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Donuts and Duchesses

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Duchess Staceline Voluptua-Fuller Demoore, the Empire's most eligible young woman, must fight off a small army of suitors as well as the thigh-thickening effects of the ludicrously calorific diet advocated by her countrywomen – at least she has to fight them off long enough to squeeze into long-forgotten libraries of ancient secrets that will let her prevent the long-prophesied crisis from ruining her homeland – or at least wreaking serious economic havoc such as a decrease in the number of desserts at royal galas from 78 down to 62, or in the worst case as few as 28! On the other hand, maybe it would be better for the maintenance of her pert bottom if she let the crisis run its course...

By a long-time reader who hasn't contributed a story before.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Gala Dinner

A summer sunrise began to light the worn sandstone of Abimere Hall. Amid its manicured lawns, the large staff busied themselves removing marquis tents and tidying the landscaped tree garden.

Inside the 64 guest bedrooms of the Hall, aristocratic guests slumbered heavily on silk or linen beds, depending on which level of room their rank had obtained for them. Still more dozed in the four fine inns of the nearby village. In the case of most of the female aristocracy, their rest was of rather poor quality, as they struggled to digest and sleep off the indulgence of the last day's royal gala – a mid-season event, but nonetheless a well attended one because it was the first one hosted by the Hall's owner after her coming of age. That owner, the Duchess Staceline Dolchetta Voluptua-Fuller Demoore, was without much dissent both the wealthiest and the best-pedigreed of this season's débutantes.

For the young noblemen in attendance, many of whom had booked rooms in the nearby town months in advance in order to get time with the young Duchess at a dance or – even better – at one of the private dessert tables the hostess was socially obligated to visit in turn, it hardly hurt that she was a statuesque beauty whose figure had so far survived the fattening effects of the royal gala season apparently unscathed. Except possibly for the generous breasts which had swelled higher and higher in her exquisite green silk dress.

Meanwhile, the hostess herself had retired to her chambers in the private old eastern wing at the back of the Hall, where she had stripped to a skimpy black silk negligee and tried to sleep off a day of unrelenting gluttony. That was proving to be a struggle, even for a young woman with such a vigorous metabolism. Her already-short negligee rode up around her belly, which had swollen bigger and bigger overnight as its mistress attempted to sleep off the effect of seventy-eight desserts...

“Ah, FUCK! I ate too much!” Groaned Duchess Staceline, as her friend and assistant offered her a silver tray with three jugs and a glass.

“Stacey! Language... What would your aunt say?”

“Ugh! It's her fault I had to host this stupid fucking gala. And who the fuck decided seventy-eight desserts is what a royal gala needs? And she made me promise to be a good host, and indulge myself in at least one serving of every fucking one... That's a stupid rule too, and now I feel like I'm going to split my fucking negligee, Alicia... Did you get my stuff?”

The blonde friend, wearing a too-snug gold dress, with straps far tighter than they had been when she'd sat down to a dinner of roast pheasant and goose with the Duchess the previous afternoon, offered some sympathy.

“Yes, Stacey. Here's your towel and icewater, and this jug is prune juice, this one is castor oil, and this one is milk with a little honey...”

“Milk? Fuck, Alicia, if I never see dairy again it'll be too soon. Every other dessert was drenched in damn cream...”

“Oh, I think it's quite soothing for an upset tummy. I had some this morning. Of course, I didn't try all the desserts. I don't have the appetite of a real city-girl. I don't know how you did it: you practically kept up with that niece of yours, Tillia, and she'd been doing the gala season for years.”

“Hmm. Just hand over the prune juice, Cia. Ugh.”

The duchess swept her glossy black hair away from her face as she sat up at the edge of her bed and gulped the prune juice from the jug as her friend looked on. Then she filled a glass with oil and swallowed it with a “Yuk!”

“Yeah, Alicia, and what did you think of Tilly – she must have 300 pounds of ass, don't you think? I mean, that's not just curvy, right? I never want my ass to get that fat – got any more prune juice?”

“Tillia has the ideal figure for an imperial gentlewoman of high station, Stacey. Just in case you've forgotten your lessons...”

“Yeah right. So why isn't she married?”


“My point exactly. Prune juice?”

“Erm, that full jug of the stuff was the only one I thought you'd want.”

“Want? You think I'm enjoying this? I'm in agony here from overindulgence!”

“Well, I mean, milady-”

“Don't call me that, Cia.” The blonde smiled back wryly.

“Of course, your Grace. I mean to say that a young noble woman with your titles – but with such a slim figure as you have – really ought to be pigging out at galas on a very regular basis, rather than overdoing the laxative foods for breakfast so she can keep her pert ass – if you'll pardon the expression. After all, those fat ladies and lords in the capital won't even let you take your seat in the Senate until you get over 200 pounds... So don't you think it'd be a good idea to try and make some of this stick to your hips?”

Alicia brushed her fingers over the soft black silk cladding Stacey's swollen gut, prompting the Duchess's bowels to gurgle mightily and the Duchess to moan the groan of a woman who feels like she is soon to be relieved from a night of uncomfortable constipation. She slurped the last glassful of castor oil, and lifted a silver lid speculatively from a bowl of figs.

The duchess munched a fig and licked her fingers.

“For your information, Cia, I eat more than enough for a woman – ahem – 'of my station.' Which, by the way, is far too much for any woman who wants to maintain a nice pert bottom. I swear the Senate can go hang if they think I– ”

Stacey gasped as she felt her bowels begin to rumble, and then had to gulp for air after emitting a deafening belch.

Alicia asked helpfully, “Do you need help walking to the privy.”

“Mmmf. I think I can manage.” Stacey relied, through a mouthful of plum. She stripped and dropped the negligee on the bed first.

Lady Alicia Remonte sucked air through her lips lustfully at the sight of Staceline's body.

It was the first time Alicia had seen the Duchess really bloated – and that despite their spending a year as room-mates at one of the Empire's finishing schools, dining on seven course dinners most nights as 'preparation for their lives as ladies in high society.' Now, true, Duchess Staceline was still unacceptably thin by imperial standards – but, to be blunt, her astonishing tits offered more than substantial compensation for any disappointment a young gentleman might feel...

Now, Alicia herself was a picture of Imperial respectability. As the fourth daughter of a country squire, she was neither expected to weigh well over 200 pounds by the time she inherited, nor was her family affluent enough to display its prosperity by sending her to countless rich dining events. Nonetheless, the blonde stood 5'8'' in stockings and had bulked a healthy 170 pounds at the start of finishing school. Her house mistress had seen no need for such a relatively low-born student to bulk up as if she was pretending to have a real title, and she'd 'graduated' from that year of tedious etiquette training with the same figure she brought with her. But at the same time she had befriended one of the Empire's most eligible young Duchesses, accepted a position as her assistant, and in six months of service to Duchess Staceline at Abimere Hall Alicia had gained more than a stone. This, so Alicia said, had been a hard balance between gaining enough weight to show off the luxurious lifestyle afforded by her mistress, without showing up Staceline's comparatively far-too-slender figure.

Stacey, by comparison had arrived at the Harrietshire Ladies School with a sealed letter from her aunt, Countess Paige Heade-Turner. The letter instructed the mistresses to take every imaginable measure, no matter the expense, to bulk up the curves of this girl whose metabolism had defied the best efforts of her guardian, a kitchen full of cooks, and multiple maidservants to sculpt her into the curvaceous beauty that Imperial society expected.

This instruction had lead to ten frustrating months for all involved. For the other young noblewomen at school, there was the frustration of seeing a girl who was taller, prettier, and much thinner than themselves being stuffed with trays full of extra puddings after meals that had already left every other participant with a tummy ache and a need for a laxative draught. In short, they were irked that when the calories eventually caught up with Staceline Voluptua-Fuller Demoore's figure, she was going to be both prettier and curvier than them, and she'd be able to eat any two or three of them under the table at any future society dinner without raising a sweat.

For Headmistress Birgitta Fullgluup, the frustration was professional, since for her school to turn out a Duchess under 200 pounds would invite sniggers the next time the headmistresses of the Imperial province got together for another sherry-fueled booze up. Worse than that, Stacey had been permitted to travel into town to be indulged in the delights found at the capital province's finest restaurants: and there was a strong suspicion that the girl was sneaking off, and obtaining certain extracurricular lessons by visiting the courtesan's guild – or still worse, the University. For Alicia, the frustration was that Stacey complained to her literally hundreds of times that she felt bloated after her latest seventeen course dinner at the Busted Corset, the Fat Goose, the Lardy Hog, the Chocolatier's River, the Baker's Gross, or some other luxurious establishment, while Alicia herself had not been permitted to attend. (Those were the times Stacey wasn't sneaking back into their room after yet another session with one of the professionals at the courtesan's guild. – Alicia eventually started to suspect her friend might be participating in some sort of unspeakably perverted roleplay sessions in which Stacey was forced to exercise until she sweated (!) and whipped if she relented.) Somehow, Staceline's waistline always snapped back to its original size the next day, no matter how hard she'd been complaining of overindulgence.

All-in-all, it had come as something of a surprise to Alicia that her friend had actually gained a few little pounds since returning to Abimere Hall, but mainly in her already-sufficient bust, and the rest of her 5'9'' frame showed little impact. Alicia guessed that the pert Duchess was probably 150 lbs, excluding the effects of last nights gala dinner.

A succession of very unladylike sounds from the privy was pretty much the last evidence of Staceline's previous day of overindulgence. Alicia assisted her mistress to bathe, noting sadly that her waistline was essentially back to its girlish 28'', the muscle tone was still disgracefully prominent, and her full breasts still ignored gravity. After dressing in very tight riding gear and giving her crop a few experimental swishes against her bottom, Stacey asked.

“So, what's on today?”

“Well, I thought you'd never ask. After a late morning ride, and, if you must insist on it, your swim in the artificial lake, I thought you'd like to get down to the most important thing that comes with hosting a gala dinner.”

“Oh, what's that?”

“Why, RSVP-ing to the invitations to all the other gala dinners this season: we already have dozens! Not to mention a giant stack of letters from eligible young men inviting you on dinner dates in the capital! And scoffing the boxes and boxes of chocolates that came with them. Yesterday was such a success!”

* * 

A few hundred miles away, in her mansion overlooking the Capitoline hill, another Duchess was planning her day with the assistance of a man known to the world at large as her valet.


“Shall I call the maid for a third tray of fruit scones, milady?”

“Not today, Ruperr,” Replied Duchess Fatoline Foir-Grasse, patting the red silk containing her seventy-seven inch belly. “I have an assignation tonight at the Busted Corset itself, and it would be poor form to spoil my appetite before sampling their incomparable fare. After all, one is not eighteen any more.”

That much was obviously true, even if the eighteen in question was eighteen stone rather than a youthful age, but the information-handler knew better than to question whether his employer's figure was a little too similar to a hotter-than-air balloon, even for Imperial tastes.

“Speaking of which, what reports do we have from that Demoore do? Remember we were asking if the gel would turn out to be some rural bumpkin who'd get drunk and throw up in her own maze after just a dozen chocolate puddings?”

“Indeed we did, maam. In fact the reports are quite different. Her gala was a fair success; even a great success in terms of the number of prospective suitors who based themselves in the nearby village to attend, including one of the princes in disguise, it is suggested by a generally-reliable source.” Duchess Fatoline arched an eyebrow at this, and motioned for her interlocutor to provide more details on this important issue, and he selected a letter from a stack for the Duchess to peruse later.

“And there was a good deal of throwing up in the maze, maam, because the desserts were by all accounts enormous – including a selection of no fewer than two dozen half-pound nutty-doughs of several of the latest types. But the Duchess herself seems to have a very robust appetite, in spite of only weighing about 150 to 155 lbs, by the best estimates, because she ate one of everything...”

“No matter,” Interrupted Duchess Fatoline. “But only one of each? No seconds?”

“Not to speak of, but apparently she started the early evening by dining with her closer relatives, including one Tillia Bott-Turner. Such a meal would be rather bad planning if she was concerned about the sufficiency of her appetite: onion soup with bacon lardons; baked salmon..”

“Uck, how common!”

“Indeed maam, then roast pheasant; roast goose; shoulder of venison, all the trimmings including stuffing balls a la Taurono. Then apparently miss Bott-Turner was well into her cups and challenged her Grace to see who could consume a whole baked Cannonbert cheese the fastest. Apparently it was the Duchess. Miss Bott-Turner took a turn in the arboretum later in the evening.”

“I see. She's the shortish one with the bottom like a merchantman?”

“Indeed, maam.”

“Well, it seems we shall have new competition for our daughter, Katelette, in the end-of-season balls, assuming Demoore isn't actually a bumpkin, and does actually come to the Capitoline for the younger prince's first season as an eligible young man.”

“Perhaps, maam. Shall we review the other competition for the end-of-season?”

“Yes, indeed. Pay especial attention as to whether any of the debutantes seem likely to approach Katelette's speciality of consuming two of each of the seventy-eight desserts at a royal dinner...”

“As you say, maam.”


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19 hours ago, Batman76 said:

OH man, this is amazing. It's like Jane Austen with WG erotica in it.

Thank you! You stories are some of my favourites, so I'm happy you liked it. I should have another chapter in a bit, if OpenOffice is feeling co-operative.

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Chapter 2: Tea for Two

A signpost rolled into view outside the carriage window, bearing the direction “City of Lonporto, 28 miles.”

Lady Alicia Remonte sighed. After five days on the road from Abimere to the capital, her bottom felt quite raw from the hard motion of the carriage and she was more than ready for a soft bed. On top of that, she had grazed her way through nearly fifty boxes of chocolates that had accompanied Staceline's dinner invitations, and on top of the lavish inn breakfasts her travelling dress felt like it had shrunk uncomfortably around her middle. Of course, Alicia had been scoffing chocolates constantly because it was her role as a high-society companion to encourage the Duchess to indulge herself. Indeed, sharing a couple of trays of fruit scones each afternoon was the influence on the Duchess's routine with which Alicia was most pleased. Unfortunately, Stacey was strapped into her tightest black leather corset today, over a white silk blouse and tight jodhpurs, and barely ate at all in the carriage. At least she'd had seven stacks of pancakes with breakfast, or Alicia would be worrying that her friend might waste away. Probably the carriage journey didn't agree with Stacey's tummy.

Staceline looked up from the letter she'd been reading.

“Once we arrive, I want to lay low for two or three days and settle in. I'll be heading to the Courtesans' Guild for the afternoons.” She announced matter-of-factly.

Alicia winced at the impropriety. She was pretty sure Stacey only hired the finest and most discreet courtesans, most of them athletic young men, but it was a little risque for a young, unmarried noblewoman to spend so much time getting herself pumped in that way. And there was a risk it might put off a number of more straight-laced suitors if the news got out. “Of course, milady.”

“And, Alicia, instruct my townhouse chef I will only be eating three light meals a day.” She continued.

Alicia spluttered and nearly swallowed a chocolate truffle the wrong way. “But, Stacey! That's scandalous, for a woman in your position.”

