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Donuts and Duchesses


flyer33

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Synopsis

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?”

“Erm.”

“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.

“Urp.”

“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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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!”

“Thanks!”

“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.

“Sorry!”

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!”

“Erm.”

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.

“Alicia!”

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.”

“Ugh.”

“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.”

“Oh.”

“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...”

“Yees?”

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

“Eevidence?”

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

“Feeeded?”

“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!”

“Oh!”

“Oh?”

“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...”

“Awesome!”

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!”

“Moar!”

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.

“Promise?”

“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!”

“No.”

“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.

“Phew.”

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.

“Brintley!”

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.”

“Yeah.”

“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.”

“Oh.”

“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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  • 1 month later...

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?”

“No.”

“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!”

“Oh?”

“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.

“Incredible.”

“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...”

“Yes.”

“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.

Rrrriip!

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

“Oh!”

“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...

“Urp!”

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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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!

“Ow!”

“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!

“Ouch!”

“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!”

Whip!

“Ow!”

“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.”

“Harumph!”

“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.

“Really?”

“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.”

“Oh.”

“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.”

“What?”

“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.”

“But-”

“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.

“So...”

“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...”

“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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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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  • 6 months later...

Chapter 7: Diets and Dieticians

 

There were many traditions in the Empire that Staceline Voluptua-Fuller Demoore didn't get. Number one on today's list was the crowd of wide-bottomed debutantes – young noble ladies and rich girls her own age or less – blocking Patissiers' Street so that she'd had to slow down to ride around them.

The debutantes were queuing to buy discounted baskets of out-of-date pastries so that they could spend the rest of the morning gorging themselves and their circles of friends even further into obesity at an affordable price. Surely, Staceline asked herself, if you wanted to bulk up that badly there must be better ways than binging on slightly-rancid creams and dry cakes? Still, she admitted it probably got their tummies accustomed to the kind of food poisoning hazards they were likely to encounter in some of their gala dinners...

Staceline had attended four of these galas in the last week, in between a load of other social and business engagements. The royal season built towards its climax, and Staceline had mainly been accompanied to the galas by her honey-blonde friend, Lady Alicia Remonte. Alicia, ignoring the possibility that sampling 78 desserts in an evening might give her a tummy ache even if every forkful was pristinely fresh, had twice blamed her extremely bloated and uncomfortable post-gala belly on bad cream. Staceline hadn't been affected, and had enjoyed the twin opportunities to give the bulging blonde a long belly rub. The dark-haired Duchess had tried to conceal the erotic pleasure she had derived from kneading her companion's grossly overfed abdomen through her luxurious silk dresses was... Staceline had been left trying to suppress dark thoughts about funnel-feeding Alicia with slightly out-of-date cream until the blonde cried for belly rubs, and it had taken an ice bath and a hard session riding her favourite courtesan to forget about it.

Number two on Staceline's current hit list of imperial traditions was the junk science. Naturally, as a gentlewoman, Staceline was not legally allowed to study at the University, but since she was also a super-rich patron of the academy... that rule got bent out of shape. She was important enough to go anywhere she wanted, and men wanted to please her. And if anyone got in her way she had a choice of weapons available: enough cleavage to strike any warm-blooded male dead with a heart attack at ten paces; enough upper body strength to punch any survivors through a thin wall; or – more boringly but with far more general utility – enough money to bribe virtually anyone out of her loose change; or just buy whatever she wanted. Anyway, she'd used these things to abscond from finishing school and learn history and philosophy at the university. (Completely incidentally, she'd also used these things to get a sex education that only a world-famous courtesan could ever find a use for.)

Staceline therefore considered herself possibly the only alumna ever to graduate from Harrietshire Ladies' College with a passably honed mind, and she had been pretty unimpressed by some of the 'scientific facts' on offer from the school. A typical example of one was: “If a young lady manages to develop a fifty-inch bottom before her nineteenth birthday, it will remain bouncy and never sag!” This was an old and well-established titbit of biological wisdom that the Harrietshire mistresses drilled into their students at length... And most of the students actually believed it! It was also deductively bollocks – Staceline had pointed out to Alicia after the class that every living duchess in the Empire who was over 19 had exceeded the fifty-inch bottom standard by the end of her debutante season, and yet almost all of them were obviously heavy users of shapewear and corsetry. Alicia had been unimpressed by this line of logical reasoning, and had countered that Stacey would still be well advised to follow the conventional wisdom supplied by the school and eat more so she could bulk up to a healthy weight... Otherwise young men might harbour doubts about her constitution and fitness. Staceline had darkly replied that any young man to whom she ever wanted to prove her fitness would be left with zero doubts... Assuming he survived the demonstration.

Anyway, the 'science' on offer to the girls at Harrietshire Ladies College, junk as it was, was not radically worse than some of the teaching provided to medical students at the university. The idea that 220 pounds was the minimum healthy weight for a 5'9'' duchess such as Staceline, and that anything under 200 lbs was alarmingly thin (but quite acceptable for a gentlewoman in the lesser nobility) was – in Staceline's basically heretical view – a junk concept that had caused her a lot of irritation during her teenage years. When combined with the doctrine which stated that visible muscle tone anywhere on a noble lady's body was a sign of an underlying problem, medical training tended to produce doctors who gave advice Staceline did not like. Once, a famous dietician had been invited to give a seminar to the girls at the Harrietshire LC, which had left Staceline in a furious sulk and it had taken Alicia half the night to calm her down.

All in all, the prospect of an upcoming medical exam – in which she'd have to take off her top and be lectured for an hour about the need to bury her prominent biceps, lats, traps, glutes, and most shockingly of all her visible abdominal muscles under a respectable, thick layer of flab – tended to put Staceline into a seething mood. And this was the appointment towards which Staceline was riding her very expensive horse this morning.

Now, within the Empire's huge and reputedly talented population it was actually possible to find decent medics. Staceline had looked hard for doctors who wouldn't give her a hard time about weighing far under 200 lbs, and through sheer persistence she'd tracked down half a dozen with proper qualifications who not only gave her a clean bill of health but actually certified her as extremely healthy. Unfortunately her errand this morning involved a medical exam with a doctor appointed by the Senate, one Dr Gerhart Globus, whom she suspected would be one hundred percent committed to the orthodox glorification of obesity.

Dr Gerhart Globus had achieved considerable fame and favour within the Empire's upper crust for his successful sanatorium – a sort of medical hotel – located on a scenic island in the south. Older noble ladies flocked there, allegedly to take in the island's “clean air,” but in reality because Globus had reputedly invented a cure for gout that did not involve lightening his obese patients' vast calorie intakes. This medical marvel had earned him the gratitude of no few nobles, accompanied by lots of honours and prestigious sinecures. One of these sinecures was the post of Doctor Senatoralis – a job which normally involved plenty of pay for zero work, except a few odd tasks, such as assessing the health or sanity of incoming peers in the rare instances when the Senate expressed a doubt.

Staceline was heading to see Dr Globus because the Speaker of the Senate had especially asked the prestigious man of medicine to investigate whether Staceline was fit and healthy enough to assume her peerage. Staceline had inherited her far-flung estates, assets, and titles years ago, after her parents were declared killed by an explosion on an archaeological expedition, but the Senate seat which accompanied her Duchy had a minimum age of eighteen and she was just now eligible to be admitted at the opening of the next senatorial term.

The existence of a health check for incoming senators, Staceline admitted, was not something she could be angry about. It was extremely sensible for the Senate to try minimising the number of insane people (not uncommon, in the nobility, in Staceline's view) with a vote in the Imperial Senate. And, since it was nearly impossible to throw out a serving senator, it seemed sensible to have the option of a medical check to keep them out in the first place. What did annoy Staceline was the knowledge that Countesses who were so fat they could barely stand were nodded into the senatorial dining rooms without so much as a glance at their health, whereas she – an eighteen year old young woman with excellent health and the strength of an ox – was asked to submit to a detailed physical exam.

Staceline was pretty sure she could scheme her way around senate law on the minimum weight allowed for noble ladies without sacrificing her pert bottom – there were plenty of loopholes in senate law, even without considering extreme options like trial by combat... But there was no way to ignore their request for a medical exam. It was a perfectly legitimate request that could be made to any new peer. At least Staceline had successfully demanded to bring her own favourite doctor to the exam to provide moral support.

Staceline's horse had picked up on her tension as she'd ridden him to her destination on the great city of Lonporto's western periphery. She felt bad for him, and tried to soothe him with some attention once she dismounted.

There, there, Hades. Good boy. It's Okay. I'm calm, see. Calm.”

The black stallion snorted angrily when a stableboy arrived to take care of him and it took time for Staceline to soothe him again. She felt surprisingly better after she did.

Good boy, Hades.” She told her horse.

Staceline made her way into the gabled limestone house that served as Dr Globus's official surgery. It didn't seem to get much use. The wallpaper was old and the rooms smelled strongly of cigar smoke. Her personal doctor, the lanky old Professor Roundwell from the University, popped into the waiting room to offer a cheery hello and to promise everything would be fine, and then Staceline busied herself critiquing the awful paintings of seascapes which decorated Dr Globus's surgery until a nurse arrived to show her through to the celebrated Senatorial doctor's office.

Staceline headed in through the heavy white door.

Dr Globus's office occupied the back quarter of the large house, and the ceiling was one and a half levels high. Despite its size, it's owner had somehow contrived to fill the room to bursting with stinking cigar smoke, which spilled out the door as she opened it. The massively corpulent, grey-moustached Dr Gerhart Globus was busy chain smoking, and wheezed as he and the tall Prof Roundwell rose from their armchairs to greet her. But what struck Staceline the most, as he put down his whisky tumbler to offer to kiss her hand, was the prestigious medical doctor's first question:

Ah, Lady Demoore. A pleasure to meet you! Would you care for a glass of portwine, or sherry? I'm afraid I don't offer whisky to lady clients before noon! Or I can offer you a good stein of bier if you prefer?”

Erm.”

How the fuck do you answer that question? Stacey thought.

Is that a trick question, doctor? I mean, the answer is: no thank you. That's right, isn't it? I mean, those are all really unhealthy before lunch, aren't they.”

Professor Roundwell beamed encouragingly. “It is often said that ladies shouldn't imbibe before lunch. Good thing that advice doesn't apply to medical men, eh, Gerhart.”

Oh! Indeed!” Globus waved his cigar in agreement.

In fact,” Dr Roundwell added, “I think I'll open the window by our chairs. It's a nice summer day, and we wouldn't want our patient to be overstimulated by that potent tobacco of yours!”

OH! Very well!” Said Globus. “Now please be seated, my Lady, by zer open window of my superfluous colleague Professor Roundwell, and we shall begin this morning's medical examination. Don't worry though, I am nothing to be afraid of: I am a medical doctor with your best interest at heart. I have had many, many patients, including many young noble ladies, and I care very much for the gut health of zem all equally! Please do be callink me Gerhart if you like to.” He cleared his throat,

Dr Gerhart Globus proceeded to explain that he had, in essence, been asked by the Speaker of the Senate to put Lady Staceline on a weighing scale to decide if she was fat enough to endure the rigours of senatorial office.

What, like the seven bodice-busting meals served there every day, on top of snacks on the hour?” Stacey had quipped before she could stop herself, and earned a warning eyebrow raise from Prof Roundwell.

Exactly!” Dr Globus had smiled after a quick puff on his cigar. “And the many other physical and mental demands of office. The imperial senate is not for zer faint hearted or flimsy of constitution!”

Staceline managed to behave herself and not talk back much after that.

Have you,” puffed Dr Globus, “breakfasted until feeling very full this morning? As I always suggest ladies do before a medical appointment, and indeed as well they should as part of their normal regime.”

Yes, Doctor.” Staceline stated meekly. “A four course breakfast at my townhouse, including croissants, a half loaf of thickly buttered toast with marmalade, two pounds of chopped bananas and cream, a dozen eggs, six fried tomatoes stuffed with rice, bacon, and mushrooms and then baked beans, mashed swede, a treacle tart, a lemon meringue pie, a chocolate cake, and lots of pancakes.”

Zer gut! A fine breakfast. And how many pancakes, may I inquire?”

Seven stacks, Doctor Globus. That's about, erm, forty-two pancakes. About this size,” Staceline gestured with her hands. “Mrs Apfel, my day cook, makes them quite large.”

Gerhart Globus licked his lips as he scribbled detailed notes with a grin.

Do you take your pancakes with syrup, chocolate sauce or cream, Staceline?”

Oh, drenched in all three if I can get it. You know what us girls are like when it comes to rich, fattening sauces, Doctor.”

Globus beamed into his notebook.

And is zis breakfast typical for you?”

