arm was stretched out before her, trying to reach the last of the cake with pathetic movements that sent ripples throughout her fattened form, her engorged thighs (thicker than her waist had been an hour before) kicked uselessly as she tried to scoot forwards. She panted just from that effort, sweat smearing her jowls and face and the cellulite coated crevacies of a yard wide ass. Yen guessed that when the fight had started, the witch had been a hundred and thirty muscular pounds on a 5'8 frame, now she was at least a quarter of a ton, probably fatter.

Yennefer grinned, walking around so she was in sight of the quarter ton pile of fat. Her eye hurt, already it was swelling and turning purple, and she had a plethora of bruises on her now flawless ass and firm belly. She needed to get this necklace off and she needed to heal herself, but first she needed to gloat. She found a well and drew a bucket of cold water, walking over with a sashay of her lean hips, she tossed it into the gigantic witch's face.

'Well well well,' she cooed softly, taking a seat primly and crossing her flawless legs out in front of her, 'today has been one for reversals hasn't it?'

'What...what happened to me...,'groaned the witch.

'Well my dear fatty fatty,' Yennefer grinned, patting one jiggling arm, 'you fucked with Yennefer of Vengerburg is what happened and you paid the price.'

'How how are you as thin as me?' the witch not yet taking into account she was large as a beached whale.

'There are trolls thinner than you,' the raven haired beauty said with her nose up, running a hand along her lean belly once more, marvelling at its firmness and narrowness, 'as for me, well. You confirmed what I'd suspected, proximity to the second alignment of spheres has turned me into a source, a natural font of magical energy. Unfortunately for me, that power is stored in the form of adipose tissue and my body unconsciously knew I needed it. The fatter I am, the more magic I can hold, right? Its why my weight loss spells didn't work, I was trying to burn mana to get rid of mana. But when you cut off my magic... well, the fat went away too.'

'This...this wasn't supposed to happen!' the obese woman snarled, trying to push herself up and succeeding only in falling over with a crash of splintering wood, she lay on her back, helpless as a turtle, 'You were supposed to eat yourself into a stupor as soon as you saw it!'

'I know from recent experience that my vaunted sorceress willpower is mostly a sham,' Yenn said, looking at how slim and dextrous her fingers were, 'I have to admit that I've been making a pig of myself for months on end and will almost certainly do so again before very long. But I'd have to be stupid to eat from a table an enemy had prepared for me and unlike you, I'm not stupid. Now, I want information. Who was the We you said was going to take over the world? And who are the old gods you say have awakened?'

The immense witch tried to move, then noticed that the dimeretium smoke was fading. Smiling with evil glee, she went to channel magic. In one smooth motion Yennefer undid the dimeretium necklace around her throat and slipped it over one of the witch's fatty cankles. The witch felt her power cut off and unlike Yennefer, her fat didn't fade away.

'Hmmm, I almost expected to gain my weight back,' Yennefer said, looking down at a still slim body with disapointment in her voice, 'ah there's the power. Hmmm, its so...weak in comparison.'

In truth, Yennefer had expected her fat to surge back once the necklace was off. Instead she remained slender as she'd ever been, but was appalled to find her connection to the power feeling impossibly weak. She was back to her old power levels, instead of the goddess like ones she'd grown used to. The purple eyed beauty had maybe a quarter of the power she'd had early, making her feel weak and helpless.

'In any event,' Yennefer said, 'I want names, places and dates.'

'And if I refuse?' the witch snapped, 'You'll just kill me anyway.'

'Kill you?' laughed Yen, 'No...I've reformed. I'm a nice sorceress now. You'll live a good long time, fat and happy after I've wiped your memory. I'm thinking that I'll leave you a plump barmaid working in some tavern, with no memory of the power you used to have. I'm sure you'll find some nice farm boy who'll make you nice and happy for the twenty years it'll take for the charm to wear off. Unless you want to be trapped out here in the wilderness, risking that enough of your fat will fade away you can reach you ankle before a bear gets you?'

The witch's piggish hazel eyes glared at her, 'Phillipa Eilheart, Fringilla Vigio and Sylvia Anna. Its part of a plan, to rule the Nilfgaard empire.'

'Ah, the lodge,' Yennefer sighed, feeling hungry, 'why am I not surprised to find my sister mages always sniffing around. And the old god, the one you said was awakened by the sphere?'

'Sy'llgorgia,' the obese mage groaned, 'an old elf goddess, the Beauty that Gorges. Already she's empowering herself, plumping the waist lines of queens and sorceresses across the continent. Trading her a fat swollen queen or sorcerss would let us treble our power.'

'And Anna Henrietta?' Yennefer asked, 'Is she still alive, now that her sister has silently usurped her?'

'She has until the next full moon,' the witch grunted, 'twenty seven days. I want you to know, bitch, that Geralt came to me while he was here and he and I...'

Yennefer tapped her between the eyes, silencing her, 'Geralt loves me thin and will love me fat if need be. Thank you for the information my dear pile of lard. That's all I need of you!'

'But...but you said,' the witch started, chins wagging, 'you said you were going to spare me!'

'Oh I didn't lie,' Yennefer laughed, 'but you know, leaving you happy isn't my style. Hold on, this is going to hurt quite a bit. Fieri Lapis!'

The mountain of fat that was the witch froze, turning into ivory white stone. With another gesture from Yennefer, the petrified witch shrank down until she was a rotund chess piece that Yennefer put into the one pocket that her various growth spurts and shrinking hadn't shredded.

'Hmm, that took a lot out of me,' Yennefer grunted, feeling half her available mana burn away, 'being fat had a lot of uses beyond making chairs comfy. Alright, two things to do. First, I'll need to find where the Duchess is being kept and save her. And I could probably use some help with that. But first...'

She felt her stomach, the flat planes and firm muscles alien after months of feeling it either hard from overeating or soft from its coat of fat.

'I could really use dinner.'

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