“Alicia, can I just point out, you were pretty nonplussed about me, an unmarried woman who is supposedly a virgin, getting pounded senseless by a couple or three – discreet and professional – studs, but you balk when I hint to you that I've put on a little excess weight and I plan to lose it? Now, as my best friend, you really should try to be less stuffy.”

Stacey smiled, having clearly lined up her two last comments for effect.

“Alright, Stacey, you're the Duchess, so you win this time. Would you like a chocolate truffle? I mean, if you are going to insist on --- starting a D. I. E. T. --- tomorrow. ” The young nobles giggled.

“Alright, hand over the box, I'm starving.”

* *

Five days later.


The view from the fourth floor reception room, overlooking the Capitoline bay from the Demoore townhouse, was stunning.

Lady Alicia Remonte's breath had been taken away by the city and seascape the first time she'd been here. But at the moment, what was making it difficult to breathe was finding a reclining position that put less pressure on her belly and didn't risk splitting a seam on her overtaxed gold dress. “Oof! When will the Seamstresses' Boulevard finish the new ones?” She wondered.

Staceline had wanted to spend a month's income from her banking stocks on new dresses to wear in the capital, but it became apparent that no woman of her slender build could possibly wear that much silk (even allowing for spare material to let out, as the seamstresses had insisted), so she'd had to settle for twenty-five outfits for herself, another ten of the most decadent imaginable for Alicia, a trunk full of new shoes and a box of jewellery. She'd also commissioned a lingerie maker to outfit her with something called “swimwear” which Alicia thought sounded scandalous.

A bell chimed, announcing that a maid was approaching. At least, it probably did. It might be Staceline returning early in disguise, but that was unlikely. Staceline was currently passing the afternoon in the Courtesans' Guild, wearing out any studs that might have survived her previous visits – of course she'd taken Alicia's advice to sneak out of the house, leaving Alicia with the instruction to make sure the maids did not disturb “Her Grace's afternoon nap.” This was an easy enough task, apart from the bit which involved Alicia eating afternoon snacks (and lunches) for two – herself and the absent Staceline. And Staceline, after seeing her housekeeper's almost-tearful expression at being told to prepare only three light meals a day for her mistress, had relented – and simply ordered the five daily jodhpurs-busting meals brought to her private chambers where Alicia ended up with instructions to eat them on her mistresses behalf. Except, that was, for breakfast – the depth of Staceline's apparently-bottomless appetite for pancakes and waffles had never been determined despite serious attempts – which she took in the dining room and the staff had taken the size of her appetite as a cue to prepare heavy meals for the rest of the day.

A maid entered, bearing yet another heavy tray.

“Oh, hello Mel. Urp.” Said Alicia, sitting up and straightening her dress. “Her Ladyship is still resting – she's still positively exhausted from the journey here, and may yet lie abed a few more days.” That was partially true, Alicia reflected.

“Oh, that's quite alright, Milady. Shall I leave this tea tray with scones and crumpet here with you, and you can take it in if she stirs? I'm sure she'll need it to recover her strength.”

Alicia burped at length as several pounds of food from brunch rearranged itself in her lower belly with a gurgle. It actually felt a little easier to breathe afterwards, and she smiled.

“I'm sure she does, thank you Mel.”

“Oh, and there's just a few muffins for you there too. I know you said you were quite replete after the last tray of scones, but you need to keep up your strength too, you know! After all, you didn't quite finish your roast duck and game pie for lunch.”

That was because it had been her fourth meal since breakfast, and Alicia had felt fit to burst after clearing Staceline's plate of her meal and all the trimmings, which had included about three pounds of mashed vegetables and two balls of stuffing that could have filled up a bra belonging to an uncommonly well-endowed woman – although most likely not any of Stacey's.

“Oof, how kind of you. You may go.”

Alicia gave a ladylike burp as she raised the cover from yet another tray of pastries. Standing next to the freshly-baked cakes and inhaling their delectable aroma, she didn't feel so uncomfortable as she had a moment earlier. She tugged her straining gold dress up a little to loosen it around her bulging midriff.

“Oof, If I keep eating like this, there's definitely a chance I'm going to put on a little weight. I'll have to be careful not to show up Stacey...” She said, before spreading a thick layer of clotted cream and jam onto the first of eight hefty scones...


Three hours later


The reception room bell chimed, preceding the swing of the door. This elicited a groan from the honey blonde woman who was slumped on a chaise longue in the bay window overlooking the sea. Her swollen stomach looked six months pregnant, although the tray of eclair crumbs and the residue of a gateaux next to her suggested another explanation, and her ill-fitting gold dress had ridden up close to the point of indecency.

“Oh.” The blonde groaned sleepily. “No more, please! I'll explode. I'll tell you everything!”

The blonde attempted to go back to sleep, but failed in the attempt when the maidservant began flicking icewater at her face.

“Hey, urp, cut it out, girl! Oh.”

Alicia recognised the woman interrupting her slumber was no maid, but rather her employer in disguise – well, as disguised as could be achieved by cramming herself into the tightest riding gear imaginable. It was apparent that no amount of tight fabric and leather, no matter how firmly strapped, and no matter how bulky the leather jacket worn over the top of it, could really disguise Staceline Demoore's impressive bustline.

“Tell me everything? Wow, some confidante you are.”

“Erm, what, that was just in a... dream. Er... I dreamt I was being held hostage and forcefed. Erm, which is a little like what your maid Melissa is doing to me, by the way.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, now you know how I feel about being forcefed boxes of chocolates. I think it may take me a few more weeks to work off the effects of that carriage ride.” Stacey said, patting her firm abdomen with a theatrical hint of exaggeration that flew over her companion's head.

Alicia wanted to protest that she hadn't – indeed physically couldn't have – done any force feeding to her alarmingly athletic mistress. But she was more worried about the other statement. “Weeks? Stacey, I'm so bloated, I don't think I can cover for you for that much longer!”

“Oh? Oh, well, that's not a problem, Cia. I think I meant a few days. Anyway, I know a great way to make this up to you... But don't worry about your belly – I'm going to be here tomorrow anyway. So, you won't have to eat anything for me. In fact, you might have to fight me if you want to hold on to your own food – Madame Amora at the Guild has given me a cheat day on my diet tomorrow. Well, actually, she begged me to give her boys a day off; apparently I've drained them dry. But, anyway, I'll be here tomorrow. We can go for more dress fittings if you like.”

“Uh huh.”

“In fact, you look like you could use another fitting right now. You know, just to make sure they still have the right size for you.”

Staceline patted her companion's swollen belly.

“Urp. Huh!” Alicia responded, scooping her belly in both hands. “This, Milady, is the picture of what an imperial lady should look like as she takes a restful afternoon. I do hope my good example will start to rub off on you soon. But unfortunately, you actually look thinner!”


“What have you been doing?”

“Oh, what haven't I been doing...”

“I mean, they do serve food at the Courtesans' Guild, don't they? You aren't --- skipping lunch --- are you?

“Erm. Well, I'm definitely taking in plenty of... Erm. no, I can't think of a polite way to put this.”

“And you are taking precautions? After all, it's not like you'd want that belly swelling up unexpectedly, is it?”

“I definitely don't. In fact, I've impressed the Guild so much with the new natural latex products from one of the factories my banks own, this trip could actually be pretty profitable for me. They were very impressed. In fact, so was I – the sheer amount of-”

“Oh! Language, Stacey.”

“Oh, sorry. I forgot you were training me not to sound like a slut in front of polite company.”

“Erm. Quite.” Alicia patted her belly. “Oof. I swear, I've had to cram down four trays of cakes this afternoon, on top of four meals. And you have no idea how filling the game pie was. Delicious, though.”

“Hmm.” Staceline had removed her leather jacket, and when she leaned over her figure cast massive boob-shaped shadows across the chaise-longue. “I'm sure it was. Still, if I keep making you eat like this, you're going to put on thirty pounds before the end of the season!”

Oh, at least!” Alicia sounded far less upset at the prospect than Staceline had anticipated.

The Duchess took an appraising look at the bowl of clotted cream sitting amid the crumbs on an empty scone tray. “Hmm.”

Staceline's fingers closed around a teaspoon, and scooped up an overflowing glob of the calorific dairy cream. “Really?” She brushed the straining gold silk of her friends dress, and leaned closer when the blonde exhaled with a satisfied sound at the touch.

“Well, in that case.”

Staceline brought the heaped spoonful of cream close to Alicia's lips and pushed them gently open. She could feel her heart pounding inside her ultra-tight riding top, and then utter relief when her companions tongue licked the spoon clean with a satisfied sound.

“Mmmmn! Oh, Yes!”

Staceline rapidly thought to herself, without making a sound. “Whoa, there. You really liked that, didn't you?” “Yeah...” “But are you talking about Alicia, or yourself?”

“Was that Okay, Cia?” Staceline inquired carefully.

“Mmm! Heavenly!”

“Well, I'm watching my waistline, so perhaps you'd be a good companion and let me spoonfeed you the rest of this bowl so it doesn't tempt me?”

“Mmmn! Yes, please.” Alicia moaned.

Staceline could think of nothing to do but treat Alicia's moan like an order. And, as she scooped the remaining cream between Alicia's waiting lips, the duchess tried to figure out exactly what kind of weirdly erotic sensation she was feeling... Before she could figure it out, the cream was finished. More would be needed... Possibly much more.

“Hmm. All gone, Alicia. Well done, that stuff was really tempting me terribly.”

Stacey brushed the golden silk clad belly. It was taut.

“Mmm. More, please!”

Staceline's jaw dropped. Her companion was obviously stuffed with fattening cakes and creams, and whatever else the townhouse staff had contrived to try and turn their infamously slim mistress into a plumper. Alicia was probably already several thousand calories beyond stuffed, and it would hardly be good for her tummy to eat any more... And yet the opportunity to feel more of the erotic sensation that had come with scooping pure fat into the blonde's mouth was hard to decline.

“Alicia! I'm not sure what's getting into me to ask this, but would you like me to call up another few scones and cream for you?” Staceline whispered.

“Mmmmm! Yes! But just a few. I'm stuffed!”

Staceline patted the blonde's swollen belly, and headed downstairs at a trot. The first maid she passed was Melissa.

“Oh, Milady! I hope you are refreshed after your time abed.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you Mel. I am. But I am very hungry now.” Staceline's head spun. “Could you send up, erm, something exceptionally fattening. Perhaps a tray of fruit scones.”

“Of course, Milady, it would be my pleasure! A big one, for you. And shall I spread them thickly with cream and jam?”

“Yes. Very thickly. In fact, just scoop it on top as high as it'll go, and then fill up another bowl. I want something that'll really stick to a girls hips.”

“Oh! Wonderful, Milady, I'll see right to it.”

“Good. Oh, and ask chef to make sure tonight's dinner is extremely big. Tell him I'm famished.”


On reflection, Stacey realised that her plan had been unlikely to work as intended. It turned out Alicia really was stuffed to capacity from five days of eating about seven meals plus snacks for two, and she only managed ten more scones before Stacey had to remove the blindfold she'd acquired and spend the remainder of the evening massaging the blonde's abdomen while Alicia sipped a glass of a gentle laxative.

Dinner was a write-off from Stacey's point of view as well, since Alicia was too full to get out of bed, so Stacey passed the evening eating the whole spread. It was, as instructed, a monumentally fattening repast, to the extent that even Stacey's metabolism might have struggled (somewhere after, say, the third dish of potatoes roast in goosefat, the second pan of fried rice, and the fifth cake) to handle it if she hadn't spent the last several days working out in one of the Courtesans' Guilds private suites. Still, she was fortunate she'd worn a loose gown to dinner rather than a corset, and she spent a good deal of time the next morning checking that her waistline really had snapped back to 28 inches.

* *

Later the next morning.


The morning was just starting to warm up in the capital as Duchess Staceline slipped out of the front door of her townhouse, clad in what she was confident was an impenetrable disguise. The tight silver jodhpurs she'd squeezed into were in a colour she never normally wore, and the stylish riding boots were also completely new and in a different style. To further render herself unrecognisable, she'd had her maid Melissa squeeze her into a corset, a compressive silk-and-leather riding bra, and an extremely thin but tight vest. And over the top of this, she'd worn a heavy leather jacket that was bulky enough to conceal her memorable bustline from view, and just about long enough to disguise the pertness of her ass, which would stick out like a sore thumb in the capital. She'd also donned a floppy black beret and a matching silk veil.

All this was necessary because the dinner invitations were starting to pile up, and the last thing she wanted was to receive more of the damn things in person. So were the accompanying boxes of chocolates, some of which looked almost lethally fattening. To delay the day when she needed to find an extra sitting room to store these, Stacey had been considering giving them to her chambermaids (Alicia being at her limit already)... But there was a snag in this plan, and this snag was why she'd headed out for a fast walk after an early breakfast, to clear her head.

The thing was, Stacey was pretty certain she'd felt an erotic thrill from stuffing scones and cream into Alicia's willing – but already grossly overstuffed – belly. And if she'd got that thrill from feeding Alicia, she didn't want to even know how it'd feel to deliberately fatten Melissa, who in any case was already fat. This was complicated, so Stacey had decided to head across Regent's park, cut across Azure Crescent past the Florist's entrance to the Courtesans' Guild, and on to Seamstress' Boulevard to find out how her outfits were getting on – and whether the seamstresses could be persuaded to make them even tighter than they already were.

All of this was occupying enough of Stacey's attention that she didn't notice an older fat man exiting the flower shop until she'd walked into him and knocked him backwards onto his rump.


Stacey bent to retrieve the man's fallen white top hat. And then offered a hand to help him up – heavens he was a weight, but seemed not to have been hurt.

“Well...” The man was flushed, but not too angry. Then his expression shifted... Into a broad grin. “No harm done, Your Grace! Why, by Bacchus and Ceres themselves, if it isn't Duchess Demoore!”


Impenetrable disguise.

“Yes, indeed. And knocking me on my very bottom too! Yes, indeed, indeed!”

Totally unrecognisable, because the veil and beret means they can't see your face, and you don't wear the other styles, and that jacket is super-bulky.

“Quite a memorable day!” The man continued.

He was wearing a light grey jacket and matching pantaloons, and a white flower on his lapel. His (school) tie was skilfully done and – given that he'd just emerged from the florist's entrance to the Courtesans' Guild, which Staceline now recognised as one of its fronts for gentlemen patrons – it'd been retied by someone with a sense of fashion, which is why it clashed with his other more crumpled and unkempt attire. Still, Stacey had no clue who he was.

“Erm, I'm afraid you have me at a loss, My Lord.”

“Oh!” The fat man exclaimed. “Where are my manners! Your Grace, may I introduce myself, as Sir Fentiman Jowelle!”

“I do apologise if I failed to recognise you, Sir, and of course for bumping into you!”

“Not at all, Your Grace! Indeed, I don't believe we have previously met. Indeed, I only just now recognised you because of your famously large... Erm.”

“Erm, famously large what, My Lord?”

“Er, I mean your large fame. Indeed. Such an important personage as yourself visiting our fair capital for the season is the talk of all the clubs. Er... All the best clubs, I mean.”

“I see. Well. I am the Duchess Demoore. Pardon me, I didn't think I had so large a fame.”