Yes Doctor, it's my usual fare since I moved to my townhouse, and pretty similar to what I ate back at Abimere, except I had some game pie back there as well.” Staceline lied. She'd just been making up answers based on how much Alicia could eat without being incapacitatingly bloated afterwards. Her high metabolism meant Staceline could eat all that as a snack following her real breakfast if she wanted to. (That said, Staceline thought, there were actually quite a few days she didn't eat much more than she'd just told Dr Globus, not because she was full but just because stuffing herself past satiety didn't hold as much appeal for her as it did for the average imperial lady.) But she'd agreed in a prior meeting with Professor Roundwell not to give Dr Globus answers that would be out of the ordinary for a young Duchess.

Gut! Now, what about a typical mid-morning snack, and then the lunch...”

Stacey continued answering the medical questions as if she was Alicia, except for removing any of the parts that would have involved saying “And then my best friend, Lady Staceline, force-fed me five trays of scones, muffins, cream cakes and eclairs until I felt very sick and then she rubbed my poor swollen tummy until I fell asleep.”

Well, zat has completed the dietary questions, Lady Staceline! Unt I am delighted to say I am quite satisfied with you so far. I am also content from your answers and from your reference from Harrietshire Ladies College that you are very good at always digesting your meals naturally, and you do not have any bad habits such as zer purging or stronk laxatives!”

What laxatives?” Stacey couldn't help herself.

Stronk. Oh! Do pardon mein League accent! I mean to say: strong. But you do not, as zer prune juice and castor oil that you sometimes take are only weak laxatives that should be a part of every gentlewoman's regime. Especially when she attends four gala dinners in a week, as I was delighted to hear zat you are doink this week. I mean doing.”

Oh, good.”

And you also do not use any potions, which is good, because alchemy is a junk science zat is having no proven value whatsoever. Excellent.”

I'm glad you're happy, Doctor Gerhart”

Ah! Not so fast!” Globus raised a finger. “We have still to come to the most important parts of the exam: zer topless examination and zer naked weighing!”

Now, if there was one regard in which Lady Staceline Voluptua-Fuller Demoore was a pretty conventional imperial noblewoman, it was the enthusiasm and practiced speed with which she could strip to her provocative lacy lingerie when an enticing opportunity for parading herself semi-naked (for the enjoyment of a discreet companion or two) presented itself. Unfortunately, the chain-smoking doctor from the Northern League and the aging university Professor were very far from the type of man Staceline would willingly strip for. Still, there wasn't much room for refusing – the whole exam was a Senate request, i.e. a demand, and Gerhart Globus even seemed like a nice enough person, who might not even grope her boobs that much...

Stacey headed behind the indicated changing screen and shrugged off her white riding dress. That left her wearing provocative black Aquitanian lingerie: flimsy silk shorts, and a matching bra with heavy duty straps for riding – riding horses, that was.

Stacey had, in fact, glutted herself at breakfast, until she'd looked six months pregnant and couldn't look at another hard boiled egg. And while she'd hate to admit that she had a limit for how many pancakes she could consume, she'd come close to that too. Alicia had had to stop watching as her friend gorged herself on multiple times what she'd just admitted to Dr Globus, because the level of gluttony was too scary for the traditionally-minded imperial blonde. Staceline had stuffed herself stupid because she knew her metabolism would have over two hours before she'd had to strip for her medical exam, and if she'd eaten any less there was a high chance she might now be showing off an inward-curving belly with prominent abdominal muscles. As it was, Stacey still felt a bit bloated. Her upper belly, hard to notice beneath her overflowing breasts, puffed out across the full width of her abdomen. Her lower belly bulged quite prominently over her Aquitainian knickers, and made her look a good three months pregnant. Meanwhile, her legs, arms, shoulders, and back still displayed yards of hard muscle, and she gave her biceps a proud flex and patted her firm ass before emerging to exhibit herself to the doctors. Doing so with a sexy strut that wobbled her gravity-defying boulders, however, might have been a little mistake.

The effect of seeing Lady Staceline in her underwear, of which she only possessed styles designed to raise the heart rate of the most athletic male to near its upper limit, was, on reflection, something about which she should have forewarned the very unathletic Dr Gerhart Globus.

With a gasp and a choke, the enormously fat foreign doctor inhaled a chunk of his cigar and swooned heavily to the floor. It was fortunate indeed that Professor Roundwell was present to advise on an antichoking technique as soon as Staceline and a cute young male medical assistant dragged Gerhart Globus into an amenable position. By the time smelling salts and a stimulant injection had been administered to Dr Globus, and a light dose of opiate had been given to calm the medical student who was both mortified and acutely aroused by seeing Stacey in her underwear and then being braced by her as they heaved Dr Globus into an upright posture for the anti-choking manoeuvre, hours seemed to have passed.

Sitting in the large, empty office because no-one had asked her to leave, and entertaining herself by rifling through some private papers, Staceline was resigned to not being examined until after her metabolism had incinerated the last of the gargantuan breakfast she'd forced herself to eat. She guessed she could just assume the appointment was over and go home, but that seemed like a wasted opportunity. After all, ingesting and metabolising a massive dose of calories tended to leave her with a raging urge for erotic adventure, and after reading lots of Globus's private correspondence, Staceline had dreamt up a plan to really make that urge work for her.

So, instead of collecting Hades and riding home, she dressed, tried to make sure her boobs weren't spilling out too much, and went to check on the cute medical student who had helped her to lift the semi-conscious doctor. His name was Kal, she learned from a receptionist, and Staceline's high standards for 'cute' meant that he actually looked a lot like a classical statue of a young Archaean athlete. He was lying sleepily in a small upstairs room with a window open and no smoke. The female nurse had been reluctant to let Staceline in to see him, until she'd been bribed with some coins, at which point she'd left them alone with zero questions as to what Staceline intended to do to him.

Staceline took a deep breath and cleared her mind of cynical thoughts. It took a while, but staring at the cute medic helped. Then she closed her eyes and channelled the personality of her inner airheaded bimbo, who was usually kept chained up at the back of her mind. When she opened her eyes and smiled at Kal and brushed her fingers over his bare shoulder, she felt like she'd lost about half her IQ. But the effect of her dumbed-down demeanour was undeniable. Kal nuzzled her hand and stirred from his sleep. When he responded to her questions it seemed that the fact of lying beside a super-busty, super-rich young Duchess whom he knew to be wearing extremely provocative underwear, and who talked to him with the honeyed voice of a complete bimbo, seemed to pretty much suppress his rational brain entirely.

Hey, Kal!” Stacey asked. “How are you feeling? I'm so sorry I startled you. But you were very heroic afterwards! You saved Dr Globus's life, after he nearly choked because he saw me in racy underwear, and I'm so grateful to you!”

Staceline moved the cotton bedsheet and stroked the medical student's bare chest. She could feel his heart pound satisfyingly fast. She guessed she'd instilled about the right amount of adrenalin to overcome the soporific drug Professor Roundwell had injected into Kal to relieve his brief spell of hyperventilation. Said hyperventilation had been caused either by seeing and feeling Staceline in her underwear; or by seeing the prestigious Dr Globus have a near death experience. Stacey had chosen to believe it was entirely down to the first cause.

Mmmfph...”

Hey, Kal! It's Okay, don't try to speak. Save your energy...”

Cynical Staceline felt slightly bad about doing it, but she let Airhead Staceline lean over the med student so that her boobs squashed against his pillow and let them briefly spill so far they touched his face.

Mmmn.”

I just wanted to thank you Kal, for saving Dr Globus. I know you were stressed by seeing me semi-naked, then because I squished my boobs into you while I was helping you to lift the doc... And I know that the way I squeezed you from behind in a sort of bear hug to help you lift him, and the way my boobs pressed into you so hard they bulged out beyond both sides of your cute, athletic chest must have been really difficult to process...”

At this point, the cynical core of Staceline's mind added that: and if you dare tell me you didn't faint from seeing me semi-naked, but because you were shocked about having to save your boss from nearly choking, retribution will follow and you will live to regret destroying my self esteem.

Fortunately, Kal seemed dazed and tried to roll across his pillow towards Staceline's inviting boobs. She leaned to pull them back, inch at a time, and watched him with amusement.

Mmph!”

I know, Honeybuns.” Staceline stroked his toned chest some more, for good measure, and also because it felt good. She was kind of aware that the cynical majority of her mind was going to hate the airhead part forever for using the word Honeybuns, but there was a reason for all this...

Lady Staceline Vol...”

Voluptua-Fuller Demoore. Yeah, that's me. Call me Stacey.”

I'm sorry that I touched you without your permission, Stacey...”

That's Okay Kal. There was a very urgent reason, and...” Staceline's eyes widened in shock as she realised both the competing halves of her mind agreed firmly on the next bit, “I actually very much enjoyed it.”

Thanks, Stacey.” Stacey roughed up the medic's cute blonde hair as he talked. “I was actually kind of scared you might sue me... You know, since you're a high ranking noblewoman and I'm just the second son of a baronet...”

Really?”

Yeah. People do sue doctors, and big Senate doctors always blame their assistants, so I could lose my job... And I actually need my job! No offence, Stacey but it's possible a Duchess might not appreciate that, especially a really young, hot Duchess like you.”

Hot. Noted.

No, Kal. I mean, really, are you really from a family with a peerage?”

Cynical Staceline had already known that he was, based on the small crest embroidered on the collar of the linen shirt he'd been stripped out of, but it hadn't been obvious enough that she would have to admit noticing. She was certain Airhead Stacey had not noticed.

Yeah, but just a baronet. It hardly counts.”

I know. Don't care. It means you can take me on a date!”

Wha-!”

One date. There's a masquerade feast this Friday at Malision Palace. You will be escorting me. I will let you feed me all night, heavily, and because I'm the most eligible Duchess in the Empire that will get you very much noticed and I guarantee you will get attention from some fairly rich, quite desirable girls. We won't be dating permanently. But, if you are really nice, as well as cute which I can already see you are, and if you do me one small favour, I will take you on two more dates, and at the end of the third I may choose to fuck you to within an inch of your life. Do you accept my offer, Kal?” Asked Cynical Staceline.

Kal's jaw had hung open until he'd heard the word “favour,” at which point something had made sense to him. It was still felt like a once-in-a-lifetime offer and if he could only make himself speak he would have accepted in a heartbeat.

You do have to say something, Kal.” Staceline had mostly dropped the seductive voice.

Kal managed to move his tongue enough to say, “Yes, Lady Staceline. It would be my pleasure to do whatever you want.”

Good. As it should be.”

Staceline ruffled his hair before getting up to leave.

Stacey?”

Yes?”

This favour isn't something you were ever going to let me have a choice about, is it?”

Cynical as well as cute.

Nope. See you Friday, my place.”

 

* *

 

Professor Roundwell. Does this medical document say what I am sinking it says?”

The Professor had come by to check on Dr Globus, as a courtesy to check that the lardy League doctor was not suffering any lingering effects from his earlier collapse, and also to polish off the paperwork from the morning's appointment with Duchess Staceline.

Oh look, it looks like your assistant finished off the measurements and the weighing while we were in the recovery room.”

Yes, but look what that idiot has written!”

Globus jabbed a finger at the page, leaving a tobacco smudge.

Oh. That is a bit surprising.” Said Roundwell. “It says, ahem. Height: 5'9'', which I assume we agree with. Weight: 221 lbs. It's a bit higher than I'd expect, but you know, Gerhart...”

By Zeus! There is no way she is a pound over 160, and she is dangerously underweight, in my medical opinion. Which is ze opinion that matters!”

Hmm. I was going to say: maybe those boobs are even heavier that they look.”

Not zat much! Zey would have to be made of solid bronze.”

Well, that's your opinion then. They did practically give you a heart attack though.

Zey did not! I just swallowed a bit of cigar zer wrong way!”

Right. I'd prescribe you a prophylactic whisky once a morning, but I think you already take one.”

Humpph!”

Well what about the fact that she did manage to lift you while Kal was doing the Henrik manouever on you. And you weigh, what?”

One hundert fifty kilos. Exactly zer same as when I was at college.”

I'll take your word for it. I was just going to say, you're a fair weight and she can lift most of you, so you can't hardly argue she's too weak for the rigours of office...”

Hmm. Not in that way, but it is still inappropriate for a lady to be zat skinny.”

Okay. Can we look at this another way. We've got this form pretty much complete here, and we could just sign it off, including your notes about her diet, which I think you'll agree is exemplary. It'd save us some effort.”

True.”

And it would be easier than explaining to the Speaker of the Senate that you want another appointment with Lady Staceline because you choked on a cigar in the first one.”

Ah. There is zat.”

And she did help save your life. One good turn, Dr Globus...”

Hmm. I think you are quite right, Professor. We'll sign it off and forget about it. And if anyone asks why we said she's 221 lbs when she obviously isn't, we'll just say she was today, and she must have lost weight.”