Stacey eyed the street away from the crescent and the very fat baronet.

Fentiman Jowelle seemed eager to extend the conversation.

“Oh, Your Grace, I can assure you that you most certainly do. Indeed, even larger in person, and I did not imagine that such a thing were possible.”

“I see. Thank you, Sir. Now, if you will accept my-”

Sir Fentiman flushed red with exertion as he thrust out a card in a trembling hand.

“Dinner invitation! You must come for dinner, as you are in our fair city. I'm sure my wife and sons would be delighted to make your acquaintance! Just a simple seventeen-courser, but it'd really mean a lot to me...”

He put on a pathetic expression, and Stacey really couldn't see a way of turning him down.

“I'd be honoured to accept your generosity, Sir. I just hope my waistline can handle it... I put on a little weight recently, and I think I may be one pudding away from splitting a seam on my jodhpurs.”

Sir Fentiman Jowelle didn't quite pass out, but he could do very little other than croak his approval as Stacey replaced her jacket after patting her pert bottom to emphasise her point.


Thirty seconds later.


Stacey took a second sharp turn through the hedgeway surrounding Hal's Park, and exhaled sharply.

OK. He totally identified you because he spotted your legs were unusually thin for a woman in the capital, and because you were wearing really expensive riding boots.

And totally not because you have boobs so big he recognised them through this jacket. No way.


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OK, here's a chapter in which some plot is almost lined up.


Chapter 3: Chocolates and Chambermaids


To The Rt Hon. The Lord Bonbon

My Lord,

I am writing to confess to you the profound feelings stirred within me by your letter of 3 July, in which you so beautifully expressed your desire to both pay court to me and, more instantly, to invite me to an extraordinarily fattening private dinner at your lovely mansion near the Palatine. I pray that you will forgive any tardiness on my part in replying to your most welcome missive: alas my simple girlish mind was so overwhelmed with sensations of inexpressible infatuation upon its reading that I fell into a deep swoon from which I have only recently recovered sufficiently to write!

Before I bestow upon you my formal reply, let me first express the extremity of my delight with your gift, that accompanied your letter to my doorstep: the chocolates. Or, should I say, The Chocolates. For I am certain that never before has there been such a collection of the confectioner's art as to require, not just multiple boxes, but multiple horse-drawn carriages to convey them to their intended! What playful inventiveness, and depth of insight to your love's true character, is expressed in this felicitous flirtation!

How thoughtful it was, too, for you to reveal through your painstakingly-lettered words such interesting yet personal facts about your life. I was fascinated to learn that your father, The Earl of Bonmouthshire, lives at Bonmouthshire Palace, and that there are exactly 148 bedrooms in that fabulous place, and that its master bedroom, where you say you were conceived [ick!], has an area of 2100 sq ft and that its dimensions are proportioned in the golden ratio. You also detailed the paintings and tapestries hanging in its Great Corridor, which is over 18 feet wide. I am uncertain how plump you believe my hips to be, but can assure you that I would definitely be able to fit through this hallway in order to admire the art collection, of which some of the pieces are over two-hundred years old!

You said, too, that since you assumed the title of Baron Bonbon, you have been overseeing the 7524 acres of dairy land within the Barony. What a coincidence, as 7524 is very close to the exact number of vinyards I own in the Soire valley. I think this is a sign that we are fated to be together! And I am certain that my Ducal Councillors will be delighted by your offer to employ your estate-mangagement skills in controlling these, and my various other holdings, on my behalf.

There is, alas, one not-so-small issue that stands between us. Having been so enamoured of The Chocolates that you sent, I resolved to sample one of each type in the collection... On recovering from my sugar-induced coma the next day, I discovered that I had put on six pounds, and that my bottom had become too fat to squeeze into any of my luxurious and scandalously low-cut evening dresses. Consequently, I have nothing to wear to your proposed dinner engagement. And, since I fear that I lack the willpower required to lose weight, but am also too vain to buy dresses in a larger size, I will be unable to meet you on any of your suggested dates, or indeed ever.


Yours, sincerely, with bated breath and heaving bosom, et cetera,

Staceline Dolchetta Voluptua-Fuller Demoore



“Well, that's enough writing for today! One of my more tasteful attempts, too.” Stacey dusted of her hands and rolled the fountain pen to the back of the desk.

“Right. Well, I guess it's time for a clandestine workout, a spa session, shopping and - oh shit, I really do want to go to that talk on Styrian archaeology at the Royal Society. Guess I'll have to wear something half-way decent this evening then... I wonder if I have anything like that?” Stacey finished monologuing.

Stacey headed downstairs, to the third floor lounge. It was spacious, and contained numerous couches and tables for entertaining.


Staceline's blonde companion was admiring the way her new diamond-encrusted gold necklace complemented the lightweight regency dress, with its flattering high waistline below the bosom, that had arrived from Seamstress' Boulevard after breakfast.

Stacey herself tried to suppress a shudder that ran down her spine at how much easier it would be to stuff cakes into her friend's thickening belly now that her looser dresses were starting to arrive. Happily, Alicia didn't seem to find their recent encounter at all weird, in the way Stacey did, or even noteworthy. If anything, Alicia had been increasingly cheerful to have Stacey around, and for the Duchess for once to suggest “sharing a tray of fruit scones.” Probably that was because Stacey was currently restraining herself to just spreading cream and jam on the scones and handing them to her friend, rather than doing anything more extreme, but this restraint was draining reserves of willpower she wasn't sure she had.

“Oh! Stacey, this is fabulous! How can I ever thank you enough?”

Scones? Get fat?

It's my pleasure, Cia. Really!”

“Oh, thank you! But, just so you know, I'll do anything for you.”

Stacey drew in some breath through her teeth.

“Okay. In that case, I want you to come with me to the Royal Society tonight. There's a talk on the Leng excavation... You might find it a bit academic, but I'd really enjoy it.”

“Oh, Okay. I'm sure it'll be great.”

Stacey's willpower cracked.

“But... To make it up for you, because I know it's not your favourite thing, I'm taking us to the Lardy Hog for dinner tomorrow. You'd better not overeat until then, or you'll spoil your appetite!”

Alicia's face brightened up like she'd taken some sort of ecstasy-inducing hallucinogen.

“Oh, you're the best friend ever!”

“Yeah. Look, I need a walk. I feel a little flushed. Probably too many pancakes for breakfast. I will see you later, and please find me something conservative to wear tonight.”

“And something scandalous for tomorrow?”

"You know me."

* *


Black chambermaids' outfits were rarely made from silk, but when they were, such as in Staceline Demoore's townhouse, they were made to last and to be adjusted for different figures. One such outfit, that had been adjusted several times, in each case being let out, was worn by the maid Yvette. Like Melissa, although unlike the third, younger maid Fifi, Yvette's belly was distinctly plump. Until now, that had been purely down to the gluttony common to women throughout the empire, and indeed throughout the known world. Now, however, as the three maids leaned back against the walls of their waiting room adjacent to the scullery, Yvette's engorged belly was in part caused by her mistress. Lady Staceline had been enraged at having to choose another room to store Lord Bonbon's recent gift, and had instead ordered her chambermaids to dispose of the lot – eating as many as they liked. Yvette, Melissa, and Fifi had started on this Heraclean task with gusto.

“Oh, I ave eeten too much!” Yvette moaned.

“Oh, I know!” Agreed Fifi.

“Urp.” Melissa agreed, and tried to rub the chocolate stain away from her mouth.

The wreckage of countless chocolate boxes littered the table.

“I deedn't think eet was possible to ave such a thing as too much chocolate. But Ah ave.” Yvette admitted.

“My tummy feels bad.” Fifi added.

The two older, fatter maids looked at Fifi with a mixture of feelings. It was true that the younger girl had eaten much more, and was in discomfort. But she was also more resistant to one of the unmentioned problems that in current times was something of a taboo in Imperial society, namely: sagging.

It was a truth universally not acknowledged in the Empire that when a lady is expected to have a fifty inch bottom by the age of eighteen, her bottom, bust, and other bulges are unlikely to remain pertly suspended at an alluring height after her mid-to-late twenties.

A thriving industry of couturiers, dressmakers, corsetiers and metallurgists had grown up in the capital, as in many other major cities, to ensure the universally-desired plumpness and corpulence of its inhabitants was presented to the world in the aesthetic ideal of the voluptuous and bouncy young woman.

Hence why Melissa and Yvette were more than a little jealous of Fifi's ability to gorge herself without requiring corsetry, and not particularly sympathetic of the monster tummy ache she was developing.

“You should not ave eensisted on bringng down ze fourth stack of boxes, zen.” Yvette chided her. “And zere are still several boxes left on ze table een front of us.”


“You will ave to feenish zem, Fifi.”

“No, please, Yvette! Melissa! Have mercy. My tummy!”

The older maids nodded to each other.

“We cannot. Eet'll ave to be you.” Yvette explained. “My girdle is at eet's limit, and Melissa 'as no room eizer.”

Fifi realised she had been conrnered between the two plumper maids. There was only one thing to do. Fifi opened her mouth, and leaned back.

“Let ze chocolate pouring commence.” Yvette exclaimed, trying to loosen her girdle and skirt with a tug.


Two hours later.


Fifi had been put to bed in her small room.

Melissa and Yvette had snuck into the smoking room, taking a box of the finest Fattish Delights with them. Both had removed their girdles, gorged on more chocolate, and their stomachs swelled before them. If either had been asked to bent over to dust something, it would have been very difficult, and quite indecent.

“Ah think Ah will put on at leest two keelos from today!”

“Er. What's that in pounds?” Melissa asked.

“Ah do not know.”


“But Eet it a wonder Lady Staceline stays so theen! Ah swear we serve er and Lady Alicia zis many calories quite regularlee. Yet only Lady Alicia blows up like a balloon!”

“Lady Staceline has a fast metabolism. Always has. Poor girl. She bears it well.”

“Ah. Iz that eet?”

“Well, yes, but there is one thing I've been waiting to mention until Fifi's out of earshot. You know what a gossip she can be.”

“Oh! Ah know aal too weell!”

“Well, the other evening, when Lady Alicia was too tired for dinner...”


“I was tidying up, and I swear there was all kinds of evidence.”


“Evidence. Like just one cream spoon being used. I swear Lady Staceline ordered up the last tray of scones and fed them to her.”


“Yes.” Melissa beamed.

“Oh, zat is wonderful! What a beautiful friendsheep.”

“I thought so. You can't tell anyone!”

“Of course not! Ah am discreeet!”

“But I think we have a duty to do.”

“Of course! For Lady Staceline, and of course as a sank-you for aal zis fattening chocolate. We must elp her to fatten up Lady Alicia!

“Exactly. So we must make sure that whenever Lady Alicia is in the house, she is never without food.”

“Of course. We must keep er eeting aal ze time.”

“I glad you agree.”

“And eef she bursts, she bursts!”

* * *

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Note from chapter 3: Staceline didn't actually get around to sending the sarcastic letter she wrote at the start of the third chapter – she wrote it to let off steam because she was furious after receiving a pompous and clumsily-written dinner invitation from an incorrigible bore, but then she filed it in a drawer until her rage cooled off... Of course, if someone found it and thought it was meant to be posted...


Chapter 4:

As the applause died down around the steep tiered seating of the Royal Society's great auditorium, a genteel hubbub arose. It was mostly posh gossip, although a noticeable portion of the volume also came from flatulence. It had been quite a long lecture, and breaking wind in any real quantity during a prestigious professor's talk was not the done thing.

A full house of the capital's upper crust had attended the night's dramatic and entertaining presentation by the famous archaeologist, Professor 'Dickie' Horn. The rich elite had not come for just any old lecture, but to be entertained at the annual Fulbottom Banquet-Lecture for Benefactors. And since the presentation of the Professor's latest adventures and past triumphs had followed the first sitting of the banquet, with its eleven courses of fish, roasts, soups, and pastas, the auditorium now echoed with the bovine digestive sounds of two hundred bloated aristocrats whose bowels were stuffed to bursting and had been struggling to process far too much rich food for an hour and ten minutes.

Staceline rolled her eyes and started to say something sarcastic to her companion. Alas, Alicia had fallen fast asleep. That was not so surprising, and Stacey had to admit it was mostly her fault... Oh, Professor Horn's talk would have bored Alicia anyway. But it was Stacey who'd spent the day frequently “noticing” that her friend had just one or two or three (or maybe up to six) “small” cakes left on her plate, and popping them into the blonde's mouth so that Stacey could helpfully pass the plate back to the Yvette or Melissa to take away, since the maid just happened to be conveniently passing. And then, obviously, Stacey would have to suggest sharing another tray of something fattening, due to being peckish. And then, without it really being suspicious, Stacey could ask her friend to share some of the new fruit scones, cheesecakes, crumpets, muffins, cinnamon rolls, chocolate cakes, cream buns, plum puddings, brownies, or whichever thing the kitchen offered next. After all, it would be socially awkward for Alicia to leave Stacey to eat on her own... And then there would only be a few left, and after eating one or two, Stacey could put the rest into Alicia's mouth to finish them off. And that was before the Duchess had “remembered” that tonight's lecture actually happened to include a banquet with two sittings and a buffet, and the blonde had looked pathetically grateful when Stacey offered to massage her abdomen with expensive lotion before they dressed to go out.

The thing was, whereas Staceline knew from experience that her own metabolism could handle grazing on cake for hours a day without noticeable damage to her waistline – especially when the Courtesans' Guild was nearby – it was absolutely clear that Alicia's couldn't. Stacey had tried thinking about whether it might be immoral to exploit her far-faster metabolism and cynical deceitfulness to secretly compel her best friend to get fat, and then she'd tried hard to stop thinking about it.

The auditorium cleared a bit as the nobility managed to squeeze through the downstairs double doors that lead to the banqueting hall, which had by now been relaid for the evening's second sitting.

Stacey nudged Alicia, who was propped against the padded edge of their arced seating.

“Hey, sleepy!”

“Uh. Did I miss much?”

“Not so much. I thought I'd wait to wake you until the exit started to clear. These people are a bit smelly, so I thought we'd avoid the crush. But we don't want to wait so long we miss our seats at the banqueting table though!”



“I mean, I'm still a bit full from the first sitting, Stacey. I don't know if I can eat another bite.”

“Oh. I know what you mean. I'm absolutely stuffed as well.” Stacey lied theatrically. “And if you keep making me join you in sampling all these calorie-laden treats, I'm sure I'll soon grow too curvy for my own taste.”

“Oh. Well...”

“But if you'd prefer to head home and go to bed, that's OK. I don't mind.” I've really got to stop lying.

“Er. No! Let's do the banquet. What is it next, the dessert?”

“There's a second sitting. Yeah, I think it's mostly dessert courses.”

“Oh, OK. I'm rather full, though.”

That's OK. I'm sure they'll have something little.” Oops.

“Great! But you shouldn't hold back on my account though. You're way too thin. I don't want to start embarrassing you by having a much bigger bottom when you're still so skinny.”

I'm 151 lbs. That's not skinny, whatever you think.