Or that they're mistaken because she's wearing a tight corset which gives the illusion of slenderness to the untrained eye.”

Exactly, Professor!”

Well, it a pleasure to see you again, Gerhart. I must be off. A Professor's work is never done!”

Oh, mine neither! And my next client is Lady Katelette Foir-Grasse. She is of healthy weight, but I don't mind telling you I'm looking forward to seeing her much less than Lady Staceline!”

Oh, why so?” Asked Professor Roundwell, picking up his walking cane

I am led to believe she is a firm believer in potions! Unt, as you vell know, I hate zer bunkum of alchemy!”

 

* * *

 

Chapter 8, The Cream Crisis

 

Meanwhile, across town, on Hill Street...

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Chapter 8: The Cream Crisis

Meanwhile, across town, on Hill Street.


 

Amid a stylish limestone plaza lined with orange and lime trees, upmarket cafés and bistros were doing a roaring brunch trade. At one such café, surrounded by the cream of society who were gorging their new girlfriends and mistresses on – well, on lots of cream, among other things – the young and eligible Lord Bingley Bonkley, the tenth Earl of Westix, luxuriated in his wicker chair. His mind wandered as he contemplated how dashed lucky he was to have secured a brunch date with such an attractive blonde debutante. And to add the cherry on top, she was displaying a most impressive appetite as she ploughed through serving after serving of calorific dishes with the work ethic of a draft horse. Yes, indeed, Bingley Bonkley was one lucky man to have obtained the delightful company of the curvaceous Lady Alicia Remonte.

Of course, Bingley mused as he twirled his fashionable moustache and waved for the waitress to bring yet another refill of sweet lemonade for Lady Alicia's pint glass, to accompany her latest course of pastries, it was a blessing he wasn't feeling a bit miffed...

He had, after all, attended yesterday's art gallery dinner with the intention of offering his company to Duchess Staceline Demoore. The eye-wateringly rich Duchess had been invited, the previous year, to sit for a portrait by the celebrated painter Van Clomp. The work had been unveiled yesterday, to considerable applause from the arty-farty audience at the gallery. Bingley himself didn't know much about art, but he knew what he liked and could certainly agree that Van Clomp had captured Duchess Staceline's astonishing beauty and gargantuan bust with great accuracy. Well, that was, allowing for the fact the Duchess had obviously gained quite a lot of inches around the bosom in the intervening year and had clearly struggled mightily to squeeze herself into the same skimpy blue dress she had modelled in the painting. In fact, Bingley had suspected that her frequent excursions to touch up her makeup were in large part to scoop herself back into the dress from which she was spilling delightfully over the top.

Anyway, the portrait had been billed as an homage to a famous masterpiece – Alura's Aphrodite, by Van Grossenbuste – for which Duchess Staceline's olive-skinned ancestor Duchess Alura Voluptua had been the old master's muse ages ago. To be precise, that painting was a hundred and fifty years old – Bingley knew this, because he had boned up on the subject in order to impress Duchess Staceline. Duchess Alura Voluptua had apparently been the greatest beauty of her day, back when her state of Sisilea had been a backwater that had recently joined the Empire. She'd gone on to marry into the rich Fuller family, and blah, blah, blah... Now, Alura's Aphrodite had been on display beside the new work, and the arty-farty folk had spent ages drooling over the comparison. From Bingley's point of view, Alura Voluptua was certainly beautiful, but not as much as many modern ladies... It was clear, to Bingley, that while Alura's famously large bust was indeed enormous, and competitive with the bustiest ladies of today, of whom her descendant was certainly now one, her other assets were merely quite impressive. Her voluptuous hips, for example, must not have been more than a smidge over 50 inches. And although she had a round belly – as one would expect of the woman who was famous for popularising the Chocissa brand of chocolate and hazelnut spread, her middle tapered to a rather narrow waist that couldn't be over 34 inches. By comparison, there wasn't a single place where the dishy Lady Alicia's body narrowed to anything like so tight a measurement. And Alura Voluptua had been in her late thirties after three pregnancies when she posed for her Aphrodite, which added more arty-farty complexity to the comparison. Certainly, she was a very slim woman by modern standards, which perhaps explained whence Duchess Staceline had inherited her scandalous slenderness. The talented Van Clomp had done his best, of course, augmenting Lady Staceline's hips and thighs and adding an alluring belly roll, but in Bingley's final analysis Staceline's Aphrodite was a virginal young lady of only fourteen stone or so.

Anyway, by the time Bingley Bonkley had been introduced to Lady Staceline, and opened his mouth to show off how much he had learned about her family and say how interesting it was, she seemed to already be having a whale of time talking about old painters with Van Clomp. Bingley hadn't really been able to shine in that conversation – other than a rather witty pun about how Van Grossenbuste had obviously been a connoisseur of enormously busty women, which he had struggled to convert into a compliment about Lady Staceline's truly tectonic titties. Really, in her dress that evening, he should have said voluptuously volcanic, but he hadn't thought of it. So, he had not been too disappointed when Lady Staceline excused herself to adjust her top, departing with the suggestion that perhaps he would get on well with Lady Alicia Remonte while she was away.

Lady Alicia was wonderful. A true society beauty, with radiant blonde hair and a big appetite to match her fabulous figure! She had scarcely stopped drinking sweet lemonade and eating pastries once throughout the whole of the rest of the evening, as Bingley introduced himself and lavished admiration for her looks upon her. And she'd shown a remarkably quick recall of some of his friends' nicknames, which he had rattled off – complex names such as Stodger Bodger and Plumper Humper Humphreys, that most girls found hard to recall.

All in all, although Bingley hadn't managed to charm the Empire's richest and most eligible young woman, perhaps it was for the best. Staceline Demoore had been, after all, very slender and lean other than in the bosom area. And while she was extraordinarily rich – well, so was Bingley Bonkley, albeit not in the same league, but still his family's Earldom was an extremely affluent one, and their three main stately homes and the old castle were enough to satisfy men of respectably modest ambitions like the Bonkley's. But, to return to the main point at hand, Bingley was not certain that a woman as slender as Lady Staceline would be satisfyingly lustful in the bedchamber. And he was probably much luckier that he had caught the eye of Alicia Remonte, whose obvious gluttony signalled a sexual appetite he was certain must be far more voracious and unstoppable than Lady Staceline's.

Brunch in a Hill Street café was a truly bodice-popping affair, at which the Imperial tradition was followed in full: the gentlemen would display their wealth, generosity, and manliness by ordering platters of rich food for their girlfriends and mistresses with the apparent relentlessness of a mythical hero trying to complete the endless task of filling up a bottomless pit. And the girlfriends and mistresses would give their all to eat everything up until their poor tummies could stretch not a thousandth of an inch further: greater gluttony and weight gain would be taken as signs of their insatiable desire to indulge in pleasure and of their carnal hunger for their gentlemen companions. The dishes served to the guests were huge and fattening, and the menus were very long to guarantee every guest would be able to find several courses to enjoy. These days, with economic progress bringing affluence to many young ladies, a bottom measurement under 50 inches was considered small, and girls from richer common families or from the middle of the nobility upwards had to spend whole days every week glutting themselves into sugar comas so that they could obtain more curvaceous figures than their many dedicated competitors. That was the sort of gluttony which could be indulged in at a Hill Street café.

The dress code at brunch in summer time called for the ladies to wear short, light, floaty dresses. In the heat of the capitol, even in the morning, anything heavier would raise an unalluring sweat in the ladies as they ploughed through course after course of calorie-dense gourmet fare. Lady Alicia's cherry blossom white dress was a stylish example, and it revealed every little bulge of her swelling belly, charming bosom, and widening hips, without clinging indecently or revealing more than an occasional glimpse of her lacy underwear.

Alicia Remonte was only the fourth daughter of a country squire, and so she hadn't been brought up with the constant stream of fattening but expensive meals to which girls from Bingley's level of the aristocracy were accustomed, and which were served on Hill Street. Still, Bingley noted approvingly, she was certainly making up for lost time. She'd ploughed through a roast duck with all the trimmings and a three-fowl pie without raising a sweat – and this after a gluttonous evening gorging on pastries and cake the night before, and, so she said with obvious sincerity, quite a bit more breakfast than she should have indulged in before a brunch date. She slurped sweet lemonade – so sweet it left a sugary sludge in the bottom of the glass that she ate with a spoon between frequent refills – which only seemed to enhance her appetite rather than sate her. In between mouthfuls of a meaty platter of Sisilean pasta, Alicia mentioned that Staceline had asked Alicia to sample a number of weight gain shakes, in order to find the tastiest ones to recommend to her employer – it was this task, Alicia claimed, involving their maids mixing up four or more such shakes for her to try every afternoon, that was responsible for her widening hips and enlarging bottom. Apparently Alicia was currently a little wider than she was accustomed to, and apologised in advance in case her swaying hips should knock anything off a table on her way past.

Several pastries and slices of cake slipped into the blonde's greedy lips. She then claimed she couldn't manage a whole cheesecake, but when Bingley ordered one up anyway she managed three quarters of it, and eleven donuts, before leaning back in her straining chair and patting her engorged belly.

At last, the endless plates of pastry and cake won the struggle against Lady Alicia's seemingly unlimited stomach elasticity.

Oooh! Lord Bonkley! I'm so stuffed I can scarce draw breath!” Exclaimed Lady Alicia.

But, Alicia,” Bingley teased, “you haven't even looked at the icecream menu. And I'm sure you couldn't possibly want to finish without a nice big hot chocolate!”

Oooooh” Alicia groaned.

* *


 

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Chapter 8: The Cream Crisis (continued)

 

By midday, the hot sunlight filtering through the trees made the Hill Street cafés uncomfortably hot, and many of the patrons and their mistresses and girlfriends had squeezed themselves into their carriages and departed for cooler venues. Just a few ladies were greedily finishing one final dessert before they did so too, fanning themselves as they perspired due to the effect of the rising temperature combined with the extreme sugar rushes coming from their pudding-laden tummies. One of these ladies, who was desperately trying to impress her handsome date by finishing the second enormous icecream sundae which he was spoon-feeding to her, was Lady Alicia Remonte.

Oh! No more, please, my Lord Bonkley... Uuurrrrrp!” Lady Alicia burped. This seemed to result in a stream of cold cream dribbling down her chin, but she was too stuffed to do much about it other than wipe her mouth with a chocolate-smeared napkin. She felt like she was going to be constipated for days – much longer than was really appropriate after a first date, but her appetite and desire to impress the very dishy and rich Lord Bonkley had got the better of her.

But Alicia... Surely you can manage a third big icecream sundae... You only have a few more spoonfuls of this second one to go!”

Alicia lay back in her chair and pushed out her overstrained tummy as far as it would go. She felt more cold chocolate icecream dribble down her chin when she opened her mouth to pant a little, and exerted herself to push her blonde hair back so that it wouldn't get too messed up by the sauce.

Bingley gave Alicia's engorged tummy a pat and an affectionate jiggle. It felt drum tight all the way from her pussy to her bust, but that didn't dissuade him from pressing another spoonful of icecream between Alicia's willing lips. But she already had a load of the rich, creamy dessert in her mouth, so this mainly just made more of it dribble down her face.

No, please... Hic! Uuurrrrrrrrrp! Burrrrup! Hiccup!”

Are you almost full, Alicia?” Asked Bingley. “You only need to finish a little more!”

Oh! Mmn, no! Hiccup. No more! My poor tummy doesn't feel very good!”

But Alicia, you've had such a large appetite this morning! I'm sure you can manage a little more!”

Hiccup! Buuurrrrp! Hic! Please, Bingley, no more! I wish I could manage another little something, but my tummy aches and I'm very constipated!”

Bingley beamed with pleasure. Alicia had undoubtedly eaten far more than any other young woman at the café, including the other ones whose gentlemen companions had opted to spoon-feed them a final dessert or two! Bingley had topped off Alicia's brunch with not one but two “duchess-sized” icecream sundaes, each made with seven scoops of gelato icecream swimming in cream and chocolate sauce.

Alright, Alicia! You've done quite well. You may have a rest so that you can get ready for your lunch...”

Bingley gave Alicia's tummy a pat and tried to jiggle it again, but it was nearly rock hard and didn't move much.

Urrp! Ohh!”

As Lord Bingley Bonkley strolled indoors to settle their enormous brunch bill, Alicia groaned and tried to summon the energy for the walk to Lady Staceline's carriage. She had borrowed it for the morning, since Stacey had decided to ride off on her imposing black horse to deal with some sort of Senate business. Alicia decided it would probably be best to get Bingley to send the carriage around to pick her up. After all, her tummy was extremely overfull, and it would be unwise to exert herself before she'd had a little nap to try and digest a few of the icecream sundaes and cream-filled pastries she'd just let Bingley gorge her with.