“Aw! You're such a nice friend, Alicia. You deserve a whole stack of really delicious desserts for being so nice. Let's follow the burping aristocrats and see if there are any...”


They chatted to the people ahead of them in the dinner queue – the greying Margrave Lecker, and his young and fat-bottomed wife Delicia, who both commented on how much heavier the first sitting of this year's banquet was than in previous years. After those two found their seats, Staceline suffered an attack of guilt about the size of the banquet, and came close to admitting to Alicia that she'd been deliberately overfeeding her all day, and begging for forgiveness. But not close enough. They made it to their places just as some Royal Society guy was proposing a toast about the banquet-auction.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Before I propose a toast to Professor Horn, and his lifetime of astonishing archaeological discoveries, I hope you will join me in thanking him for donating his latest great find to the Imperial Museum! I am talking of the Bust of Zaftertiti, brought to the capital this very season from his dig site at the Valley of the Queens. It will soon go on display in the upstairs exhibition chamber, and I cordially extend an invitation to all of you, as our institution's valued benefactors, to a special viewing after this evening's charitable auction. As a quick reminder, the charitable auction will commence at the conclusion of the second sitting, so please keep your pocketbooks handy! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, Professor Dickie Horn, and the Bust of Zaftertiti!”

A cheer and a round of applause was raised, then succeeded by the sounds of fat nobles attacking the chocolate puddings, trifles, and ice cream sculptures that had been laid out for the first course, and asking for their favourites to be passed along.

Staceline and Alicia introduced themselves to their neighbours at the table-end. They were the wine-cheeked Lord Hal Weston, and, overflowing her garish orange dress, his young and plumply voluptuous platinum blonde fiancée, Penny.

“I must say, this arrangement of having two sittings is very clever.” Penny enthused, into the first pause in the conversation. “In the first sitting I ate so much I felt certain I was going to be sick, but that old guy talking was just the right length for a nap and now I have a second wind. Which is just as well, as my Honeykins just helped me pick out the perfect wedding gown, but I have to go up four whole dress sizes to fill it up!”

Stacey arched an eyebrow.

“Really?” She asked. “Couldn't you, you know, have it taken in a little?”

“Oh no!” Replied the platinum blonde. “If I have to have an enormous tummy ache every day until the ceremony, to look just exactly how my Honeykins likes me, then so be it! And I want to be absolutely spilling out of my dress everywhere. You know, like the way you're overfilling your top, except everywhere! By the way, who made your padded bra? It looks fabulous, by the way. A little too much, given how skinny you are, but it's really great to look at.”

Stacey had worn a grey knitted blouse over the top of her new sleeveless green silk gown. And although the gown was low cut and – yes – tight, the blouse was covering everything except a modest seven inches of cleavage, so Stacey could not really imagine where Penny was getting her ideas from. Of course, although it wouldn't exactly have been polite to ask, Penny's apparent unfamiliarity with banqueting did tend to imply she was something like a hooker who had affianced herself to a (ghastly) young nobleman, so maybe she took a close interest in lingerie. If so, she'd guessed wrong.

“Oh, this is all me.” Stacey admitted.

“Oh.” Penny replied quietly, and snuck a look at her Honeybuns to make sure Lord Weston wasn't taking too much interest in Duchess Staceline's tits. Fortunately, he was busy demolishing the bowl of icecream after dishing out a dress-busting portion to Penny, and not sharing it down the table, much to the more distant diners' distaste.

“Sticky toffee, or plum?”

A waiter interrupted the distinctly non-scintillating conversation. Penny didn't seem to understand the question about which hot dessert she would like, seemingly under the impression that her giant serving of icecream was her main dessert.

“She'll have both, of course!” Snapped Lord Weston, before cleaning a glob of icecream off his black moustache and returning to his gluttony.

Penny's eyes flickered.

“Of course, My Lord.” Responded the waiter. “Clotted or pouring?”

“She'll have lashings of both! And hurry up with the port, both my dessert wines have run dry!” Answered Hal Weston, on his fiancée's behalf.

Penny gulped, as two large plates were set before her, each with two pounds of hot, sticky dessert in a hemispherical shape. The waiter began adding creams to both dishes in lavish quantity, before topping up the dessert wines for the only diner who had so far taken more than a sip.

“But Honeybunny!” Penny exclaimed. “You know too much cream gives me a bad tummy!”

“I thought,” Harrumphed Lord Weston, his red cheeks flushing, “you just said you'd happily endure an enormous tummy ache every night to make sure you delight me with your appearance in your very expensive wedding gown?”

“Well. I did, but I already ate until I was almost sick once tonight... Isn't that enough?”

Stacey glared across the table, without being noticed. After thinking briefly, she grabbed the waiter and told him to serve her the plum pudding with no cream. Then she waited about five seconds for the waiter to buzz off. Then she interrupted.

“Penny. I think ordered the wrong dessert. I really like the look of both of yours, and I absolutely love lashings of cream. Would you mind if we swapped?”

Penny didn't mind, and flashed a grateful look. Lord Weston harrumphed until the port decanter arrived, and then consumed all of it slaking his annoyance. Time wore on during the less-than convivial dinner. With Hal Weston getting rapidly drunk beyond capability, Alicia told some school stories. Stacey would have discussed the Professor's talk, but both her companions had slept through it. The next hot dessert – a choice of molten-chocolate pudding, cherry surprise, or truffle log – prompted Lord Weston into enough sobriety to order all three for both his wife-to-be and himself, followed by the instruction that she should eat his so that he would be free to sample more port-wine. Stacey suggested that he have a bottle of sherry to go with it, and offered him a choice of a couple from her estates that she suspected were stored in the Royal Society's cellar. He guzzled both, then slumped back in his chair and started to snore, waistcoat and bow tie undone, and his belly protruding through gaps between his shirt buttons.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Penny patted her bloated belly, hitched up her dress to try and release the pressure, and farted profusely. “I thought I'd die from overeating before he passed out this time!”

“You shouldn't-” Stacey started saying.

“I have to! With my background I don't have another choice than him. Besides. My tummy aches will only last until the ceremony... Once we're married, I won't have to keep him so enamoured, and I'll be able to just eat until pleasantly full. It will be heavenly. Oh, thank you so much for eating my puddings, by the way. I swear excess cream really does bloat me terribly... And tonight I'm afraid I would have burst.”

Penny's orange dress was about as low cut as Stacey's, and it was shorter too. And it was shorter still because of the hefty tummy bulge which swelled as if she was seven months pregnant. On the other side of the table, Alicia's stomach also protruded visibly through her white regency dress – in her case, she hadn't been nearly so aggressively fed this evening, but Stacey felt guilty knowing that her friend's lower belly was utterly stuffed with highly-fattening pastries, which would surely make it hard for her to digest tonight's feast.

“That was amazing, Stacey!” Alicia said, all complaints about over-fullness forgotten due to the sumptuousness of the Banquet for Benefactors. “According to the menu, there's a choice of almond tart and cream roll for the next course. Everything's so delicious, I might just follow our new friend's example and have both.”

Stacey smiled indulgently. She was more than a little relieved she hadn't stuffed her friend beyond her limit of comfort. Still, she couldn't help but make a suggestion.

“You can have mine too, if you like.”

“And mine three!” Added Penny, causing a giggle.

Penny patted her belly, which gurgled heavily and released a loud fart. “I'm absolutely blown out. I do hope it's not actually possible for your stomach to explode after you stop eating. Is it? Only, I already ate six times today before we came here, and I'm given to trapped wind! I hope you don't mind.”

Alicia agreed it was quite natural, and in relief Penny released a fart so large she said she had room for another half-dessert afterwards. Alicia agreed to share.

As the surrounding aristocracy stuffed itself beyond reason, Stacey contented herself with watching Alicia's belly as her friend took on a cream roll weighing a couple of pounds, then an equally large almond tart, plus half of Penny's – over half, in fact, as the platinum blonde found herself in discomfort after less than a pound of the sugary pudding, and her belly ballooned even larger, testing the seams of her dress.

Alicia was glutted, but ordered a massive hot chocolate made with pure cream, and so, after a little thought, did Penny. With that slurped, she patted her bulging belly, and eyed the tables running around two sides of the hall, on which the staff had placed all the superfluous desserts from previous courses, together with a battery of new ones. The cornucopia would have been enough to stuff every attendee at the banquet stupid even if they hadn't already gorged themselves twice this evening. Most of the nobles had admitted defeat by the two sittings of the evening's vast feast, and only the younger ones eyed the massed desserts speculatively.

“Perhaps just one more cream roll.” Alicia said.

Penny's gut gurgled and swelled as her hot chocolate reacted with her cream-intolerant belly, but she too cast a greedy look at the tiered chocolate cakes that had just arrived.

“My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen!” Cried the announcer, sounding as drunk as a skunk. “For tonight's charitable auction, we have a special surprise! Not only will we have our advertised lots, but in addition, a special lot: a unique and priceless ancient jewel, that was once generously donated by Professor Horn to the Museum of Antiquities in Quaero, but which that institution has now sent here for auction, in order to fund the construction of their new North Wing, to be named the Horn Wing! I trust you will bid generously for this: The Pharoah's Eye!”

At the name, the man held aloft a huge red chunk of translucent stone. It looked like a red quartzite to Stacey, but, like everyone else in the room, she drew in a breath at its beautiful inner luminescence.

“Before we commence the bidding, I bid you come to the inspection table to view the Eye! It has been valued by the best experts at over three thousand crowns, but I dare-say once you see its inner beauty we can do better than that...”

Stacey was interrupted from her thought – namely that she could easily afford the gem even if the bidding was ferocious – by a synchronised groan from both Penny's and Alicia's stomachs. The three young ladies looked at each other accusingly.

“I think my tummy's still hungry.” Giggled Penny.

“Mine too!” Alicia agreed.

Stacey didn't say anything. She too was hungry. Starving.

“I've already eaten way too much tonight.” Stacey said to Alicia. “But, if you are going near the dessert table, could you grab me a little of the plum pudding?”

“A little? I grab you a couple. I wouldn't want to show you up.” Alicia replied.

Stacey had already started towards the announcer and the table with the gem. She was actually walking against the flow of nobles, which was odd, but it meant there was room to see the Eye of the Pharoah over the shoulder of a pair of gold-brocaded Dukes. One of them was mumbling.

“Makes the mind foggy to even glimpse such a beautiful thing, doesn't it, Cuthbert?”

“I'll say! I could do with some more pudding though.”

The Dukes buzzed off. Stacey's stomach growled, but she ignored it, figuring it was just because she hadn't totally glutted herself, and the ton of calories she'd eaten today should be enough for days anyway.

The gemstone was indeed quartzite, and it was really pretty. It had a red luminescence, and not from any of the whale oil lamps reflecting from it: it held an additional internal light that was not quite a normal colour. And, with good eyesight, its crinkled surface had tiny facets in repeated regular shapes. Stacey eyed it closely for some time, until she was distracted by a commotion.

A fight had broken out in the dining room. No, not a fight – but a pitcher of cream had been tossed from the table by boisterous nobles crowding around the dessert. Stacey dragged her attention to the side. Penny's orange dress was garishly visible, beside Alicia as they both hogged the desserts at an end of the table by a suit of armor... And the platinum blonde's belly had swollen even more. Doubtless Penny's belly was now so grossly distended because she recklessly held an upturned pitcher of cream – her indigestible nemesis – above her head and was guzzling it. The platinum blonde tossed aside the empty jug, and pushed past Alicia – whose own stomach was badly swollen too – for another.

“Stacey, help!”

By the time Staceline had run to her friend's side, she wasn't sure if Alicia was asking for help, because her mouth was stuffed with chocolate cake, cream roll, and treacle tart, and her chin was drenched in rich sauces, but she guessed so. Her blonde friend looked at her with confused eyes, then pulled back towards the dessert and continued shovelling sugary confections into her mouth without any hint of reason. Her dress looked sexily taut around her midriff... Stacey bit her lip.

“Dammit Alicia!” Stacey yelled, as she dragged the overstuffed, insatiable blonde away from the cakes. Alicia resisted violently, but completely in vain. Stacey could have lifted her, if she hadn't struggled so much and Stacey hadn't been wearing heels, but no amount of effort from the blonde could prevent her being dragged to the double doors and...

The doors were locked.

“What the fuck? Alicia, snap out of it! Cia.” The blonde was dazed, and couldn't reply coherently, though she had enough brain power left to start swallowing the cream-roll that was stuffing her cheeks so far as to be a choke hazard. Could it be poison?

Stacey shifted her grip to a stronger arm-lock that let her manoeuvre the blonde at will and eliminated any slim chance of escape her writhing friend might have had, and looked around.

Poison made sense. Stacey had eaten less than the throng of gluttonous nobles who were breaking out into chaotic fights over the tons of dessert still filling the tables – to say nothing of the side table with the surplus of the previous courses. So that might be why she wasn't affected.

“Oh. Nope.” Stacey ruled out poison. She counted several of the waiters and waitresses fighting over tarts, cakes, and pitchers of cream. Some kind of gas? Fuck, one of the fights over food was looking dangerous – it featured the corpulent Lords Weston and Lecker, the older one gaining the upper hand as he landed a massive punch into the vulnerable gut of Hal Weston.

With a rising sense of panic, Stacey kicked the solid oak door. Nothing. She kicked it again, and again, loosening her arm lock for a better strike.

“Mm. So, hungry, Stacey. Please could you feed me a tray of fruit scones?”

This has to be a nightmare – and I probably deserve it. Stacey thought. She tasted blood on her bitten lip, though.

“With lots and lots of cream, please, Stacey! Really pile it on, I'm faint from hunger.”

“No you aren't. You're so utterly stuffed you look pregnant with twins!”


Alicia sounded like a belligerent drunk.

“Fine. We need to get you home, then I'll feed you as much as you want.”

That actually seemed to pacify the blonde a bit. The struggling stopped.


“I promise.” Stacey lied. At least, she hoped it was a lie, this time, for Alicia's own good. “We need to get out of here.”

Stacey scanned the dining hall. The other doors had been closed, and, she surmised, also locked. This was confirmed by a check.

Alicia tugged at Stacey's arm, and pointed.

“The serving hatch to the dessert kitchen, of course! We'll be able to escape that way.”

The hatch was small. It was only used for smaller events, with larger servings put on trolleys and taken on a longer route through the antechamber. But, unlike the doors, it wasn't locked.

The blonde and the dark-haired Duchess regarded the serving hatch with very different concerns.

“Stacey! You'll have to go without me. My tummy and bottom are much too fat to squeeze through!” Alicia said.

“Like fuck.”

“You have to! You can leave me here with the puddings, I'll be Okay. Until they run out.”

Or unless they run out – the diners might easily explode first – Stacey noticed a number of collapsed nobles, men and women, pushed carelessly away from the feasting table. The girl in the orange dress was still standing and glutting herself, but squeezing Penny's gravid gut out through the hatch would be impossible, even if Stacey didn't have to manhandle Alicia at the same time.

“No. I'm just considering how much violence I'm going to have to use to shove you through. Also: how much the wooden edges are going to hurt my tits.”

Stacey pushed open the hatch door as far as is would go. A medium tray would fit through easily. So...