It was at this point that Lady Alicia first heard of the Cream Crisis.

A newspaper vendor, hawking copies of a special extra edition of the Lonporto Post, hove into the plaza and started circulating among the restaurant customers and shoppers.

Extra! Extra! Read all about it! The Great Cream Crisis Thickens!”

Tainted cream causing sickness all over the city!”

Now even customers of Duke Creamer's dairy are becoming debilitated by Diarrhoea.”

 

Read all abaarrt it in the Lonporto Post! That'll be a shilling, madam.”

The Cream Crisis! It sounded horrible.

Now that Alicia thought about it, there had been a lot of ladies getting sick lately – and she'd had two bad tummy aches herself in the last week. Of course, it made perfect sense that all of those things were all connected in some kind of city-wide crisis. Thank Zeus that the newspapers had figured it out.

But...

Alicia had just eaten two “duchess-sized” icecream sundaes, a huge platter of meaty pasta with a extra serving of a cream sauce, and several cream-filled donuts. As well as lots of dishes with lashings of straight cream poured on the top.

Alicia clutched her tummy.

Now, if she'd ever let Staceline's thought processes rub off on her, Alicia might have realised that the reason she could feel a huge tummy ache coming on may simply be that she'd just consumed enough brunch to make three women feel fat and bloated for days. But Alicia prided herself on her sensible, traditional thinking, and entertaining multiple alternative explanations at once was not her strongest attribute. Instead, she clutched her belly and winced at the agonising belly pain caused by the tainted cream she'd just heard about.

By the time Lord Bingley Bonkley returned outside, his coin purse noticeably lighter, he found Lady Alicia groaning incoherently. He realised he must act swiftly!

Lord Bonkley put on a stern expression and snapped his fingers for the waiter.

What do call this, man?”

The waiter responded tactfully, glancing at Alicia. “I will bring a soothing laxative and a water jug for the Lady at once, Sir.”

A water jug! Can't you see she needs more than that! Have one of your waitresses attend at once to give her a belly rub! And on the house too! There must be something iffy in one of your dishes!”

The waiter smiled obsequiously and decided not to argue that Lady Alicia's hearty overindulgence this morning was clearly the cause of her belly ache, and that the café's dishes were all excellent. After all, Lord Bonkley was a valued customer.

At once, My Lord.”

Haruumph! Be quick about it.”

Alicia groaned and burped.

Lady Alicia.” Bingley knelt next to her. “Are you feeling unwell? Has one of today's dishes disagreed with your delicate, feminine constitution? Say which it is, and I shall have it struck from our bill immediately! And, furthermore, my lawyer will have it excised from this establishment's menu entirely.”

Cream!” Alicia said, gesturing weakly towards the newspaper vendor, who obliged by striking up his sales pitch in Lord Bonkley's direction.

Cream Crisis! Read all abarrrt it! Dozens of débutantes debilitated by dire dairy-derived diarrhoea!”


 

Give me one of those!”

Lord Bonkley snatched at a copy. He scanned the front of the news-sheet, and his lips moved as he puzzled out the meaning of the words.

That'll be a shilling.”

Bah!” Bingley fumbled with his purse.

Alicia moaned with indigestion as Bingley directed a waitress to provide her with a soothing tummy rub, and simultaneously scanned the Lonporto Post for evidence that poor restaurant management was involved.

Where did you say you got your cream from?”

We only use Duke Creamer's Freshest, My Lord. The finest brand in the capital!” The waiter answered.

Aha! Well, it says here, in the Post, that even Duke Creamer's dairy is affected now! Look, see, there's a list here of cream brands that ladies have gotten sick after eating! It lists: Standard Dairy; Happy Bull Icecream; Thicker Dairy; Aunt Betty's Delight; Duke Creamer's Finest Reserve... By Bacchus! Ladies are getting sick after eating cream from over half the dairy businesses in the city!”

The waiter, evidently a stronger reader than Lord Bonkley, responded with a relieved look as he reached the bottom of the article.

But not, My Lord, after consuming Duke Creamer's Freshest Express, which is the brand we favour here, at the Golden Trough Café!”

Harumph! Then how do you explain the state of my beautiful young lady companion?” Demanded Bingley.

The waiter oozed tact.

It may be the effect of the day's rising heat, My Lord, perhaps combined with a natural desire to impress a young gentleman companion to whom she is most attracted, which might have caused her to slightly overindulge.”

Hmm.” Bingley mused. It seemed plausible. Still, it was too bad if true: he'd felt sure Lady Alicia could have packed away a few more scoops of something without ill effect. She'd eaten so ravenously, after all. So, all in all, Bingley suspected the waiter was lying about his café's use of the freshest cream... There was rumoured to be a lot of cream counterfeiting about these days. And a careless chef might not even know the difference. But this was difficult to prove, and the chivalrous thing to do would be to fetch Lady Staceline's carriage to escort the alluring, but rather chocolate-stained, blonde back to her home to rest. He would then write a note to her – or, better yet, have his butler write the note – suggesting a future engagement, perhaps for lunch next time. After all, she was clearly perspiring heavily and suffering badly with a tummy ache, so it was probably about time to conclude their date.

The waiter hustled off, having been dispatched by Bingley to fetch the carriage.

He admired Lady Alicia's ravishing beauty while they waited, especially the charming chocolate smudges around her plump lips...

Engrossed in thought, Bingley was confused for a moment when a shadow fell over them. It took him a few moments to recognise the familiar shape of a cavalry horse's shadow. He turned around, got dazzled by the sun, and stood to attention in case it turned out to be ridden by a fellow officer from his regiment.

Its rider was not an a fellow officer. The black stallion, a fine beast of over sixteen hands with solid musculature and poise, wasn't even being ridden by a man at all. In fact, it felt like rather a waste of horsepower to discover that his rider was a slender woman with lean thighs in a light dress... Bingley held up a hand as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, but before he could make out the face he recognised the unforgettably full bustline of Lady Staceline Demoore. Well, he thought, that explained how a woman could afford that expensive a cavalry horse.

Your Grace!” Bingley said.

The stallion snorted in his direction. Mucus splattered over Bingley's face.

Hey, watch it, Hades! My apologies, My Lord Bonkley. Hades is eight, but I don't think he's every going to grow out of doing that.” Staceline bit her lip to suppress a laugh.

Bingley, fortunately, was accustomed to horses. And-

Alicia! What's up with you?”

Ohh! Urrp.” Alicia groaned.

Staceline jumped off her horse and instructed him to stay put while she knelt next to Alicia.

Bingley found himself engrossed by the way Lady Staceline's breasts bounced once as she landed on the ground, then rebounded with preternatural buoyancy as if their titanic bulk was suspended in the air before her by some sort of industrial pressure equipment.

Alicia. Are you okay?”

Oh, Stacey! My tummy feels bad!”

Hmm. Did you eat so much you've given yourself a huge tummy ache, Alicia?” Staceline inquired. Then she added, under her breath, “for someone else?”

No!” Alicia complained.

The blonde reached for the newspaper Bingley had left on the table.

See! It's bad cream, Stacey! Oh, my tummy!”

Lady Staceline glanced at the Lonporto Post. Bingley wasn't certain, but from the way her eyes flicked from side to side he suspected that she might be a significantly stronger reader than he was himself. Also, her lips didn't move while she read, not even for a complicated word like “debilitated” which had taken Bingley a few attempts.

I don't know, Alicia. You shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers... But let's get you home and you can sleep this off.”

Mmm. Nap time.”

So, you're worried this cream is bad?” Staceline scooped a dessert spoon into a glass dish that still hadn't been cleared away.

No, My Lady!” Bingley tried to interject, as he realised that Lady Staceline was going to risk a tummy ache – surely a real danger for a woman of such flimsy litheness – by sampling the potentially-tainted cream. But he was too late! She'd ignored his warning entirely...

Bingley's jaw dropped and he felt himself drool a little at the electric eroticism with which Lady Staceline was able to lick a scoop of clotted cream from a long spoon with her fully extended tongue.

My Lady!” Bingley wanted to say “Don't eat it!” but the words died in his throat. Generations of cultural conditioning conspired to make him think of offering to buy Staceline a big bowl of pure clotted cream to eat, just like she'd slurped that first spoonful.

Tastes fine to me, Alicia. You probably just ate too much. Again.”

Oooooohh!” Alicia groaned, and rubbed her swelling belly as she began to have an attack of gas.

Staceline seemed to be on the verge of blaming someone for something, as soon as she could figure out who, and for what. Eventually, she settled for ordering Bingley about.

Go hail a carriage.”

My Lady. I've already sent the waiter for, well, for your carriage, actually.”

Oh. Well, I guess we'll just wait here for it then.”

Bingley couldn't think of much to say. He tried remembering something about the painting of Staceline's Aphrodite from the gallery last night, but the details were becoming hazy in his memory. He eventually came up with something to ask.

So, have you had that blue dress for long, My Lady? The one which your bosom is far too ample to squeeze into any more.”

Erm.”

Staceline was rescued from having to field that question by an almighty commotion from within the kitchen of the Golden Trough café. There was a crash, and shouting.

What the hell was that?”

It had sounded like a crash of saucepans, followed by a tower of crockery being thrown, and a clash of metal on metal, all accompanied by furious shouting. It sounded like a robbery!

Staceline, Hades, and Bingley all looked around towards the shopfront. Bingley, although not a fast-thinking or clever man, was in his element when it came to action, and interposed himself in front of the ladies. As he did so, he noticed in his peripheral vision that Lady Staceline appeared to have produced a switch knife from somewhere. Damn – he really should have thought to wear his cavalry sabre.

I don't suppose?” He started asking.

Staceline handed the knife to Bingley. It had a nice leather grip, and a decent solidity, and he held it firmly.

The shopfront door burst open, and a cook's assistant burst out. He started running down the street. It looked like he'd been in a fight with the chef, who emerged yelling at the top of his lungs, brandishing a copper saucepan and sporting a cut on his head where his white hat had been knocked askew.

I'll kill you!” The chef shouted. “Stop that blackguard! I caught him tampering with my cream pantry! Stop him! He's an imposter, and he had some sort of poison on him! He must be the cream poisoner!”

Wha-” Stacey started asking. Then she glanced at her not-technically-a-cavalry-horse-but-only-because-the-cavalry-couldn't-afford-him, Hades. Bingley had the same idea.

I'll bring him back, My Lady!” Bingley started saying.

The hell you will! He won't let any one else ride him, or at least he'd better not.” Staceline yelled pointedly as she vaulted onto Hades who was already quivering with excitement. Boobs like steel watermelons, Bingley thought involuntarily. “You chase him on foot in case he turns; I'll run him down if he stays on the street!”

My Lady, it's far too dangerous!” Bingley complained as Staceline rapidly accelerated Hades down the street.


 

* *

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  • 3 weeks later...

Chapter 8: The Cream Crisis (part 3/3)


Bingley Bonkley gasped for air as he sprinted around the semicircular edge of the Candy Market. He wished he had consumed a lighter lunch, but fortunately he'd only had four courses and so it wasn't his greatest wish. His number one wish – apart from the seemingly impossible hope that Lady Staceline's violent horse riding would shake her gargantuan titties free from her flimsy white riding dress... but alas they clung to her chest, each time she leaned and swerved, with the rock solidity of heavy boulders such as might be used to anchor a sea wall... one could more accurately say that the riding dress clung on to their gravity-defying bulk, rather than held them in – was that the Candy Market wasn't quite so large in circumference. But, then again, there were literally thousands of sugared delicacies to find room for, from crystallised figs and bunches of sugar grapes to barrels of chocolate pumpkin seeds and towers of cappuccino cake and banana bread. This meant the Candy Market was huge, and if you had to run around the edge it was a much longer distance than running directly through. Unfortunately – and Bingley's number two wish would have been that matters were otherwise – the market was doing a roaring trade even under the noonday sun, and cutting through the crowd was proving difficult.

Catching up with the villain he was chasing – the spring-heeled Poisoner dressed like a kitchen assistant who was responsible for adulterating the dessert of his latest paramour, Lady Alicia Remonte, and giving her a terrible tummy ache – was simply not possible by following him directly through the Candy Market. This was because every time Bingley got close, the crowd of pleasingly plump young ladies patronising the stalls seemed to surge into his way and block the route. And Bingley Bonkley – who found the press of ladies with well-rounded, heaving bosoms very distracting, especially when they were cooing over thick syrupy sauces and sating themselves with lashings of sugary samples – had found it impossible to close the gap before his quarry took another sharp turn and made his escape.