“Take your dress off. It'll snag.” Stacey instructed.

“But Stacey!” Alicia whimpered. “You know I pigged out so much today I felt too fat to wear knickers tonight – since the new ones haven't arrived yet!”

“Oh yeah. Erm, none of these people will notice, I'm sure. I'll pass your dress through.”

It actually required less brute force than Stacey had expected to push the natural blonde's naked but stuffed form into the dessert kitchen. Only one light shove with both hands. Then Stacey jumped backwards onto the counter, lay down, and took advantage of her frictionless silk dress to slide herself through head first on her back...

“Oh fuck!”

Stacey was stuck.

Staceline had lived up to the reputation of the Voluptua-Fuller side of her family, and her boobs had proved too large to fit through a hole that had been plenty big enough for a woman whose stomach was stuffed until she looked heavily pregnant. Her overgrown tits were wedged against the top of the hatch.

It was also partly because the exquisite silk of her green dress had snagged.

“A little help, Cia?”

No reply. Stacey tried to look around. Munching sounds were all she could sense. She struggled and turned some more, wedging her boobs tighter. It was a not altogether unpleasant sensation...

The naked, bloated blonde had dragged herself through the hatch enthusiastically, it seemed, as she'd been lured by a stack of trays of creamed scones, piled one atop the next on short feet, onto which she'd fallen and was now glutting herself with reckless disregard for her waistline, aerobic fitness, or indeed life.

“Alicia! Stop gorging yourself immobile, and help me!” Stacey tried to sound authoritative. Alicia ignored her, and Stacey couldn't shift at all as she watched scone after scone mechanically ingested by the already-distended blonde. Naked apart from a lacy bra, Alicia's stomach stuck out bigger than a pumpkin and tight as a drum. Were those a hint of stretch marks on her side, or just cellulite?

“Alicia, you'll get stretch marks if you keep eating. Also, you might burst. Help me!”

“Mmm. Munch. So good. Munch. It's Okay, Stacey, just another – munch – tray or three. Mmm. Then I'll have my strength back enough to help you. Munch. I'll save you some. Munch. Promise. Mmmf, sooo good!”

Fuck. Her boobs were squeezed painfully, something snagged her dress and bra was gazing her back, and, even worse, Staceline was hugely turned on.

Get fat, blonde slut!

“Mmm! So many. Stuffed. Must finish them all! BUURRRP. More!”

Stacey heaved. Her friend was demolishing trays of scones as she watched, and there was very little she could do except watch and get turned on at how fat it was going to make her... Assuming she survived.

An angry burn tore at Stacey's back, and she was pretty sure her dress was going to be ruined by bloodstains even if it was otherwise fixable, but she managed to tear the snag through the silk. Now for the boobs... Stacey breathed in, and squeezed. She slid through a little – just enough to free up her boobs and manoeuvre the rest of her through. Too bad, Stacey thought, that she'd been moments more of the squeezing and pain from an earth-shattering orgasm. “Oh yeah! Who's the school's best gymnast now, Alicia?”

“Hic! I don't... Feel so... Oh, these ones have cream and jam!” Alicia exclaimed as she uncovered yet another tray. There was every chance, Stacey thought, that she'd just pushed her best friend into a pile of dessert where she was actually going to eat until she burst. But not if Stacey got her way. She rolled herself into the kitchen, and gently dragged the blonde away from the food.

“Aw! I'm still hungry.”

You're lucky you haven't exploded. And you'll be constipated for a week.”

“Spoilsport. I want, moar!”


“Just a few more! One dozen?”

“No. Come on.”

“But, what about my dress? I'm naked!”

Alicia hadn't cared about her dress when she was stuffing herself to early stretch marks.

“Oh. Shit. I left it in the other room.”

“Oh, Stacey! Well, can you go back and get it? I can stay here, with these!”

“No! And give me one, I'm starving here.”

Staceline didn't know what had come over her, but she was desperately hungry and munched. Unable to deny any longer the insatiable hunger that had been gnawing at her, Staceline ate. And ate. Her blonde friend was nowhere near a physical match, and after a few hopeless grabs for the scone horde, Alicia stopped trying to get at Staceline's food, and sulked.

“Aw! I found them!”

“You didn't find them. You fucking fell on them. And, you've already going to get very fat from how much you've eaten today.”

“Aw. Fine. You eat them. I hope you choke.”

Alicia slunk off. A part of Stacey's brain still said she should really do something about that, but a larger part wasn't going to let her until at least these five trays of scones were gone – at least, unlike most of the insatiable nobility here, her metabolism could handle it. Probably. She crunched some numbers while her jaw chewed. If a tray holds eighteen large scones, halved and thickly spread with cream, that's thirty-six halves or four rows by nine... so.. there must be slightly more than that on these trays. Anyway, that was five trays of say twenty scones, so one hundred scones, which at three hundred calories including the dollop of cream and jam was... Way, way, more than Staceline wanted to think about. Too bad she couldn't help herself. She knew she was going to be really stuffed, but until they were finished there was no way she could think about anything but gorging herself.

She forced down the last bite of scone.

Stacey's belly throbbed. She felt dazed. Probably a sugar rush. Her back hurt – she felt around, and found it stained with blood, but not much, from dragging herself through the hatch. Not much chance of doing that again, she was too bloated.

She prized herself up, and looked around. Her stomach felt heavy. “Ugh. I'm going to feel this tomorrow.” She checked through the hatch to the dining room. The dining room was in ruins: rich desserts had been fought over from one end of the hall to the other. The few nobles remaining conscious were red-faced and on the verge of collapsing from over-indulgence. Penny's orange dress made her stand out, where she lay sprawled with her bloated stomach in the air in a pile of cream. Where was Alicia? Stacey couldn't see her, and checked the kitchen exits – one lead to a cream pantry. Stacey had an image of Alicia having drowned herself in a bucket of dairy cream while Stacey was eating, but luckily the blonde hadn't gone that way... Another door led to an antechamber, and this was where the blonde had passed out, on the steps leading up to the next floor. Stacey checked her friend was still breathing, et cetera. She was, but she was so stuffed her breath was as shallower than a tightly-corsetted countess.


A sound made Stacey jump, and kick off her heels as she returned to the kitchen and peered into the hall – it was a heavy lock opening the main doors, and footsteps, treading on the antique hardwood floor. There were two voices.

“Useless!” Whined a squeaky man. “Now that they've passed out, which one of them will have the key?”

“Professor Horn must have locked up. He must have wanted to give the bust a touch-up before it went on display. He always did have wandering hands.” That was a woman's voice.

“Shit!” Staceline recognised the voice of Countess Felicia du Val, an aging archaeologist and, according to the gossip columns, Professor Horn's ex-lover and bitter rival.

“We must find it! Can you remove the curse? I can't concentrate.”

“Oh! Don't be such an imbecile! What do you think I am, some sort of witch? Just throw a cloth over it!”

In the gloom the antechamber with its few lamps, Stacey had able to see clearly, but suddenly the room darkened as if the Sun had gone behind a cloud. She blinked, and as her vision returned the room seemed plunged into new colours – bluer colours – and, she realised, the light was now quite normal, having previously been a weird red.

“What the fuck?” Stacey whispered. Freed from the mind-numbing effects of the baleful red light scattered by the Eye of the Pharoah, her brain caught up with the theft – and worse – that was in progress.

Staceline moved without thinking. Past the groaning form of Alicia, up three floors at a sprint, into Professor Horn's office using the key hidden in the priceless Qing Vase, and to the drawer where he stored his trusty wheel-lock pistol. Locked and loaded, she took his old cavalry sabre from its rack and the side stairs to the exhibition hall, entering right behind the two thieves.

Countess du Val and her companion, an oldish man in cavalry boots and too-tight formal dress were busily rolling a trolley out of a preparation room at the side of the great exhibition room. On the trolley, as Staceline expected, was the priceless gilded obsidian Bust of Zaftertiti.

“Hey there.” Stacey hoped she didn't sound out of breath. “I can't let you take that. It belongs in a museum!”

The Countess and her companion spun around in shock!

“Who are you?” Sneered the Countess. “Lonporto's least-dressed young woman?”

Staceline kept her attention on her pistol aim, but glanced down. It was true, she had kicked off her shoes, then stripped off the blouse in the Professor's office because she was overheating. And her dress – short and low-cut to begin with – was slightly shredded. Fortunately it was still tight enough to stay on, mostly, even though it had lost a strip of the back which had taken one shoulder strap with it.

“Staceline Demoore. I believe you get on badly with my friend, Professor Horn. Something about stealing one of his antiques. Which I see is true.”

“Pah! Brintley, seize her pistol!”

The man didn't move.


Stacey knew she was at point black range, but still far enough back that she could shoot before either of them could rush her. She also knew that, even though she felt stuffed, she wasn't drunk, and, given a loaded pistol and a sabre, she still had enough reflexes and speed to stop both of the aging aristocratic thieves. Apparently, this man Brintley also knew this. His fingers flexed into a fist, but he could see Stacey's determined aim and highly-competent positioning.

“Back away into the corner.” Stacey ordered. The thieves slowly complied. Now, assuming one of the others had recovered sufficiently to call for the constabulary...

A great commotion rocked the exhibition hall, as a squad of blue-uniformed officers burst in, truncheons at the ready. Behind them wheezed the bloated form of Lord Mayor Sandy Eatwell, his face flush and his mayoral chain still caked with chocolate sauce and pastry from the ruckuss in the dining hall.

“Place Countess du Val and Baron Bourginon under arrest!”

“Arrest them Sir, very good.” Said the oldest constable. “On what charge?”

“Attempted theft of the bust of Zaftertiti, and conspiracy to cause the Lord Mayor extremely severe chronic constipation!”


* * *

3 hours later


The blonde and the platinum blonde had been carried onto couches on the ground floor of the Demoore townhouse, washed off by Yvette and covered with clean dressing gowns.

“Uh! I never want to eat again!” Alicia moaned from her couch.

A bespectacled man who was busy chilling his stethoscope in the icewater which he claimed made it “more effective” had something to say about that.

“Don't worry, young Alicia! I've diagnosed both you and miss Penny with simple cases of moderate bloatigestion. Exacerbated in miss Penny's case by ill-advised over-consumption of a gallon and a half of rich cream contrary to the advice indicated by her known dairy intolerance. The treatment in both cases is quite simple: gentle laxative draughts for the next two days, and then if I know anything about young ladies you'll be raring for a dinner date at the Busted Corset before the next day is out.”

Staceline thanked the good doctor.

“Thank you, Dr Welleman, for coming out so late.”

“Not at all, Your Grace, it is my business to make sure all my clients are taken care of. Which really brings my to you. To be honest, I'd much sooner have attended to cleaning up that nasty cut on your back before dealing with your companions, but I suppose the customer is always right.”


“Still, the laceration is not too deep. With a little iodine solution it will heal without stitches. It must be kept bandaged and washed daily, then because of your youth I'm confident it will not leave a scar provided you make sure to take no vigorous activity until it is healed.”


“But feel free to ignore my medical advice if you like. You may, for example, choose to engage in activity that only exerts your lower half or your front.”

Stacey brightened up significantly.

“Thanks, Doctor. Do I pay more for that?”

“Not any more than you already do. Oh, and it wouldn't hurt you to gain a few pounds. But I suppose you don't have to... Look, to be honest, if I only had my stethoscopic measurements of your chest to go on, I'd say you may be the healthiest woman in the whole city!”

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7 hours ago, Batman76 said:

Methinks Stacy won't enjoy her own gain nearly as much.

Hmm, she's not even a huge fan of the fact her boobs are still growing...

Thanks, everyone, for the comments! Hope you like the story. I wonder what you think might be an interesting next arc? Staceline has some possible legal obstacles to joining the senate (as if she'd want to) unless she gains weight; alternatively she might meet the family of the occult collector Fentiman Jowelle; or she could be presented to the Empress, who may not be amused with her current figure...

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Definitely need to get to the bottom of that acheological artifact. Who made it and why? Are there other artifacts? What shall become of said artifacts?

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3 hours ago, flyer33 said:

Hmm, she's not even a huge fan of the fact her boobs are still growing...

Thanks, everyone, for the comments! Hope you like the story. I wonder what you think might be an interesting next arc? Staceline has some possible legal obstacles to joining the senate (as if she'd want to) unless she gains weight; alternatively she might meet the family of the occult collector Fentiman Jowelle; or she could be presented to the Empress, who may not be amused with her current figure...

Why not all 3!?


but really, I'd say Stacy getting an imperial audience, realizing too late that her recent gorge left a recently purchased dress dangerously tight and being subject to the temptations of the imperial spread making it obvious her self control is permanently gone with a humiliating display of over eating and fraying fabric. The effect of the cursed artifact spreads like a disease though, the previous gluttony becoming just an appetizer resulting in skyrocketing food prices that make the nobility eat themselves into debt/immobility, with even Stacey's bottomless pockets running dry. Desperate and increasingly plush, Stacey visits Joelle for knowledge of how to reverse the curse, falling for both his handsome sons who vie for her softening hand with chocolates. 

Or that's what id do at least.


you do you.

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Chapter 5: Relics and Relishes


Stacey's shoulder was still sore, but two days in bed with little to do but order pancakes and read racy novels – or the newspapers – had left her longing for sexual exertion. She selected a figure hugging beige top and shorts. Both felt tight, most probably because she'd spent the last two days eating syrupy pancakes and chocolate waffles, and she resolved not to leave the Courtesans' Guild until she'd completed a punishing workout...

Speaking of pancakes, Yvette pushed the door open and manoeuvred in with two plates stacked with more of them, drenched in hot syrup that spilled onto the tray. She looked chunkier than usual.

“Lady Staceline, alors, you should not be out of bed!”

“I'm fine, Yvette. I'm pretty sure we've both had had worse injuries in the Courtesans' Guild...” Staceline exaggerated.

It was no exaggeration that Yvette, the Duchesses' personal maid, had previously been a guild courtesan for several years. In fact, Staceline had asked Yvette to be her chambermaid due to the considerable skills in massage and cosmetics that the full-figured older woman had learned in the guild. The now-ex courtesan had been delighted at the offer, as by her late twenties she'd anyway been getting too fat for her outfits and she was definitely starting to look less bouncy than her competition. A trend that had continued throughout more than a year in Stacey's service.

“Ah, zat may bee so, but you should rest some more. Ze newspapers say the ozers who were at ze muzeum are not expected to recover for a leest a week.”

“But they went nuts. I just had my self-control slip for a moment.”

“Oh. Do you want zese pancakes zen?”


“Oh. Reallee?”

“Okay, I'll have one more plate. I'm going to have to sweat blood in the gymnasium anyway. You can have ze ozer.”

“Ah! You are too generous! But Ah cannot!”


“No! All zose chocolates have made me put on seex kilos, and now Ah can hardlee fit into mah uniforme.”

For emphasis, Yvette's pulled her lacy white apron and black skirt taut,, framing her hefty belly. She patted it, and burped.

“And also, if Ah eet any more chocolate Ah will vomeet. You 'ave gained too many suitors for Melissa, Fifi and me to keep up with all ze candies they send.”

“Oh... I'll buy you new uniforms. I'll ask Mademoiselle duCamp to put them on my account. After all, anything to keep my favourite masseuse sweet, right?”

“Oh! I swear you are trying to make me fat!”

“Erm... I wasn't! But wouldn't you like some new clothes? I was actually thinking of getting you a couple of new evening dresses too. Could be useful...”

“Zat is very generous! And no matter if you are trying to fatten mee! Ah do not 'ave to squeeze into my old outfeets any more. In fact, in return for new dresses, Ah would be happy to eet anysing you say, any time!”

Stacey licked her lips. “Well, you can start with those two stacks of pancakes while I choose some shoes. Then I really need to head to the gym before all these pancakes make me fatter than they already have. Is Alicia better yet?”

“She iz still as constipated as a countess who has eeten a concrete cheesecake, but ah I will massage her abdomen again zis morning, and ah am sure her appetite will return soon.”

“Cool.” Stacey tied her hair back. “Wish me luck with my workout.”

“Good luck, Lady Staceline. Oh, and if you will be out, may I visit an old friend zis afternoon?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Stacey swished her her bottom with a riding crop and headed out for a day filled with sex and other aerobic exertions.



Meanwhile, across town in the Devonite Laboratory.


“Incredible, isn't it?” Asked the plump man of science who wore a straining laboratory coat. His visitor, a man in the gaudy gown of the Alchemists' Guild, peered at the glass-topped rat cage with amazement.

“Amazing, Chadwick! He's eating again!”

Professor Cassidy Chadwick beamed smugly at his old university friend. He slid a small lever control which closed a small door in a maze of lead piping. Then he grinned again when the immensely fat laboratory rat, who lived in the hutch with the leaded-glass lid, ceased nibbling at his block of cheese and wandered off. He'd been flicking the little door open and closed, with identical effect on the rat, for some time, but he still hadn't grown bored of the envious look on the alchemist's face.


“Better than your potions, eh, Goldman?”

“Potions,” Goldman huffed, “are scientifically proven to work! This Red Quartzite effect-”

“The Glutto-rays.” Corrected Chadwick.

“Your Glutto-rays, on the other hand, despite this impressive evidence, are not yet a peer-reviewed fact. Though, I have to say, you have my warmest congratulations on this demonstration! How did you figure it all out so quickly? And how did you get your hands on the Eye of the Pharoah?”

“Ah, well, you see...”

They were in an animal house on the University's farm. A locked metal box was arranged at the centre of a mass of pipework. The pipes radiated out like spokes of a wheel, connecting to pens and hutches or in one case heading through the wall into the cow shed. Everything was lined with lead, and the gaps and apertures were covered with lead foil or heavy crystal glass.

“So you see,” Explained the zoologist, “the Red Quartzite in that box – the so-called Eye of the Pharoah – emits an influence when excited by optical radiation. Light from an oil lamp seems to work most efficiently. But the influence of the rays, as you saw from the cage with the mouse wearing the little blindfold, and from the one with a paper box covering the end of the pipe, is not itself an optical phenomenon. Indeed, the Glutto-rays are only blocked by lead.”

“Incredible. It must exert a psychical influence upon the animal. Just like...”

“Just like potions are supposed to.”

Doctor Goldman huffed at that, but his eyes gleamed. “Indeed.”

“And, based on the testimony of Lord Eatwell-”

“How was the Lord Mayor, by the way? When we heard about what happened on Wednesday night, we sent him a letter, and offered him a selection of our most potent weight-loss elixirs to assist the afflicted guests. But I fear he is a potion-sceptic.”

“Oh, he's fine. He, and several trustworthy academics, described from first hand experience the influence of the “Curse of the Pharoah” as he called it. Then, given their data on the effect of covering the crystal itself with a cloth, piecing together a proper scientific explanation wasn't too hard for an experienced Man of Science.”

“A psychic resonance! And a strong enough one for use in a controlled experiment...”


“But you know what that means?”

“I think I do, Golders! Why do you think I invited you along? I hope your brought your pestle and mortar!”

Doctor Goldman looked aggrieved at the suggestion that he, a professional alchemist, might not have multiple grinding accessories about him at all times.

“Of course. Quartzite, you say? Well, it's one of the harder stones, but, like any proper alchemist, I use tools of agate and it will be no problem.”

After jotting down an experimental plan in Professor Chadwick's leatherbound notebook, the two imperial academics proceeded to a glove box. Within the lead-glass compartment had been placed a quartzite flake broken off the Eye of the Pharaoh, which had been brought to the University early the previous morning by an alarmed police officer. By virtue of being in the right place at the right time to overhear the policeman talking to a confused porter, who was trying to avoid the work of accepting the parcel, Professor Chadwick had snaffled the precious crystal for his laboratory.

Goldman set up the necessary tools for pulverisation and suspension of the dust into a precisely-calculated tincture. And, in little time, a fluid containing the liquefied Red Quartzite was ready. And the academics were about ready for lunch, but first, they took the potion through the adjoining door to the cow barn.

They past a vastly-fattened dairy cow, who was contentedly chewing an enormous quantity of cud. She had the name “Maybeline” on her collar, which had been loosened and was hanging askew. According to Chadwick, Maybeline had been of regular size prior to her introduction, the day before, into a stall where a lead pipe allowed the Professor to inoculate her with calibrated quantities of the Red Quartz radiation. The effect had been dramatic – given access to food ad libitum, the greedy bovine had become vastly fat overnight. Even better, the farm-boy had said that Maybeline's milk production had more than tripled. Now, if the radiation could be distributed by mirrors to a whole estate of dairy farms...

“There'll be a Magnus Prize in this for sure!” Chadwick had explained to his friend earlier (and also to his wife and to everyone else who would listen).

A Magnus Prize demanded a compelling name for the new phenomenon... And Professor Chadwick had already decided his discovery should be known to the world as: Glutto-Rays...

They came to another stall, containing a miniature pot-bellied pig.

“This one's name is Sausage.”

“Hello, Sausage!” Said Goldman. “Would you like to help demonstrate the astonishing effectiveness of the modern potion-making business?”

The pig didn't reply, which both men took as tacit assent to the question, and carefully poured a single drop of the potion from its lead-glass vial into a bucket of fresh water. They carefully set down the bucket for Sausage to slake his thirst, and waited.

After waiting for some time in the vain hope the pig would soon fancy a drink, the old academic friends decided to break for lunch. They secured the rest of the vial in the safe, and left the bucket where it was so they could come and make further observations of Sausage after a nice luncheon.


* *

1 hour later.


“Can I offer you a bit more gentleman's relish, or another slice of gammon, Golders?”

“Oh, no, thank you Chadwick. I'm quite replete.”

The tableware rattled, as a great crash suddenly echoed through the conservatory where the two had just finished dining. The resounding boom stopped every conversation, but it had a distant quality to it, so must have been terrifically loud at the source.

“I wonder what that was?”

“Elephants breaking out of their house again, I'd wager. Shall we go and check on Sausage?”

“Yes, lets!”

A few of the stockmen were gathered around the cowshed as the academics approached. Worryingly, a hole had been knocked in the side of the barn.

“Chadwick, look! It must be thieves trying to break in and steal the Eye!”

“Oh, no!”

Their concern didn't last too long. Before they reached half way to the barn, it became clear that no-one had broken in to the building. Goldman and Chadwick shared a perplexed look, which gradually morphed on the zoologists face into a look of academic delight, as they saw, snuffling in the cabbage patch, a great exotic and muscular beast as large as a bull – but also much, much lardier. The monster had broken out of the cow barn, likely distressing the bloated Maybeline in the process, but no matter...

It was the scientific achievement of the decade, for they had combined their academic expertise to achieve at last a truly magnificent feat of biochemical transformation. It would leave every other investigator green with envy: without doing him any noticeable damage apart from a lot of stretch marks, they had multiplied over a hundredfold the weight and value of Sausage the pig.

Chadwick rubbed his hands in glee. Then he remembered he'd already planned one more test of the Glutto rays. As soon as they had put Sausage in a new enclosure and confirmed the pig's new size was apparently stable and that he was in good fettle, Cassidy Chadwick hurried off to change into some smarter clothes.

* *


“Urp. Ahh, Cassidee, Ah could not eet another theeng! I told you I should not 'ave filled up on so much bread and butter before the entree!” Exclaimed the overfed young-ish woman who was wearing a strappy white dress and her black hair tied up elaborately. Her boobies threatened to spill out as she leaned to push the partially-eaten tray of fruit scones across the table.

“Oh, what a shame, Yvette... Your appetite is usually pretty big.” Said Professor Chadwick, cheerfully. He'd been in a splendid mood ever since they'd coaxed Sausage back into a sturdy pen. But there was every prospect of his day getting even better.

Cassidy Chadwick had changed into a somewhat fashionable leather jacket to dine with his favourite courtesan. Although, technically, Yvette Carte-Blanche was an ex-courtesan, she was not so ex that she would turn down a paid appointment in which she just had to eat a huge lunch to satisfy her client's kink of choice. Normally he'd only invite Yvette for a hefty afternoon tea when his wife was visiting her ghastly mother, but today he had a special reason for inviting Yvette to the suite adjoining his office...

“Ah know! And eet still iz. But Ah 'ave been eeting so much chocolate recently, Ah cannot eet any more! My dress is too small, and my stomach 'as grown too fat!”

“Chocolates, Yvette? Do you have a new admirer?”

“No! just thee usual... But Lady Staceline has so many! Ah swear, every unmarried gentleman in the citee is sending her chocolates. She cannot eet zat many, and Ah asseest 'er to consume zem. But zere is so much zat Ah am getting fat: I 'ave put on six keelos, as you can surely seee!”

The light, white summer dress Yvette had squeezed into had a plunging neckline and concealed very little. It certainly couldn't hide her bulked-up belly and bulging bottom. But the ex-courtesan nonetheless hefted herself to her feet to give a demonstration to her companion. As she twirled and jiggled, she noticed some back fat spilling over her straps.

“Oof.” Yvette said, after she finished twirling. As she sat back down, her quivering jelly belly settled back on her lap and bulged in the dress like an overstuffed cushion filling.

“Then perhaps you'd like to lay back and digest for a while. You might feel like a little snack later before you leave...”

“But of course, zat would be deelightful, Cassidee!”

Yvette burped softly as she lay back and closed her eyes. She began to breath deeply, and her swollen stomach swelled and strained the middle of dress like a water balloon filling up all the available space.

Professor Chadwick patted Yvette's plump belly, and then moved softly away from the table. He checked the courtesan was dozing peacefully before he slid open a small metal door attached to a lead pipe that came through the wall of his private room at an odd angle. Being careful not to stand in its way, he checked the aperture was pointed at Yvette's slumbering form, then he sat back down and opened his notebook. The courtesan's belly rumbled loudly.

Once a few minutes passed, the digestive gurgling of Yvette's belly grew so loud and frequent that she stirred from her nap.

“Oof, my bellee! Oh! Ah am so fameeshed!” The maid exclaimed.

If anything, Yvette's gurgling belly had swollen and stretched her dress even tighter during her brief nap, but that didn't stop her reaching for the scones and attacking them with gusto. She paused in her gorging only to scoop more clotted cream on top of the already thickly-spread pastries.

“URRP! Oh, excuse me! Burrrp! Oof, Ah swear after those first eight scones I could not 'ave eaten another crumb! But now Ah cannot get enough! Mah dress will surely split!”

Yvette resumed cramming herself with scones, spaced out with gulps of creamy milk.

“Not at all, Yvette. I'm delighted to see you have a second wind! Would you care for an additional dessert? I believe I secured a fruit cake or a plump pudding from the luncheon trolley earlier, and I could-”

“Yes, pleesh! Both! Ah am so hungry, Ah could eat an horse!” Yvette demanded, through a mouthful of scone and cream.

The light white dress pulled tighter and tighter. It's strappy neckline scooped lower and lower as Yvette's bulging body strained for space. Oblivious, the maid / courtesan scooped thick mounds of cream onto the three-quarter fruitcake, and the half plum pudding that the Professor had snaffled from the luncheon buffet. She munched and munched, alternating between fattening cake and the death-by-calories plum pudding, neglecting the strain of her dress's flimsy side seams. Had she noticed how taut the dress was pulled, she might have taken action before the seventh huge chunk of fruitcake finally proved to be too much load...

Yvette took a breath in between swallows of cake as she leaned forward for an eighth helping of fruit cake.


Her swollen belly surged, tearing a long rip down one side of the summer dress.


“Oh, my, Yvette. It look's like someone's eyes were a little too big for their dress!” Said Professor Chadwick. Deciding his experiment had already proven a clear success, he stealthily slide the door closed on the front of his Glutto-ray pipe before moving around the table to have a look.

“Oh, yes! Someone's going to have to be measured for a new outfit! I'll be happy to contribute, but perhaps first I could help rub your tummy... You look a little overfull.”

“Uuuuuurrrrrp! Too much food! Ah can hardly breathe!” Yvette moaned plaintively, as if it was someone else's fault.

With the Glutto-Rays blocked, the maid seemed to be feeling the full effect of her enormously bloating meal.

“Oh! I ate too much! My tummy is bursting, and mah dress, it az burst! Oh, I don't know what came over me!”

Yvette gave a moan of pain and tried rubbing her gut. It was too stuffed to give an inch of movement.

“Not to worry, Yvette! I think it's rather splendid.” Said the professor, looking forward to writing a scientific article on the proof of the effectiveness of Glutto-Rays on a human subject...


Yvette groaned and belched as her body struggled to accommodate the hugely overindulgent meal. She wished she hadn't started the day with so many boxes of chocolate.

“I will 'ave to get home with mah dress burst open because of zis over-eating!”

Since it was a hot summer day, Yvette had worn only the now-burst dress to her appointment, and had no coat or anything to disguise the consequences of her gluttony. The torn dress – and the overstuffed belly which had caused it – would be on show for all the world to see. In all fairness, Yvette would not be the first woman in the capital city to take such a walk of shame, and her dress had been pretty revealing already, but it was going to be an embarrassing ordeal all the same...

* * *


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Very nice! Best story, please keep it up!

I hope Stacey manages to stay at her athletic 150 pounds while Alicia balloons more than she enjoys herself, but still feels compelled to "keep the temptation away" from Stacey.

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On ‎2‎/‎16‎/‎2019 at 1:06 AM, maxis192 said:

Very nice! Best story, please keep it up!

I hope Stacey manages to stay at her athletic 150 pounds while Alicia balloons more than she enjoys herself, but still feels compelled to "keep the temptation away" from Stacey.

Yes, this is something Stacey would like, too... 

Thanks for the comments. There's one more chapter for now.

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Chapter 6: The Very Hungry Duchess


“Sixty-four... Sixty-five...”

In an airy, mahogany-floored dance studio at the Courtesans' guild, a dark-haired young Duchess sweated hard. A flimsy cotton top and shorts were drenched with perspiration and clung indecently to her body as she clung with a vice-like grip and chalk-coated hands to a steel bar.