In fact, if it hadn't been for Lady Staceline shouting directions to him from a distance with a precision Bingley would have been pleasantly surprised to receive from a light cavalry officer, and for the fact that her horse was insanely fast, Bingley was sure he would have lost his quarry four or five times already. As it was, the blackguardly Poisoner had evaded Lady Staceline's pursuit through a narrow alleyway the very moment she shouted a command to a passing guard patrol to arrest him, and he'd instantly realised he was being followed. But she'd been able to trail him on some higher roads and overpasses while directing Lord Bonkley to pursue him on the capital's lower terrain. It had been an epic chase, first through the upmarket Chocolatiers' district and the new Bakers' quarter, and culminating in the Candy Market. Bingley would not be surprised if there was a small medal in it for him, now that they had the miscreant cornered and he could hear the approaching whistles of the city watch. Although... there had been quite a mess when a barrel of liquid chocolate had been upturned a few streets back. So, maybe not a large medal.

At last, with an uncharacteristic moment of guile, Bingley ducked into the shadow cast by an exceedingly plump young lady in a puffy pink dress, and awaited his moment as he glimpsed the elusive Poisoner who had – Bingley was sure – sped up his flight in the hope that he'd left the stalwart Lord Bonkley far behind.

Got you, you Bounder!” Bingley exclaimed, kicking his leg out in an immensely strong sweep so as to trip up the Poisoner and send him flying.

The villain, however, possessed dexterity beyond what was humanly natural. He caught sight of Bingley at the last moment, and hopped clean over the mighty cavalryman's kick. But it was to no avail for the Poisoner. Agile he might be, but the man's most important quality – his luck – had run right out. He landed from his hop and slipped – skidding, Bingley saw with satisfaction, on the discarded skin of a candied banana. The kitchen assistant's hat was knocked from his head by a hard blow against a wooden spar as he spun around on the slippery cobbles and then flew head first into a pyramid of rock-hard imported coconuts.

Hah! Take that!” Bingley cried. Then Bingley slipped on something slippery and landed painfully on his rump on the cobbled plaza.

By the time Bingley had got back up and eased the pain in his backside, he had not had time to inspect the comatose form of the villainous Poisoner – who had clearly been knocked out by the blow to his head from the coconut pile – before Duchess Staceline Demoore appeared in front of him and dismounted with a vault.

Bingley felt his jaw drop and his eyes lost focus momentarily at the sight of Staceline's breasts reacting with their single bounce with beyond-perfect suspension when she landed on the very hard cobbled ground. Her tight riding boots struck the ground as if the were one, and Bingley was sure he felt a shockwave through the ground... It could only be from the titanic heaviness of her breasts, because the rest of her was so lissom, although her thighs were strong and firm...

At ease soldier!”

Bingley felt himself relax automatically before he realised he had just taken an order from a woman – albeit a very sexy one, and an important one in the aristocracy to boot.

Is this him?” Staceline asked.

It is indeed, My Lady. But wait, stay back: he may be dangerous!”

Hmm. Have you checked if he even has a pulse?”

Bingley watched like a hawk as Staceline rolled up the poisoner's sleeve. She frowned at something on his arm, but then confirmed.

Yeah, he has a pulse but it's pretty weak. And he's breathing, but you should get the guard to call a doctor when they get here. I don't think he's waking up too soon. Not that I want you to think I'm an expert in semi-conscious men or anything.”

Heavens! The thought never crossed my mind, My Lady!”

Okay. Take this – this is evidence...”

Staceline's breasts had been hovering and straining at the limits of her dress as she leant over the unconscious form of the poisoner and frisked through his shirt, which she seemed to have opened very quickly without ripping. Bingley glanced up in order to take the leather case which she handed to him. He then returned to admiring the curvaceous jiggle and bulge of her chest, while trying to pretend in his increasingly feverish imagination that she had at least the 50 inch hips and well-rounded thighs that her slim-by-modern-standards ancestor had sported in the old painting last night. Bingley was delighted that he could see her boobs, clad in thin, stretched white fabric, bulging extensively to both her sides, even when she was leaning away from him with her back turned to him. That was awesome, he decided – it made it much less likely she would catch him drooling very much.

Mmm, I...” Bingley closed his mouth and swallowed hard twice as Staceline turned around to face him, with a serious look.

Okay, that's all he was carrying that's interesting. What's in it?”

Er. In what?”

In the case, Bonkley!”

Oh. Erm.”

You have looked though the case?”

Erm.”

Well?”

I thought that you would want to open it with me, your Ladyship.” Ladyship? That wasn't the correct term of address for me to use. I'm an Earl, dammit.

Really?”

Yes.”

Oh. Well that's very sweet and thoughtful.” Bingley felt his heart accelerate. “So do you want to open it?”

Bingley gingerly opened the leather case, his fingers a little sweaty. There were some apothecary type things, and a piece of paper with tiny handwriting which looked like a challenging read.

What's the note say?”

Ahem.” Bingley cleared his throat as Staceline peered over his shoulder. She was tall, but not so tall as him, and he enjoyed making her stand on tiptoes and leaning the side of her bust into him a little so that she could reach a position to read. In fact, Bingley felt himself becoming very aroused at the realisation that Staceline leaning her bust into him just a little bit was something he could feel all the way from just below his shoulder to just above his waist. She didn't seem to notice – she was probably leaning into things with her boobs all the time, given their size... Anyway, Bingley read the crabbed handwriting as follows.

To P.

  1. The steel vial with the green cross: four drops to a gallon to make a bad tummy ache and gas.

  2. The scented philter in the glass vial. Open the top for a maximum of three seconds in a crowded room to ensure all ladies present are struck with a ravenous appetite.


 

Phil... Fil-ter.” Read Bonkley, slowly.

Shit!” Lady Staceline swore. “He really is a poisoner!”

Bingley was pleased to see he was ahead of the quick-thinking Duchess on this topic.

Well, of course he's a poisoner, Lady Staceline. The chef at the Golden Trough café said so!”

I know, but I didn't think he was credible.”

Erm. Oh. Well, also, on top of that, My Lady, we knew he was poisoning the cream because Lady Alicia was struck down with a bad tummy ache!”

No, Bonkley, that's not evidence.”

Bingley beamed, as he realised he could refute the too-clever Lady Staceline.

I believe it is what that famous detective calls deductive proof, my Lady. You see, such a bad tummy ache as Lady Alicia was struck down by could only be caused by a potent poison.”

No...” Staceline denied.

Yes, My Lady. I feel sure of it.”

No, Bonkley. She's a fucking glutton. You put food in front of her and she'll eat until she has a tummy ache so bad she passes out. I know, because I've been doing it to her for weeks.”

Wha-”

Hey, be careful!”

Too late.

The run of the conversation had totally distracted Lord Bingley Bonkley. Talking about Lady Alicia's gluttony was about the best thing he could imagine. But the concept that Stacey might have been plumping up her friend via duplicitous force-feeding – although why Stacey would admit this to Bingley, other than because he had annoyed her by querying her logical reasoning, it was difficult to say – struck him like a revelation from the Gods. He'd be pleasuring himself at the notion for weeks, at the very least, he thought... Unfortunately he did not have enough spare mental capacity to retain a proper hold on the leather case, which he'd been gripping with two fingers underneath the note. And his fingers were sweating quite a bit. So it was at that moment that one of the vials rolled free of the leather strap that retained it in the case.

Shatter.

An intense scent of delicious cinnamon, strong enough to overpower every other aroma in the entire Candy Market a dozen times over, blasted into the air as a splash of mist.

There was a moment of calm, as Bonkley looked up. It would only be seconds before the Candy Market devolved into a riot, with hundreds of plump young ladies attacking the cornucopia of calorific sweetmeats and syrups with a violent single mindedness induced by a near-fatal dose of something that would later be identified at the University as a powerful airborne appetite stimulant. The guard would have to be called to drag the young ladies away before they ate themselves sick – or, at least, sicker than they already were by the time that even the authorities in their gluttony-glorifying city thought they might have a eaten a bit too much.

Staceline Demoore calmly closed the leather case in Bingley's hand and fastened it with the note inside. She then used one index finger to prise his chin up so that he had to face the full force of her accusing glare instead of gazing into her magnificent cleavage. She had a hard, serious look on her face, and Bingley found it hard not to look away. He imagined he was finding out how an icecube might feel if it was able to look up and see an approaching river of lava from some long-anticipated volcanic eruption. He shuddered a little, and wondered why her pupils were dilated.

Bingley. That was the glass vial, that you just dropped, right? And not the steel one, which is in the case?”

Erm. Yes, I think so.”

Fuck you, you idiot!” Staceline snarled, blinking and shading her eyes from the sun, uncomfortably, even though the canopies of the Candy Market made the place quite shady already.

Erm, sorry!”

Sorry? Go explain this to the guard. I can't, I'm...”

Staceline doubled up and gasped in pain. Her boobs swelled over the top of her dress, but somehow didn't spill out. She stood up straight and heel turned away from Bingley. Bingley started to notice a number of nearby young ladies hurling themselves greedily at the displays of candied fruits and barrels of sweet syrup and lemonades. For a moment, he thoroughly approved of their healthy natural appetites, before realising that, perhaps, he might be slightly wrong in this assessment.

Then there was a roaring sound, of the type Bingley associated with stories of dinosaurs. Bingley's inquiring mind raced to a question.

Erm, was that your tummy rumbling, Stacey?”

The Duchess looked back over her shoulder to snarl at him. “No!” She denied, although Bingley wasn't quite sure if she was telling the truth.

Staceline found time for one final hard glare at Bingley, and he wilted a little as he saw her turn to stalk, wearing a scowl of indomitable willpower, past a stall covered with a hundred and forty-four types of chocolate bun. Bingley had a thought as to how he might make amends for the situation for which he felt partly responsible. 

Er, My Lady Staceline?” He called.

What?”

Would you like me to buy you a muffin?”

The yell which Bingley received in reply to his thoughtful offer was at a volume level which might actually have frightened one of the dinosaurs in the adventure stories. And it was followed up a stream of invective that Bingley, on reflection, thought was rather un-ladylike.

No, I don't want a fucking muffin, you fucking fatheaded God of the king morons! I'm fucking going home!” Staceline yelled at him, her voice icy with stress and fury.

Hades! Come, boy. Good boy. We're going home. Except we're stopping for burritos on the way. And calzone. Also cheesy chips. And meatballs. And cake, lots of cake. And if Bonkley tries to follow you, fucking kick him in the balls!”

* * *

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Chapter 9: Cuisines and Cakemixes


 

Fifi Duchomp fanned her perspiring face and blew out her cheeks theatrically as she finished loading drop scones into the cake oven in the basement kitchen of the Demoore townhouse. Then she leaned back and congratulated herself on a job well done.

Oof! I didn't know learning to cook would be such hot work, Mrs Apfel.”

Frau Apfel took a break from stirring her goulash to direct a disapproving tut towards her latest kitchen assistant. Fifi was a young maid, and training her up to cook was part of Frau Apfel's duties, but she was barely competent, and nothing like as much fun to work with as her favourite underchef, the rather handsome and very obliging young Klaus. Nor was Fifi as uncomplaining as young Maria, the girl who was busily mixing bowls of cake batter without making much fuss.

The Demoore townhouse has one of ze airiest and lightest kitchens on the Hill, Fifi!” Frau Apfel admonished. “And zer work of a good chef is constant, so stop dawdling over there and get on with peeling some potatoes! I always like to have a good supply ready for when Lady Staceline asks for some mash. It is my job to look after her, and that means getting plenty of starch into her as soon as she asks for it. She's not as lucky as some of us Fifi: you, for example, only have to eat six or seven chocolate buns before you're practically bursting out of your knickers. She, on the other hand, has to eat like Hercules just to maintain her weight, and I won't tolerate your idleness being responsible for her getting even slimmer!”

Yes, Mrs Apfel.” Fifi said, before sluggishly moving off to the vegetable pantry.

Frau Apfel busied herself with the goulash, until the next call on her attention as Yvette, Lady Staceline's noticeably plumpening personal maid, descended the stairs.

Allo, Frau Apfel! Ow are sings coming along zis afternoon?”

Yvette! I thought I heard the carriage. Has Lady Staceline returned?”

Non. Not yet. It is Lady Alicia only, who is retournee from her lunch with Mister Bingley Bonkley – ee is zer handsome but slightly stupide-looking one.”

Oh. Maria! Bring Lady Alicia's afternoon snacks.”

Ah, non! Wait a moment. She is as a bloated as a tick, and I shall only take her one tray of honey cakes and eclairs. Otherwise I sink she will be sick! She will have to ave zer rest as a midnight snack.”

Maria efficiently arranged the tray for Yvette to collect, and then quietly asked the older Aquitainian maid a question.

Would she like her four weight gain shakes as well, Miss Yvette? I made them with extra peanut butter like you said.”

Err.” Yvette's brow creased with an expression of uncertainty and calculation, until she realised she was pulling the sort of face that might give her wrinkles and forced herself to relax.

I sink I had better take her only one of zem. Oh, and a jug of her sweet lemonade. And some of those chocolates zat keep arriving. We're all going to get very sick if we don't get rid of more of zem into Lady Alicia.”

Maria set the requested jugs, glasses, and a huge platter of choccies on another tray and put it on the table beside Yvette.

No sooner had Yvette ascended back upstairs, Frau Apfel was again distracted from her goulash by the opening of the back door. It was, however, a most welcome distraction, as she was delighted to see her mistress, Staceline Demoore, let herself in by pushing open the door with one foot because her hands were occupied holding the last of a beef burrito and a slice of carrot cake. In the background, her horse walked off towards the stable on his own.

Lady Staceline! How nice to see you!”

Oh, hey, Mrs A! Erm, do we have any food? I'm kind of super-hungry...”

The question “do we have any food?” was not one that really needed asking in the spacious basement kitchen of the townhouse belonging to one of the empire's richest women. Frau Apfel could have fed thirty guests until they expired from overconsumption, at zero notice, at any time of the day or night. Indeed, the kitchen tables and counters were currently laden with dozens of cakes, pies, fruit bowls, and cold collations simply because Frau Apfel was stocking up on fresh snacks in case any guests happened to arrive.

It was, Frau Apfel thought, simply part of Lady Staceline's courteous and polite demeanor that she asked if there was food available rather than just digging in to the vast array of comestibles on display like any normal young woman.

Of course, Lady Staceline. Please help yourself to everything here!”

Thanks, Mrs A!” Staceline's quick eyes had already surveyed the room. “I'm not sure if I could eat quite everything...” She headed towards Maria, who backed away shyly.

Hey, Maria. How are you?”

Well, milady.”

That's nice. Is that cakemix you have in that bowl?”

Yes, milady.”

Could I have it, please?”

Maria nervously held out her mixing bowl. It was very heavy, and her arms trembled a little as she offered it to the Duchess. Maria's eyes then seemed to widen in fear as she realised she'd handed her mistress a bowl containing a huge wooden mixing spoon.

Thanks, Maria! I'm so hungry. Oh, this looks... So... Very... Good...”

Stacey slurped the spoon. Then she somehow managed to use it to devour entire scoopfuls of cakemix without getting any on her face. Maria looked on with awe as Staceline demonstrated the almost-unhinged-jaw technique which rich noble ladies were trained to perfect at finishing school. “This ish really, really, good, Maria. What's in it?”

Maria whispered an answer shyly.

Coffee, walnut, and banana?” Gulp. “Oh, it's so good! Thank you for making this, Maria.”

Maria squeaked, and curtseyed, having just realised that she probably ought to.

Oh, you don't have to... do that in the kitchen, Maria... Look, this ish really good, but...”

Frau Apfel listened carefully.

I'm not sure it's enough to satisfy me. Do you think you could make me some more? Like, maybe, twice as much, this time?”

Frau Apfel directed Maria to be straight about it, but Stacey interrupted with a raised finger while she finished swallowing another huge scoop of cake batter.

Hey, Maria, look... I got these things...” Stacey put down the cake bowl long enough to stretch down the top of her riding dress, reach into her bra, and draw out a couple of small paper cards. “I got these from the burrito place on Hill Street. It says if you buy five burritos and get this card stamped then you get the next one free... But it has to be on another purchase, so they just gave me the stamped cards. Would you like them – they do lots of different kinds, so you can probably find one you like?”

Maria glanced at Frau Apfel, who nodded that it was OK to take the burrito shop loyalty cards in return for the cakemix. Maria gingerly took the cards, and almost dropped them when she realised that they weren't just warm – as she'd expected for something that had been carried in her busty mistress's bra – but felt scorching hot.

But...” Maria asked quietly. “Do you really want to give me all three of them, milady?”

Three?” Stacey looked confused. She put the bowl back down and reached into her bra cup again as demurely as was practically possible. “Sorry, missed a couple. Five. Enjoy!”

Maria's eyes widened as she took the cards, being careful not to burn her fingers on them this time.

Stacey used the wooden spoon to finish scraping the remaining cakemix from the bowl and looked around furtively. It seemed like she was trying to find somewhere she could lick the bowl without anyone seeing. Frau Apfel had a better idea. She removed the glass cover from a freshly-baked raspberry sponge cake and watched as the delicious vanilla aroma did its work.

Would you like this sponge cake, Lady Staceline? There is also apple pie, blackcurrent and almond pudding, and my speciality cinnamon strudel?”

Erm. Yesh, I would love those things, Mrs A.” Staceline replied, taking a huge bite from a cold roast turkey drumstick. “But could I also have some meat, please?”

Fifi!” Frau Apfel called into the distance. “Bring a collection of cold cooked ham, beef, venison, chicken, and sausages from the larder!” She then lifted the pewter cover off another platter, revealing three-quarters of a six-pound meat pie, and added to Lady Staceline, “there is also a little pork pie here, My Lady, to tide you over while Fifi brings that.”

Mmm, sank you, Mrs A.” Staceline responded, as she finished her turkey drumstick, lifted the cover from a bread bin, and selected a soft pumpkin-seed bun.

And, Fifi! Bring butter, pork dripping, and chocolate spread.” Frau Apfel added happily, as she watched her mistress enjoying a well-deserved afternoon snack. And Frau Apfel fully intended to keep offering food to her favourite Duchess until her very-healthy appetite was absolutely totally sated. She was pretty sure there was enough on display already in the kitchen to last until dinner, but just in case she pulled on a service bell cord to summon Klaus down to the kitchen to help out.

Thanks, Mrs A. You're the best!”

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  • 8 months later...

Oh alright, you lot. Feeding time...

 

Chapter 10: Cakes and Crushes (part 1)

 

Yvette Carte-Blanche puffed, panted, and sweated her way up the second flight of stone steps to the day-room overlooking the Demoore townhouse's shady garden. It was a sweltering afternoon, even within the thick walls of Lady Staceline Demoore's grand residence on the Mercantian Hill, and Yvette was starting to get out of breath from the number of trips she had made from the hot basement kitchen. If the Aquitanian lady's maid was honest with herself, she would admit it was not only the weight of the pastry-laden trays that was making her sweat, but also her own rather spoiled aerobic fitness, burgeoning plumpness, rubbing thighs, blatantly fat bottom, overweight breasts, hefty tummy, and the slightly-painful knee that had been caused by a combination of those things.

Yvette caught her breath once she reached the second floor, temporarily resting her tray of fattening treats on an antique mahogany sideboard that had been built to last by a master carpenter. She fanned her face and adjusted her glossy black mane of hair in a silver wall mirror. Then she pushed open the door to the day room.

Yvette was eager not to spend too long catching her breath, as Lady Staceline had been unusually hungry this afternoon, and as her personal maid it was Yvette's role to make sure her mistress's appetite was fully sated at all times! It was a challenging job, because Lady Staceline Voluptua-Fuller Demoore was an eighteen-year-old Duchess. Like most young ladies of the Imperial aristocracy, generations of careful breeding had equipped Lady Staceline with a truly gargantuan stomach capacity, and an appetite that didn't quit (in addition to perfect skin and a bosom that would make a mythic heroine or goddess's jaw drop with envy). Unlike other young noble ladies, Lady Staceline had also inherited, from somewhere, a metabolism that burned calories like a forest fire ignited by heat lightning during a severe drought in coal-mining country. Consequently, the young heiress sported a pert bottom and a scandalously narrow waist... This, in the minds of Yvette and Lady Staceline's other loyal maids, was a terrible burden which they hoped to help their mistress overcome. True, many previous guardians, cooks, and an elite finishing school had all failed in the same aim; but Yvette was hopeful that the truly enormous appetite with which Lady Staceline had returned from her morning ride was evidence that the young Duchess was finally setting her iron willpower to the task of packing on the kind of well-rounded curves a woman of her station ought to sport. Therefore, after Lady Staceline had finished frenziedly gorging herself in her kitchen, and headed upstairs to sleep off her colossally calorific meal, Yvette had decided that it would be a great idea to bring several further trays of cakes, pastries, and other afternoon snacks up to her mistress. And, so far, the strong-willed young Duchess had glared at each one with single-minded willpower, before devouring the entire serving. Yvette was very impressed.

'Allo, Lady Staceline! I 'ave brought you anozer leetle selection of snacks, as I sought you must still be 'ungry!” Yvette announced cheerfully to Lady Staceline, who was wearing just a short, thigh-length silk robe and standing next to a table laden with pleasingly-clean plates and bowls.

The hot, angry glare which Lady Staceline shot at Yvette in reply was, however, not really what Yvette had hoped for. Plus, she found it a tiny bit scary – Lady Staceline was young and affable, but she was tall, her bare arms were alarmingly firmly muscled, and she could switch on a look of intimidatingly icy resolve when she wanted to. As she was now doing.

Yvette.” The young Duchess stated coolly.

Yes, Lady Staceline?”

Are you trying to stuff me until I'm sick?”

Of course not, Lady Staceline! Ah am 'elping--” Yvette gasped.

Then. What. Are. You. Holding. Yvette?” Staceline put a hand on her maid's shoulder. Despite being slick with sweat, Yvette suspected she wouldn't be able to slip out of the grip if she moved. So she stood rigid.

Yvette grinned helpfully at the tray, and sighed in relief as she slid it onto the table.

Ah, zis, Lady Staceline? Ah. A few drop scones, and a leetle jug of a quart of milk, and a plate of your favourite apple pancakes, and...”

Staceline panted a little as she loomed over Yvette and examined the tray. On reflection, Yvette suspected that her mistress might be uncomfortably overstuffed. The only real evidence was that Staceline slurred her words when she wasn't speaking slowly, and that she had icing sugar smeared around the corner of her mouth, which, being a very tidy eater, was rare for her. If any other young woman had devoured everything on the well-stocked tables of Frau Apfel's kitchen, as Staceline had in about two hours after returning from her ride with an immense appetite, then there would be a dead giveaway... For example, any other young woman who hadn't passed out would be struggling to lift her gravid belly, which would look eight months pregnant. But the way Staceline's short robe of embroidered eastern silk draped from her epic bosom made it hard to tell... Then again, Yvette noticed the robe was tied very loosely, which was not the way her mistress normally dressed. And when she moved the robed definitely framed a belly that was swollen from her upper belly down to her crotch. Maybe seven months?

Let me see, Yvette. Oh yes, this looks to me like there is also... An entire mouthwatering chocolate cheesecake; a plum pudding intended to serve eight, and I mean eight aristocratic fatties; a dozen pancakes, which should really be on two plates; twelve scones; more coffee; and a bowl of what I think is chopped bananas and apricots in a half-gallon of cream? Is that about right, Yvette?”

Staceline's breath was scented with oranges, probably from the large orange cake which Yvette was pleased to see had been completely devoured, as she breathed her question over Yvette while looming over the maid's shoulder. Yvette shivered.

Exactly right, Lady Staceline!”

Do you know what isn't in this mountain-range of artery-clogging, tummy-ache-magnifying calories, Yvette?”

Erm, no, but Ah can fetch...”

NO!” Yvette flinched as Staceline shouted. The net curtains swished as Staceline's yell temporarily overpowered the limited breeze from the garden.

Lady Staceline?”

The one thing that isn't here – and actually the one thing I asked you to bring, Yvette, with very specific instructions not to bring me anything else, because I am Oh Gods so fucking stuffed – is a glass of iced water!”

Oh. I thought you would prefer a jug of milk, but Ah can go get zee water, eef you like, Lady Sta--”

NO!”

Yvette flinched again. She tried to step towards the door, but felt her shoulder was locked in Staceline's vice-like grip.

Oh.”

Yes, Yvette. Oh.” Staceline said with finality. “Stay there.”

Yvette stood stock still, facing the table, while her mistress stalked behind her. A note of concern crossed the maid's mind. It was technically true that she'd fairly directly disobeyed her mistress's instructions about the most recent tray of food. And, technically, Yvette had also creatively added a lot of cakes and pastries to the other trays which Lady Staceline had explicitly yelled at her to stop bringing. On the grounds, Staceline had said, that she'd been splashed with some kind of dangerous appetite stimulant potion which had caused a riot in the city and caused Staceline to lose control and gorge herself until painfully stuffed as soon as she'd ridden back to her mansion. But Yvette had basically assumed – with Lady Staceline's best interests at heart – that this story was simply a demure way of Staceline saying “please bring me a lot more food, Yvette, as I am very hungry and could eat a horse.” She hadn't particularly believed the story about the appetite stimulant potion. It sounded like a silly cover-story that the young woman might have made – quite unnecessarily – to excuse the very healthy appetite she'd worked up on her morning ride.