“I hate pull-ups! Hate them! Can we go back to squats soon?”

“Shut up and breathe properly! You only hate pull-ups because you've let yourself get fat and out of shape!”

“I'm not fat!”

Swish! Thwack!


“The scales don't lie, Lady Staceline! Even accounting for the massive breakfast you no doubt stuffed yourself with this morning, you're seven pounds fatter than the last time you visited the capital.”

Swoosh! Slap. Thwack!


“Seventy... And lower yourself all the way down. Then think about how fat you've grown when you pull up again!”

“I'm not fat! It's my tits! They've grown a lot more this year.”

“Only by four inches, you lazy girl!”

“Ow! Four and a half! And my favourite seamstress says that's an enormous amount because of how large they already were. It must be at least two or three pounds!”

“Two or three pounds of purest fat!”



“Seventy-four. Would you like me to remove two or three pounds of the lead weights strapped to your belt to make your exercises commensurately easier for you, Milady?”

“Uhn. Yes please, Mistress Abigail!”

“No! And because you are slacking, I will instead add another ten! That will make seventy-five. And you still have twenty-five repetitions to complete!”

“Ouch! My arms hurt!”

“You should have thought of that when you were gorging yourself fatter with all those enormous breakfasts and dress-busting gala dinners!”

“Ow...” The Duchess practically sobbed.

“Seventy-eight... Keep going.”

“I can't! Please may I get down? I could do additional squats instead, as a penance?”

“No. Just a few more to go, Lady Staceline... Seventy-nine... Eighty...Eighty-one.”

“My arms hurt a lot.”

The sweat-soaked Duchess clung on to the bar with her arms fully extended, but she couldn't flex them any more...

Swish. Thwack!

“Concentrate on the pain inflicted by the paddle. It will relieve the burn in your flabby arms. Eighty-two.” Staceline dragged herself though another rep by burning willpower.

“Uhn. The paddle doesn't even help any more. Maybe the whip?”

“No. Get down!” Ordered the leather-clad mistress.

Duchess Staceline dropped to the wooden floor and slumped into a panting heap. Her skimpy grey cotton top was soaking wet with perspiration, and plastered wetly over her bra. Through the slick material, her breasts visibly throbbed with her racing heartbeat. She sobbed a bit, and rubbed her biceps with trembling, chalky fingers.

Mistress Abigail regarded the sweating heap and snorted. Then she strode to a table where she collected a cup of water and another large cream cake. The quivering Duchess moaned in gratitude as the water was placed next to her. While she sipped it longingly, Mistress Abigail consumed the cream cake and licked her lips.

“You've allowed yourself to grow grossly unfit! Now, tell me: when you were in somewhat acceptable condition last summer, how many sit-ups were you able to perform in a fifteen minute session?”

Sob. “Only five-hundred and six, Mistress Abigail.”

“Only five-hundred and six? That's pathetic!”

Mistress Abigail suppressed a slightly sick feeling. Either the pile of cream cakes she'd eaten during the Duchess's extended workout were disagreeing with her digestion, or, more likely, she was feeling queasy about the gruelling regime she was administering, even though she wasn't having to do it.

“You will perform one set of sit-ups, and if you do not complete at least five-hundred then after a further session of squats you will repeat the sit-up session before finishing for today.”

“Uh. Mistress?” Staceline asked, seemingly having recovered her breath.

“Yes, slave-girl?”

“After I complete the second set of sit-ups, if required, please may I perform another session of pull-ups, and of squats and of skipping?”

The leather-clad mistress looked perplexed. Surely even her client, despite her reputation in the Guild, couldn't take much more of this.

“I don't think so! I am hungry and wish to leave this place soon for an afternoon snack. Why do you wish to delay your Mistress's afternoon meal?”

“Uhh.” Stacey panted, with a demanding edge returning to her voice. “Because I'm still so horny! Even though I drained six fit young courtesans dry this morning, I still can't restrain my desire for more! It's because I haven't had sex for two days previously. And the only way to control my insatiable libido is through physical exhaustion, and I'm not exhausted yet!”

“I will consider your offer, but only if you complete at least five-hundred sit-ups. And you must begin them now!”

“Yes, mistress.”

* *


“How many this time?” Asked a full-figured, mature blonde wearing a fine red silk dress.

“Six, plus two more after her gym session, Ivy.” Replied Mistress Abigail, rubbing her sore tummy that was now free to bulge over the loose black silk skirt she had changed into. All the cream cakes, coming on top of a heavy lunch and consumed in a too-tight leather outfit, had given her a bad case of indigestion.

“No, not men! Eight is a lot, but hardly anything I'd worry about. Especially since she's so vanilla in her preferences. She just has a very healthy appetite for them, that's all. Good taste, too. I was asking you about the sit-ups and things.”

The blonde patted her moderate tummy bulge. Like most experienced courtesans, her belly belied no experience of sit-ups whatsoever.

“Oh, by Dionysus! Too many. Over five-hundred, twice. It's making her far too thin.”

“I thought you said she'd gained some weight?”

“It's muscle, as far as I can tell! Oh, and boob, too. She's even more stacked than she was last year. She's eighteen: you'd think she'd stop growing... She'd be bigger than Tittia, if she wore any padding. But she's ridiculously strong. You know, Jean says she's very nearly as strong as him, and he's ripped. And he's a man, and basically also a professional wrestler.”

“Hmm. But she does eat well after visiting the gymnasium?”

“Oh yeah. Like an ox.”

Abigail assiduously instructed the Duchess to load up on proteins, carbohydrates, and rich creams after every one of her brutal sessions in the gymnasium. And the Duchess complied enthusiastically. Abigail would have been sick if she ate half so much in a whole day. After all, her tummy was gurgling uncomfortably after just two dozen cream cakes and a nine course lunch...

“So, we're not in any danger of her wasting away, or fainting or something?”

“Erm, no. Ask any of the boys she fucked into comas.”

“I trust they aren't complaining? In fact, I should be complaining at them. Eight of them shouldn't have been used up by one young woman, even an unusually libidinous one. I think I'll need to see them in my chambers tomorrow: if they can't leave me bursting like I've tried to fuck a waterfall, they need to work harder and increase the amount of protein in their diets.”

“Erm. I'm pretty sure some of them won't have recovered from Stacey by tomorrow. Maybe the day after.”


“So, do you think it's safe for me to continue the sessions, Ivy?”

“Yes, certainly. But have you tried getting her into feeding? The gel would benefit from a little more bulk on her curves, even if she still insists on all this muscle-building exercise. Maybe Beck can suggest it – he's her favourite, right?”

“I'll see what he can do. As soon as he recovers enough to walk again. Assuming he recovers...”

* * *


Staceline hummed as she applied cosmetics. She was in a remarkably good mood. She'd started the day with a colossal breakfast of her favourite pancakes; then fucked off a lot of calories with the assistance of several of her favourite courtesans, most of whom had regained consciousness soon afterwards; then had an intense workout while being spanked in kinky ways she would avoid mentioning to Alicia; then finally she'd stuffed herself with recovery food; and had some more sex. And now she was getting ready for a date – sort of. The invitation had been cryptic, and had only arrived around lunchtime while she was out, but this one had certainly been worth replying to.

“Alicia!” Staceline called out. “Have you seen Yvette? I need a little help strapping my boobs into the black dress. Maybe more than a little.”

“She still isn't back. I can help.”

“Thanks! And can you set out some super-slutty underwear for me to choose from?”

“You're not going to...”

“I just want it for the confidence boost, Alicia. I'm not actually going to take my clothes off tonight.” Staceline said, unconvincingly.


“Yes, really. Besides, do you really think I'll be in the mood for sex again this evening after the number of courtesans I did today?”

“Knowing you, you already are.”


“Plus, you know they say power is an aphrodisiac, and with who you're seeing...”

“Yeah, so about that. Which one do you think I am seeing?”

“For you? The crown prince. No doubts.”

“You think? I don't know. But I will let you know as soon as I get back. But don't plan on waiting up...”

* *


Duchess Staceline Demoore was not accustomed to feeling butterflies in her tummy. Her nervousness was all the more irksome because she knew it was absolutely irrational. She turned towards one of the full length gilt mirrors in the deep-carpeted reception room, and attempted to silently talk some sense into herself.

“Pull yourself together! You are, definitely, the richest unmarried woman in the Empire. In a competition for the most beautiful, you'd probably win if it weren't for the Empire's fat-obsession combined with the fact your competitors are at least five stone heavier. And you might just win in any case. You have epic tits. Your dress fits perfectly, and it looks fabulous. You have a sex drive higher than four or five empresses put together. Men usually can't think straight in front of you. And – and this is the most annoying thing of all – you shouldn't be nervous because you honestly don't care whether The Prince wants to make you his Empress. You don't even want to date him unless he happens to be nice, and sane, as well as handsome, and you've learned enough history to know that's frankly unlikely.”

“Ahem. Lady Demoore. If you would follow me when you are ready?”

Stacey pretended to have been engrossed in studying a First Tan dynasty urn. It was probably a fake from the Qinn dynasty, because most of them were, but what the hell.

“Oh, of course.”

Fucking nerves. Staceline's heart raced. Traitor, she thought to herself. Her heart continued racing. At least it wasn't close to her aerobic limit... Well, OK, it was quite close. She tried taking slow, deep breaths, which mainly just had the effect of causing her bosom to heave pneumatically.

The usher lead Stacey into a further reception room. This one was smaller, but the carpet and gilt furnishings were equally exquisite and the paintings were better. The usher showed himself out, after explaining that another attendant would come for her soon.

“Duchess Staceline Demoore?”

“Er, yes.”

An older steward had been admitted by a doorman.

“A pleasure to meet you. My name is Jolyon Carrol, a steward of His Majesty. I trust you are well?”

He also wore some sort of chivalric medallion.

“I am, thank you, Sir Jolyon.”

“As you know, you have been invited to dine with one of the Princes...”

Yeah. Which one? Stacey wanted to ask.

“You will, of course, be aware that this is an unique honour.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And, as such, is attended with additional expectations beyond a simple dinner invitation...”

“Go on.”

“You see, My Lady, whilst your pedigree is impeccable, and....” Blah, blah, blah. Staceline tuned out for a minute until Sir Jolyon arrived at his point.

“... Your unusual slenderness is something of a cause for concern in a potential Royal Consort.”

Ouch. Staceline thought.

Then she seethed a bit at the presumption. “Oh. Really?”

“Indeed. But the Emperor and Empress are remarkably open minded! Should your dinner with the prince be agreeable, then subject to a satisfactory evaluation of your health by the Royal Physician, you would be permitted a generous length of time to develop the customary figure expected of your future role. And, of course, any assistance that you may require. But you must understand this expectation in advance”

Staceline had sort-of expected this conversation, but hadn't anticipated having it before she even met the damn prince – huh: what if he didn't meet her requirements? She felt conflicted over Sir Jolyon's candid explanation of royal protocol. Finding her state of mind somewhere between an icy calm or a volcanic rage, she somehow managed to select icy calm to win out.

“Thank you, Sir Jolyon. That can't have been an easy explanation to outline, and you are very thoughtful to put it to me in such an honest way. Don't worry about it.”

The steward smiled, more than he needed to.

“Thank you kindly, your Grace.”

“You're welcome.”

“If you would follow me? Oh, it is not really my place to say, but it is Prince Hadria, the younger prince, whom you will meet.”

Stacey suppressed a laugh.

Well: I can't wait to tell Alicia she was wrong. Guess I'm way too skinny to snag a crown prince.

* *


Handsome, dirty-blonde 19 year old: check. Comfortably taller than Staceline despite her two inch heels: check. Nice athletic figure: check. Looks good in army uniform: check. Firm handshake: check, assuming that was a good thing. Nice perfume: check. Overall, Staceline would be happy to score Prince Hadria as an 8, or maybe an 8.5, if she was ever asked – which, let's face it, she certainly would be, by everyone who knew she'd met him.

Staceline actually curtsied. Her dress handled it perfectly. Against every conceivable probability, she didn't even spill out of her plunging neckline at all.

“Hi! I'm Stacey.”

“Hello, Stacey. You can call me Hal. Thanks for coming over. It's actually not as easy as you might think to invite anyone for dinner here...”

“Oh, really? But I'd guess it's pretty easy.”

“Yeah, you'd think.”

Staceline took in the ornate, imposing dining room. Six of the portraits were Emperors, and four of them were popular ones. Apart from them, and the suits of armor, and the small mountain range of golden bric-a-brac, and a procession of about ten or fifteen stewards, she and Prince Hadria had the echoing chamber to themselves.

“OK, I sympathise with your problem. But if we're starting off by admitting flaws, I should warn you, Hal, I may look like a respectable Duchess, but I'm actually really nervous about having to get through a private dinner at the palace without doing something embarrassing... So you know, if I don't have much of an appetite tonight, that's why. I normally have a huge appetite, by the way. Absolutely colossal in fact. In fact, I have no idea how I stay so slim. Something which, in fact, your steward was a bit worried about.”

The prince grinned.

“Sorry. I told him not to do that. And you have nothing to worry about, Stacey. You should know, I'm actually nervous too.”

“Really? I find that pretty hard to swallow.”

“Yes, really. It's not everyday one meets the most beautiful woman in the Empire.”

It sounded cheesy. Stacey couldn't think of a polite reply.

“Sorry, that sounded cheesy. Would you like a drink?”

“I don't really drink. But I can have, say, one glass of wine. I guess it's good stuff, right?”

“I think we can find something good.”

“Cool. Come on, show me some paintings. I actually know something about art... You have some Hobarth's, right?”

Stacey got the impression that her boobs were doing most of the work of charming the prince. Well, her boobs plus the sparkling black dress, which made the most of her considerable assets and revealed an epic amount of cleavage whilst still looking somehow demure rather than ultra-slutty. Still, if she needed to look slutty she was also wearing the suspender belt for it, but she suspected blatant sluttiness was not something she ought to try on a royal first date... (Even though... the whole point was to do with spawning heirs... right?)

Honestly, Stacey's main memory from the date was that Prince Hadria was nice but a bit dull – but that could have been because of the awkward situation of being served by a dozen different staff while trying to have a charming conversation. He also knew a bit about art, but it wasn't a lot. Which was a pity, because the palace had really nice stuff.

The rest of the date was a blur. She was pretty sure she had failed to say anything interesting for two hours, and that neither of them had come up with a genuine joke. Pretty much the only thing Stacey was really happy with was her dress. It glittered and felt perfect... Unlike her.

So, Stacey thought to herself in the gilded restroom that adjoined their private dining chamber. She rated Hal's performance as a date at about six out of ten, including one point for the palace. Her own performance felt awful: two out of ten at best, including one and a half points for her boobs looking good.

The food had been OK, but Stacey had had zero appetite. Twenty-seven courses and a polite few extra helpings of dessert was way more than her body wanted. She kicked herself for turning down some amazing-looking offerings from a second dessert trolley, but at least she'd eaten a polite amount before giving up.