The Duchess, however, didn't seem at all pleased by her maid's imaginative reinterpretation of her instructions, and it crossed Yvette's mind that other maids of high-ranking noblewomen routinely lost their sought-after positions for lesser annoyances.

What am I going to do with you, Yvette?” Staceline inquired.

Ahem--” Yvette suggested.

Shut up, Yvette. I was thinking out loud.”

Yvette's spirits fell. Lady Staceline was actually a really good mistress... Yvette would be sad to lose her position as her personal maid, if, as she suspected, she was about to.

Hmm.”

Yvette sniffed.

I suppose I could be nice, Yvette? Should I be nice to you?”

Yes please, Lady Staceline! Ah would be very grateful...”

Okay, Yvette. I'm going to be nice to you, because I believe that you think I'm too skinny, despite my being around 160 lbs ish; and need feeding up; and that any time I happen to lose control of my appetite, for any reason, is a good time for you to help me bulk up like any normal girl my age. Right?”

Zat's exactly ri—”

Shh!” Staceline gripped Yvette's shoulder again, and pushed the unresisting maid a step forwards.

And so, Yvette, I'm not going to have you...” Staceline breathed into her maid's ear. “Spanked for disobedience.”

Yvette felt a surge of relief... She actually quite liked being spanked. And if that was all Lady Staceline was thinking of, then all was well with the world...

But I do think I should give you some sort of punishment for the brutal overfeeding you've done to me this afternoon, Yvette, since it was very contrary to my desperately telling you to stop bringing me so much fucking food.”

Ah, eff you say so—”

I say so, Yvette. And, because you deliberately overfed me this afternoon, Yvette... I'm going to make your punishment fit the crime!” Staceline grinned menacingly. “Does that sound fair, Yvette?”

Ah---” Yvette thought.

I thought so. Tell me, Yvette, have you eaten lunch today?”

Of course, Lady Staceline!”

Good. What did you eat? I hope it was a lot?”

Um. Six pork sausages, and creamed potato with pepper and carrots, and a big slice of chocolate tart with cream, Lady---”

Oh no! Yvette?” Staceline relaxed her grip patted her maid on the shoulder.

Eet was very good, L---”

Yvette! Such a small meal! You must be starving!” Staceline cooed, voice overflowing with sympathy and concern.

Ah, no, Lady Staceline! I am pretty full, and my skirt is feeling a leetle too tight this afterno--”

Well you'd better fucking take it off then, Yvette!”

Yvette was nonplussed. Confusion crossed her face. She was a former courtesan, and she'd be delighted to have sex with her gorgeous (even if slightly skinny) mistress. But it hardly seemed like a punishment for disobedience.

But why, Lady Staceline?”

Staceline grinned wolfishly.

Because, Yvette, you see that tray you've just put down? The one that has so much pastry, cake, pudding, and cream on it that you could barely carry it and you hadto take a break carrying it up here...”

Ah, yes, Lady---”

Your punishment for disobeying me, Yvette, is that you're going to eat every fucking crumb! And if I haven't watched you lick every plate spotlessly clean in an hour, I may just take back my idea about being nice, and have your bottom spanked raw! In fact I'll do it myself!”

Yvette gasped. Yvette had carefully selected the foods on the tray. They were all incredibly dense and calorie-rich. They were supposed to be enough to stuff a young Duchess! Yvette's poor tummy would ache very badly if she tried to eat it all!

But, Lady Staceline! Eet iz impossible! No woman can eat that much after a big lunch!”

Hah! Gotcha, Yvette! You were going to make me eat it – and I would have, except I think my metabolism has finally burned off the worst of that damn appetite stimulant... So now I'm going to make you eat it instead.”

But Lady Staceline!” Yvette wailed.

Grab a spoon and start eating, Carte-Blanche! You have fifty-nine minutes left. Oh, and don't waste time unpopping your skirt button – I'll help you out of it later when you're half way done.”

Oh!” Yvette moaned, and picked up a large dessert spoon from the saucer.

Pretty soon, Yvette began to wish she hadn't craftily scooped and piled three-quarters of a gallon of bananas and cream into the half gallon bowl.

 

* *

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This episode reveals a bit of plotting by some of the Empire's biggest cheeses. Next episode, Staceline gets to go on a dinner date...


 

Chapter 10: Cakes and Crushes (part 2)

 

Three hours later, the imperial capital baked under the strongest heatwave of the year so far, and Staceline (Stacey) Dolchetta Voluptua-Fuller Demoore stood in her bathroom, dripping with the icewater she'd just dumped over her head from a pitcher, and letting her eyes defocus with the pleasure of temporarily not feeling like she'd been locked in a sauna.

Uhn. Yeah.” Staceline sighed.

The Empire's capital city of Lonporto had a bottomless thirst for ice, and getting hold of the stuff in a hot summer was difficult. It was a great deal easier if you happened to own the Demoore canal, the lucrative shipping route that connected the Porto river system with Aquitaine. Ice cut from the glacial lakes of alpine Aquitaine could be sold at high prices to the capital's vast dairy and meat industries. Or it could be dumped over the head of a seriously overheated rich girl... Staceline knew which option she preferred right now.

Clothes... You'll definitely have to wear some clothes tonight... Dammit!” Staceline explained to herself, before reluctantly heading through her bedroom to her walk-in wardrobe. Once there, she looked unenthusiastically at the rails of skimpy summer outfits made from fabrics that varied from thin to gauzy, and decided all of them looked too hot. Still, she really did need to wear something if she was going to head out.

Something...” Staceline though. “No bra though. Definitely no bra tonight...”

Staceline was too hot to consider wearing a bra. Also, she felt way too swollen – a major reason she was overheated was that her body had spent the last three hours digesting the unholy amount of calories she'd eaten that afternoon, and all the sugars and fats had to go somewhere. Normally, she was used to calories evaporating once they hit her bloodstream, like water being dripped into boiling oil. But apparently the four-hour binge that had left her tummy aching and looking seven months pregnant had involved enough calories that even Staceline's body had to put them somewhere for later processing. Hence she felt swollen up, everywhere. And the place where her body had the most flesh available to swell was, naturally, her already-enormous bosom.

Under normal conditions, Staceline's boobs were visible to anyone standing behind her, unless she was wearing unusually puffy sleeves or a bulky jacket. Through a miracle of Aphrodite, they also possessed enough divine perkiness to protrude bouncily a little further ahead of her than they were wide – and her outfits had been cut to accommodate her perfectly sculpted boulders, which her favourite seamstress liked to call the 8th and 9th natural wonders of the world. It took serious skill, and large quantities of silk, to manufacture the best shape of outfit to showcase the dark-haired duchess's bust... And, right now, with her boobs engorged by excess calories, most of those dresses wouldn't hang right around her more spherical, twin-globe shaped bosom.

Oh. What is a girl to do?” Staceline sighed theatrically.

Eventually, she settled on a short wrap dress, of unbleached silk with a red trim. Skipping a bra would be fine – her boobs were so swollen they felt rock solid, and in any case she wanted them to jiggle a little freely tonight. She did decide to slip on a pair of skimpy black silk shorts with a silk tie cord, as the wrap dress wouldn't be quite opaque enough for decency if she ended up sweating in the sweltering evening heat. Then Stacey grabbed the first pair of gold-trimmed sandals and 3-carat diamond earrings that came to hand, strapped her switch-blade to her upper thigh, and headed out.

It would be really good to take a brisk walk. It had taken ages for her tummy to process her food binge, and she'd felt lethargic for hours while it did. Energetic again now, though.

First of all, Staceline had to select a horse. Hades had had enough excitement for one day so she selected Artemis, a lighter but fast palomino. The streets were practically deserted as far as the Capitoline Hill, due to the severe heat, so Stacey let Artemis have a run while the duchess herself enjoyed the sensation of the hot wind blowing through her thin silk wrap. The gentle eastern slope of the Mercantian Hill descended into the Shipping Quarter, and then slowly arced upwards to the stately Old District and eventually the white granite grandeur of the Capitoline Hill. Staceline slowed down Artemis with a couple of calls once they had sped past the Senate. She had an errand to run in the Constabulary. Duchess Demoore hadn't bothered to announce her visit, but since the Demoore Duchy paid for one of the largest precincts of the city guard, she knew she wasn't likely to be told to fuck off.

Hey!” Staceline flicked a silver coin at the stableboy idling near the gate. “Can you hold onto my horse? Her name is Artemis. I'll be ten minutes.” The young kid grabbed at Artemis' reins, without taking his eyes of Staceline's cleavage as she hit the ground and started walking – she wondered whether he might be a little too young to be admiring her tits, but decided that, if he was working a day job he must be old enough. So she gave them an extra wiggle for effect. “Thanks!”

The next person Stacey encountered was a door constable, whom she'd never met, but he acknowledged her name and rank after only a brief check on the way her diamond earrings glittered in the late afternoon light. Soon, she was shown in to the Chief Constable's office. The plump, dark-skinned police commander wore a straining red silk shirt, white pantaloons, and high boots, and his bushy grey hair flared from his head and nostrils. He looked busy.

Lady Staceline! What a pleasure to---” Said the Chief Constable, dismissing his secretary, and moving around a desk covered in a sea of scrolls to greet his important visitor.

I won't take a lot of your time, Sir Jon. I know I didn't message ahead.”

The Chief was suitably appreciative. He was well aware he ought to for the woman whose family traditionally occupied one of the highest offices in the Treasury.

I'm actually here about the Candy Market, earlier today. I want to make a report.” Staceline explained.

Sir Jon Dunne, the Chief Constable, raised his eyebrows. He gave every sign of being shocked that such a respectable personage as Duchess Staceline Demoore would feel the need to sully herself with the base task of reporting a run-of-the-mill candy riot.

Lady Staceline, there is no need to concern yourself! My men are quite aware of the raucous goings-on in the Candy Market earlier today! They have already delivered a full report on the matter to the Lord Sheriff. Indeed, we have an unusually good understanding of the event, because we have a testimony from an eyewitness of excellent reliability: a senior cavalry officer with whom I believe you are acquainted!”

Lord Bingley Bonkley?” Staceline asked in a deadpan voice.

The very same, My Lady! The man who heroically apprehended the Poisoner, after chasing him down on foot, unarmed, and unaided! And then cleverly discovered the potent airborne appetite stimulant which the blackguard had released!”

Uh huh. And, you do realise Lord Bingley Bonkley is about as intelligent a witness as a seriously inbred cabbage that's been boiled for too long and then dropped on the floor and stepped on?” Staceline asked, in an equally matter of fact voice.

Sir Jon hesitated. Just long enough to give Staceline the answer she needed. He was about to give a polite, official answer when she continued talking.

Good.” She continued. “Then I have something to add. About the man that was apprehended.”

The Poisoner?”

Yes. I have some intel on him I don't think Bonkley would be able to give you. Did your men find the tattoo on his wrist?”

Sir Jon gave a blank look.

Er. I must say, no, Your Grace. I'm not aware of any tattoo.”

Lucky I came down to make a report then.” Staceline grinned. “He had a cow-tattoo. It looked pretty ordinary when I first saw it, but a little later I recalled where I'd seen the art style before. I think it's the icon of a breakaway sect from the temple of Ceres called the Cult of Cream. You wouldn't have heard about it if your parents weren't crazy about archaeology and old stuff...”

What, what?” Asked Sir Jon. “Cult of Cream? I've never heard of a Cult of Cream.”

Okay, just write it down and ask at the university. It's old. If this Poisoner is really related to the Cult of Cream, then he might have some pretty dangerous beliefs about... Erm... Fattening up the nobility until they're immobile, and killing off everyone slimmer on the grounds they aren't fat enough to properly glorify Ceres, the Goddess of super-fattening foods, as they see it. And there might be others.”

Sir Jon blanched, and eyed the gargantuanly-busty but otherwise alarmingly-slender Duchess. Her bare arms and legs were so slim that he could clearly see the overdeveloped muscles beneath her smooth, light olive skin. The young noblewoman obviously wasn't getting anything like enough to eat! Perhaps that was why she had thought of this odd-sounding Cult of Cream – she must be starving, and hunger must be driving some odd thought patterns.

Killing people who aren't fat enough? That sounds a little bit extreme!” Commented Sir Jon.

IIRC.” Staceline replied, before realising the Chief Constable wasn't aware of such fashionable language. “If I recall correctly – from my archaeology lessons about ancient Archaea.”

The Chief Constable stroked his moustache thoughtfully. He didn't think much of this Cult of Cream story, but he liked the earnest expression on the super-busty young duchess's face, and felt inclined to indulge her belief that she was helping the police to perform their civic duty. After all, she was a very attractive young woman... And rich, too.

Hmm. How do you know about this special cow-tattoo, Your Grace?”