Slightly to her own surprise, Staceline found herself in a plush royal carriage heading back to her townhouse, alone. Annoyingly, as soon as she was out of the palace she felt her usual appetite return with a vengeance and she could have eaten a horse followed by an ox, and she regretted not having snaffled some desserts in a napkin. Although it seemed unlikely the palace would approve of people taking food home in a doggy-bag. Also, she was pretty sure she could now have thought of some cleverer things to say at dinner.

“Damn. How the hell am I going to explain this to Alicia?”

* *


Fingers snapped.

Prince Hadria, who had been sitting thoughtfully on a gilt ebony chair, stopped staring into the space between a famous painting of Emperor Henry the Ninth, and one of his even more corpulent successor, Roland the Fatter.

“Hal! Wake up. How was she?”

“Oh, Jules. Hey.”

An exquisitely dressed twenty-one year old rolled his eyes at Prince Hadria, and then resumed snapping his fingers in front of his younger brother's head.

“How? Was? Duchess? Staceline? Demoore?”

“Perfect.” Prince Hadria replied confidently.

“Really? As your older brother, can I please get some full and proper details from you? You're supposed to be the articulate one.”

“Ah. Alright. Well, first, she really is the most beautiful woman in the Empire. There's no one else in her league.”

The older prince looked sceptical. The palace hosted an awfully huge number of guests, and no small fraction of the ladies were noted society beauties. A fair number of the young ladies were, in fact, famously gorgeous. Especially now that there were two eligible princes, and the process of lining up their marriages was under way with no real secrecy.

“So... You liked her boobs, then?”

“Those too.”

“More details.”

“She's really strong.”


“I mean, she's physically strong. I was escorting her around the Long Gallery, and she has arms like cast bronze. I mean that in a good way, by the way.”

“That's your idea of a useful detail, Hal?”

“Yes. Because the whole point of me meeting her, instead of you, was because she's allegedly too thin and frail to be Empress.”

“That's not the only reason.”

“Yeah, sure. Look, she's not too thin. Not really. Muscular, maybe. Not brawny, though. Look, I may need a dictionary to find a word for a muscular girl. I'm pretty sure there is one, but it wouldn't be in widespread use...”

“Eh? Anyway, You say she's beautiful, and you think she's 'curvy enough', even though everyone else says she's a rail apart from her boobs.”

“You want my opinion? She's gorgeous. And she's really smart. She knows everything about art. Give her an antique vase. Not a fake one – she'd know.”

Prince Julius puffed.

“Humph. Look, forget about her, Hal. The Head Steward says she's way under a hundred and sixty pounds, and he checked with her seamstresses to make sure. Do you know she wasn't even wearing a corset under that dress?”

The crown prince shuddered at the thought.

“And, no matter how much you liked her boobs, and no matter how rich she is, that's very far away from what I'd call Royal material.”


“Butt me no butts, Hal. Go and find the latest version of The List, cross her off, and then tell me who is next woman on it.”

“I'm telling you, there is no-one else on the list...”

“The list, young Hal, still has enough genuinely gorgeous young ladies on it to exhaust the strength of Heracles himself.”

“I meant, no-one else on the list who could come close.”

“Bah! Look, it is lucky for you, young Hal, that you're my little brother, so I can preserve you from your latest folly. Now go and get The List... If you're very well behaved, I shall let you meet the elite, number-one beauty: the Countess Katelette Foir-Grasse. That should take your mind off the too-skinny Duchess.”

Prince Hadria looked at his older brother and sighed.


* * *

The middle of the next morning.


Warm sunlight and a cooling sea breeze filled the dining room at Staceline Demoore's townhouse.

Lady Alicia Remonte leaned back from the breakfast table as far as her comfortable chair allowed, and exhaled heavily. She was stuffed.

After three days of restriction to just water and very light meals accompanied by gentle laxatives, Alicia's tummy had recovered from her ordeal at the Fulbottom Banquet-Lecture. Today, Alicia had awoken with a growling belly that was, naturally enough, extremely hungry after such a long period of undereating. Luckily, she'd felt strong enough to rise early, slip into some lacy white shorts, shrug on a new summer dress of yellow cotton, and to order a big breakfast while she waited for Staceline to rise.

“More apple pancakes, milady?” Asked Melissa, as she cleared away the latest set of plates from the window table, and dispatched them via the dumbwaiter.

“Oof, yes please!” Alicia replied, patting her belly. She was sure she'd be able to find room for one or two more pancakes by the time the next plateful arrived, fully sugared and wrapped around a delicious apple filling. “And tell Mrs Apfel the fourth plateful was scrumptious.”

Frau Apfel was Staceline's head cook, and ran the townhouse together with Mrs Pear the housekeeper. They were both firmly orthodox in their enthusiasm for calorie-laden meals, and today's new pancake filling, which resembled a spiced apple jam hardly any less fattening than pure cream, was the kind of thing Mrs Apfel liked to serve. Alicia licked her lips.

“Yes milady. And will you have any more poached eggs and toast?”

“Oof, Melissa, I don't think I could.” Alicia replied honestly. The ten poached eggs she'd already consumed in the second course of her breakfast – a full fry-up occupying a platter wider than Melissa's bosom – had more than filled her up and satisfied her hunger pangs.

“I see.”

Alicia sensed a touch of reproach in Melissa's response. She recalled the previous evening, and felt a bit guilty.

“And if Lady Staceline chooses to join you for breakfast soon?” Melissa seemed to emphasise the if.

“Ah. Oh in that case I'm sure I'll be able to cram down a little more.” Alicia hazarded.

Ah. Yeah.

It was, after all, Alicia's job to keep Staceline company and keep her spirits up. And this morning was surely one of the times that Alicia really ought to have saved her appetite to console her friend over a big breakfast...

“Very good, milady.”

Alicia had waited up for Staceline to return from the palace the previous night. She hadn't particularly expected Staceline to return that night...

It was something Alicia had partially grown accustomed to: even on a bad day, Staceline was gorgeous and had an enviably irresistible effect on warm-blooded men. And yesterday evening she'd looked ravishing, in a perfect and very expensive black dress, even by own standards. The idea that she wouldn't be invited to spend the night at the palace had not seemed plausible. In fact, Alicia had toyed with the idea that the next time she saw Stacey, the Duchess would be engaged, and even, quite possibly knowing Stacey's appetites, pregnant with twins. 

As it happened, the splendid royal carriage had returned Stacey to her townhouse in time for an early night. She'd taken a snack to bed with her, so Alicia hadn't got many details, but what she had learned had left her feeling distraught on her friend's behalf...

Stacey had maintained a neutral expression as she outlined her failure to Alicia. But the fact was, she'd reported that her date had been far from successful. It seemed Stacey had been overawed by the palace, and she'd been far from her usual charming self with the prince [who, to Alicia's shock, was the younger prince and not the future emperor!]. And she'd had shockingly little appetite, having barely cleared twenty-seven plates of food and a few desserts before admitting she felt full. That would surely finish off her chances of progressing further in the ultra-competitive game of royal romance. Surely, now, Staceline had lost her chance of ever becoming empress, and until that night it had been a really good chance, and Alicia felt terribly bad for her.

Stacey had seemed to take it well, but she had probably been in a shocked daze last night. Alicia, and the staff to whom she had discretely provided basic details, expected the Duchess to be in a very low mood once she realised the awfulness of what had happened. Mrs Apfel had taken the step of designing a new kind of pancake filling just to cheer her up a bit, in the hope that the new flavour of her favourite food would tempt the pining Duchess into eating so she wouldn't waste away in melancholy at her lost prince...

And it was Alicia's responsibility to encourage her friend to eat and keep her strength up at this difficult time. So, really, Melissa had every right to be a bit aggrieved that she had stuffed herself stupid at breakfast before Staceline had even been able to drag herself out of bed.

A few minutes passed. Alicia still felt stuffed by the time her fifth plate of pancakes arrived, but she nibbled on them anyway, under Melissa's judging eye.

The sound of a medium-size dog descending the stairs drew Alicia and Melissa's attention to the entrance, as Staceline let herself into the dining room, preceded by her enthusiastic pet, Gladstone. Alicia braced herself to console her friend.

Staceline was wearing a short white dress, and she seemed to have been perspiring. She'd washed her face and hair, but she wasn't at her best. She'd probably had a sleepless night. As she sat down for breakfast, Alicia noticed she had some kind of chalky powder left on her fingernails. Her expression seemed positive enough, however.

“Hey Alicia!”

“Hello Stacey. Good to see you're up!”

“Oh I was already up, I was... Nevermind. Is it too late for breakfast?”

“It's the perfect time for breakfast, Stacey. What would you like.”

“Oh. I'm not that hungry...”

Melissa's face fell, and Alicia shuddered. The maid recovered well, though, and adjusted her expectations.

“May I get you fresh bread and butter and tea, with apricots, plums, and sliced bananas milady? Followed by poached eggs on toast, would a dozen be enough?” Melissa enquired with cheerful tact.

“Erm, two dozen, please, Melissa. I do have a whole morning to get through...”

Melissa's eyes sparkled in response to the Duchess's positivity. Alicia was impressed. Stacey was obviously forcing herself to take a positive state of mind following her royal dating disaster.

“Certainly, milady. And following the fried bread, beans, tomatoes and grilled Archaean cheese, a dozen sausages?”

“Maybe a few more, if there's some? I mean, I don't want to get fat, but Mrs Apfel might think a dozen is a bit skimpy, right?”

“Certainly, milady! And-”

“Oh, and can I have some mashed potato? And some mashed carrots and swede? I just feel like something starchy. And some more bananas? And some croissants.”

“Of course, milady-”

“Oh, and do we have any of that apple tart left? I could really go for one. Maybe two, if there's two. Or some fruitcake. And a hot chocolate. And some plum pudding, maybe? And a bowl of ice cream. Make that two. With a banana split. And some cherry pie.”

“Of course!”

“And, if Alicia wants anything from the fruitbowl, maybe you could bring a refill. I think it'll be a bit low after I've finished with it. And do you have any strawberries? Or a bowl of raspberries?”

“Yes, both, milady. I will bring them with cream.” Staceline seemed to have stopped asking for food, so Melissa prompted her some more. After all, she had to keep her strength up.

“And would you like to try Mrs Apfel's new apple and cinnamon pancakes?”

“Yes, please, Melissa. Could I also get some regular sugar and lemon ones, too, with syrup?”

“Of course, milady. Would you like to start with six stacks of the regular pancakes and five, no seven plates of the apple pancakes?”

“Sure... But maybe ask Mrs Apfel to make a bit more batter, just in case. Oh, and some waffles. Like ten or so? With syrup and chocolate sauce and cream. Is that OK?”

“Very good, milady.”

“Oh, but, Alicia: don't let me hold you back, I'm just not that hungry...”

As Melissa hustled about fixing breakfast, she left Alicia to ask tactful questions to cheer up her friend.


“Uh huh?” Stacey replied through a mouthful of freshly-baked bread.

“So... You're taking this well.”

“Tchaking what well?”

“The, erm.” Alicia wondered whether her friend had blanked the failed royal date out of her mind... If so, it might not be a tactful idea to bring it up.

“What? Are you talking about breakfast, Alicia? Yeah, I know I'm kind of watching my weight... But, honestly, I just did a bunch of pull-ups and things before I came down, and – you have to promise not to tell anyone this –.”

Staceline hushed her voice. “Quite a bit of the weight I've put on is actually muscle. And some of the rest is in my boobs, which I'm actually OK with... And, you know the way your boobs ache when they get a growth spurt? Well, I kind of woke up with that this morning, full on. And. You know I said I'm not that hungry... That's kind of a white lie. To be honest, I have a boob ache and all I want to do all day is eat. Do you think Mrs Apfel would do roast turkey for lunch if I asked nicely? With lots of stuffing? And are you up for that?”

“I think she'd love to, Stacey. I just hope my tummy can handle it after all this breakfast. I think Melissa's getting me the same as you.”

“Mmph. Cool.”


“But, what?”

“Erm. Do you think you'll be able to manage a big lunch?”

Munch. “Have we met before, Alicia?”

“I mean, you're taking this really well, but... If you get upset, you might not want to eat.”

“Upset about what?”

“Er, you know.”

“I really don't. What's happened?”

“Well. I don't want to bring up it up if you're in too much emotional pain to discuss it, so we don't have to talk about this right now, but I mean your date at the palace.”

“Oh. Why would I be upset about my date at the palace?”

“Because, you said, you thought it wasn't really great...”

“Yeah. It wasn't great. My dress was awesome, though. Hope my tits don't get too big for it.”

“So, you're not distraught over the prince not liking you?”

“Nope. I think he liked my boobs enough, anyway. But if not, so what?”

“Stacey... Did anyone every say you're not a conventional imperial woman?”

“Erm. That's not something I'd remember being told.”

* * *

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2 minutes ago, maxis192 said:

...any impacts on Alicias figure so far? 😉

Oh, I have notes for that. Alicia is 5'8'' and is curvy (36D-32-42). Her weight (non-stuffed) was 186 lbs at the start of the story. My notes say: Chapter 2: 190 lbs up to 193 in ch3. Chapter 4: 193 up to (208,stuffed) later 196 lbs. Chapter 6: 196... to 198. So she's nearly gained a stone from being unable to keep up with Staceline's metabolism, as well as because Alicia is fairly traditional and doesn't believe in exercise. It's pretty evenly distributed and makes her look generally curvier. 

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ah, ok... thanks for that sidenote 😎

On 1/4/2019 at 1:01 AM, flyer33 said:

Chapter 3: Chocolates and Chambermaids


Ah swear we serve er and Lady Alicia zis many calories quite regularlee. Yet only Lady Alicia blows up like a balloon!”


“But I think we have a duty to do.”

“Of course! For Lady Staceline, and of course as a sank-you for aal zis fattening chocolate. We must elp her to fatten up Lady Alicia!

“Exactly. So we must make sure that whenever Lady Alicia is in the house, she is never without food.”

“Of course. We must keep er eeting aal ze time.”

“I glad you agree.”

“And eef she bursts, she bursts!”

* * *

by the combined efforts of everyone around her (plus the rays) i had imagined her quite a bit chubbier already though 😇


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18 hours ago, maxis192 said:

ah, ok... thanks for that sidenote 😎

by the combined efforts of everyone around her (plus the rays) i had imagined her quite a bit chubbier already though 😇


Hmm... You could be right. (This is why I am cautious about putting exact numbers in the story -- so you don't have to take my notes as particularly accurate on this.) Basically, Alicia has grown noticeably fatter over the story (4-6 weeks or so, I think). She's gone up a dress size: actually more than a dress size because her previous outfits were already tight, and the new ones Stacey arranged for her are in looser and/or stretchier styles. Also, I was writing notes in terms of Alicia's 'lean' weight, excluding the fact that she is constantly being stuffed by Stacey and/or her maids... If you weighed her in her overfed state (i.e. most of the time), she might be close to 15 stone, and her belly would be sticking out way in front of her. Another difference between Alicia and Stacey is that Stacey has a metabolism like a furnace, so, unlike most imperial ladies, Stacey quite often does have an empty, flat stomach even though she may well have stuffed herself a few hours earlier. Happy to hear your thoughts on whether Alicia (or Yvette) should be bigger yet?

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