Because I was in the Candy Market. I... Noticed the tattoo while Lord Bonkley was recovering from falling on his ass while apprehending the villain.”

Hmm. I see.”

Good.”

I suppose I'll have to amend Lord Bonkley's report, to reference your presence at the Candy Market, Your Grace. He omitted to mention that such an important person as yourself was present!”

No, don't bother, Sir Jon. But I want you to investigate the Cult of Cream angle and keep me informed! They were very dangerous, in their day! In late-antiquity, they once seized control of the Archaean Empire, and had all the former royal family and the priestesses of Artemis fattened up with olive oil and bread until they couldn't fit out the palace door! So, just in case there's someone in our city trying to revive the cult, I think your men should be on the lookout!”

Sir Jon nodded appreciatively, while inwardly resolving to do nothing.

Very good, Your Grace. Thank you for sharing your insight with the police! I shall keep you apprised of any further developments in this Cream Poisoner case! Which secretary do you want me to write to?”

Great! Thanks, Sir Jon! Um, my personal secretary, please.”

Very good, Lady Staceline! And may I say what an inquiring mind you have? You'd make a very good police detective, if such a thing were possible for a lady!”

Oh, thanks!” Staceline replied happily. “Well, I must head off. I'm going to see my boyfriend, and I don't want to be late...”

Of course, Your Grace! I wish you a wonderful evening, in our fair city!”

Thanks!”

Staceline headed out.

Outside the Constabulary, Staceline discovered that her horse was being very well looked after. A large group of stableboys seemed to have been summoned up by the one to whom Staceline had entrusted her horse... Apparently, he'd admired the Duchess's boobs so much that he'd called all his friends over to help brush and water Artemis until she returned, so that they too could then stand and stare with their tongues hanging out. Unluckily for them, Staceline had ample experience of dealing with their sort.

Hello, boys!” Staceline said, standing squarely in front of them with her wrap dress revealing plenty of cleavage and causing the entire group to stare at her chest – whilst not taking enough care about where they were standing in relation to a highly-spirited horse.

At the same time, Staceline snapped her fingers.

Artemis, being an expensive and well trained animal, took her cue to walk through the group of boys. Three of them were sufficiently distracted that they fell over or were tripped by Artemis in the process. Most of the others knocked themselves out when they all jumped into each other whilst trying to catch a silver coin which they were each certain Staceline had flicked at them especially.

Staceline jumped on her horse and headed north.

*

Sir Jon Dunne stroked his moustache. Then he broke out into a gale of laughter.

Cult of Cream!” He chortled.

With an ancient conspiracy to fatten up the nobility until they can't fit though their front doors! What a ludicrous notion!”

Still, while the eager young duchess's idea of a cult of clandestine fatteners might be silly, her mention of a cow tattoo had set an alarm bell tinkling in Sir Jon's mind. He was rather pleased with himself for keeping any hint of recognition off his face.

Sir Jon withdrew a golden key on a neckchain, unlocked his desk drawer and slid it open. He removed a linen cloth. Underneath lay a silver amulet, bearing a stylised image of a cow on one side, and a code-wheel on the back. It was crafted in some foreign artistic style of which he knew nothing... But he did know all about the man who'd given it to him – a man who'd offered a great deal of gold for a few favours and occasional bits of information, and who, to boot, had introduced Sir Jon to a bevy of very sexy and deliciously fat ladies from the upper crust of imperial society. The man in question was one of the most important mean in the capital – the owner of the largest dairy business in the empire by far: it was was the great Duke Creamer himself!

The Chief Constable rang a little bell, to recall his secretary.

Sir Jon Donne prided himself on being a stout pillar of imperial society. He would never conceive of committing a dishonourable act. So it was lucky for him that it couldn't possibly be dishonourable to send a short warning message to his good friend – especially not when that friend was the great Duke Creamer, whose parties involved so many sexy, plump young female guests. Sir Jon twiddled the code wheel, and composed a quick warning to the wealthy Duke that a business associate who (very unwisely) bore one of Duke Creamer's company logos as a tattoo, had been apprehended by Sir Jon's officers earlier today.

Sir Jon rubbed his hands in anticipation!

If his instincts were anything to go by, Sir Jon would soon be asked to do a substantial favour for the great Duke Creamer. Most likely he would be asked to ensure the Cream Poisoner was transported to one of the private jails operated by the Duke... And, in return, Sir Jon expected that he would receive an invitation to another of Duke Creamer's finest parties... At which, if he was correct in his judgement of the favour's value, he could look forward to the company of at least six of the most beautifully well-rounded debutantes on the Duke's books. 

Oh, yes!” Sir Jon chuckled. “Cult of Cream, my fat ass!”

* *

 

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Cakes and Crushes (part 3)

 

Staceline posed as appealingly as she could arrange, with her feet shoulder width apart, hands on hips, and her boobs protruding a healthy fifteen inches ahead of her. She was standing on a respectable residential street, somewhere northwest of the Senate. And she was waiting patiently for a certain cute medical student to answer the black front door of his flat, and notice how alluring she could make herself. Patiently. Very patiently.

Staceline yawned, and decided to throw some more grit from a plant ** at the upstairs window.

About mid-throw, the black door opened, and Staceline was immediately distracted by the sight of the well-defined shoulders and pectoral muscles of Kal Aresquay, the cute medic she'd decided to befriend. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and from the way he was panting and sweating she guessed he'd been working out. Staceline approved, and licked her lips... Unfortunately the distraction badly spoiled her aim – but, luckily, hardly any of the grit ended up hitting him in the face.

Oops.”

Excuse me?” Kal managed to say, once he recovered from the unexpected sight of the ultra-busty young duchess in a party dress standing in front of his apartment and throwing decorative quartz chippings at him.

Staceline's mind went unhelpfully blank, and she fumbled for words. She settled on a nice safe reply that drew ever so slightly on her social rank.

You are excused.” Staceline said. Then she hurriedly continued in an enthusiastic voice. “Hey Kal! Guess what? I had someone look up your address, and as I happened to be nearby, I thought I would say hello! Can I come in? Are you in the middle of working out? I can watch while you finish, if you are?”

Lady Stacey?”

Stacey.”

Stacey. You had someone look up my address? Should I be flattered, or alarmed?” Kal asked cautiously.

Yes you should. Do you live upstairs?”

Yeah, but... I would have cleaned if I'd known you'd want to visit. And aren't I supposed to call on you, Stacey – on Friday?”

Staceline leaned around Kal to try and get a view of the hardwood steps leading up to his apartment. The place looked tidy enough. She pushed around him and headed up.

Yeah, Kal, but I've had a fucking weird day, and I decided I would like to talk about it. Which, if you like, I was thinking we could do over pasta in a little place I know by the east side of the bay? The evening light on the water is amazing, and also, Kal, if you get bored of listening to me there will be tons of fat, rich girls in tight dresses for you to look at! What do you say?”

Kal pretended to think about the question. He managed to answer quickly enough to pre-empt Staceline's impatience.

Yes, Stacey. I would love to. Um... Are you paying?”

Yes.”

Kal looked relieved as he towelled sweat off his body.

In that case, can you give me a minute to get changed, Stacey?”

Stacey moved an anatomy book off a chair so she could sit down in the cramped, but reasonably organised study overlooking the street.

Sure. Go. Don't let me get bored. You don't want me to be bored, Kal. I'll rummage through your stuff.”

Stacey pouted. She would not have minded watching Kal finish his workout – there was a pullup bar rigged across the study, and she eyed it speculatively while Kal changed in the next room.

Soon, Stacey grew bored. She was torn between rifling through the the desk for interesting letters, and playing with the pullup bar, but she settled on the latter. It was fun, but it was disgustingly slick with sweat.

You need chalk!” Stacey called out. “Your bar is disgusting!”

I have chalk. What are you doing to my pullup bar?” Kal's reply was muffled by the plaster wall.

Finish changing and I'll stop. Where's your chalk?”

Why?”

Kal emerged wearing an acceptable white linen shirt and black breeches. He found Stacey looking at him over the top of his workout bar, where she was clinging with a reverse grip... using her left arm only.

You know, Stacey, I'm pretty sure Doctor Globus wouldn't approve of you doing that.”

Oh really? I'm shook.”

No, he really wouldn't.”

Well I guess it's lucky for me I'm taking you to dinner to buy your silence. You know, I don't think he'd approve of me paying for you either, so you should be careful what you tell him, Kal.”

Yeah. I guess there is that...”

Good. Let's go! It's a long walk; I've got to drop my horse at the stables; and I'm already starving...”

Kal looked suitably delighted. Staceline realised she hadn't meant to say that last part. She'd momentarily forgotten her basic finishing school etiquette: on a date, a young noble lady should exaggerate how stuffed she felt, so as to give the impression that eating all the food she would be plied with was hard work, and evidence of how eager she was to impress her partner.

Oh, oops. I mean, I'm just a little hungry, so I'm only going to graze on a few light snacks tonight.”


* *

 

Hey, could I get another basket of cinnamon bread with my next bowl of pasta? Oh, and some more milk? Thank you!”

On the east shore of the imperial bay, an old limestone fortification had become obsolete as the capital city sprawled around it... The tease along the bay around it was now a popular entertainment district, crammed with dining venues that filled up as the evening cooled. The lookout terrace had become the garden of a Sisilean restaurant famous for its pasta, where well-fed patrons relaxed and enjoyed the golden light in hazy evening air.

Kal slurped his cup of wine. His gaze was fixed on the girl who'd brought him to her favourite restaurant. The sight of a rich girl ordering a third basket full of bread was catnip for any well brought-up imperial boy, and Kal Aresquay was no exception. He wondered if she realised she was making him rock hard.

Not that two baskets of bread was all Stacey had devoured: her first stack of bread hunks had only come with a bowl of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, washed down with a quart of milk, but the second had also been accompanied by a quart of cream cheese in a bowl, which she'd licked clean in under ten minutes. In between those, she'd munched her way through a pint of chocolate spread served with roast potatoes, which had come along with her fish course: an entire salmon served on a slate the size of Kal's desk. That had been after she'd “grazed” her way through a quart of spicy tomato soup and an equally-weighty medley of pork liver pate served on a bed of crispy vegetables.

Kal watched as Stacey licked her lips and flicked her hair back.

Like what you see, country boy?” Stacey asked. Kal suspected he shouldn't have admitted to Stacey that he preferred the clean air of his home town in the countryside to the bustle of the imperial city. She'd taken an immediate liking to the phrase "country boy."

Kal swallowed. He'd been properly brought-up with a healthy admiration for female gluttony, so only one answer was conceivable. Stacey seemed to enjoy hearing it, though. “Yeah! Where'd you learn to eat like this, Stacey?”

Eat? I'm just snacking, Kal. You see, I ate an absolutely enormous lunch, and I don't want to put on weight! I have a figure to maintain, you know!”

Stacey gave her tummy a pat for emphasis. Kal felt himself sweating as her silk wrap clung and revealed a little roundness bulging over Stacey's lap. It wasn't that much, but it hinted at Stacey's capacity for food being... deep.

Stacey finished her bowl of pasta. She felt remarkably pleased with the effect that watching her eating a light dinner was having on Kal... she had a pretty strong suspicion she'd developed a crush on the buff medical student, and that she was spoiling him rotten. Which was both annoying and pleasant at the same time. Annoying, because he didn't have enough rank for her to date seriously; pleasant, because he was the first boy in the city she'd dated who made her feel even remotely horny, and there was nothing in the empire's etiquette textbooks that said she couldn't fuck him for a few weeks... Heck, as a duchess, she could overtly exhibit him as a lover, if she wanted - after she was married to someone suitable, that was, and had had three pregnancies. 

Kal appeared satisfactorily entranced. He barely even noticed the well-fed merchant's daughter in an orange micro skirt and a crop top, who brushed her belly past his head on her way back to her cushioned chair at the next table. That was especially pleasing, because the girl's bare belly was swollen so far it bulged further ahead of her than Stacey's breasts – and with her exquisite makeup, fashionable blonde hair, and ruby-encrusted jewellry, she was a perfect exemplar of imperial beauty.

You aren't snacking, Stacey. You're showing off.”

Stacey smiled back.

I'm not showing osh!” Stacey protested, while chewing a chunk of buttered cinnamon bread. “I'm hungry!”

I thought you said you ate a huge lunch, Stacey?”

I did!”

Well, in that case, you can really eat like a beast!”

Uh huh.” Stacey agreed, in the middle of drinking her new glass of milk.

But... I think you're pretty full now, Stacey... And I'm flattered you feel like stuffing yourself for me, but---”

I'm not full!”

The next question made Stacey look up with sharp interest.

Care to prove it, Stacey?”

Stacey thought for a split second. It was clearly a challenge designed to trick her into stuffing herself stupid, but it wasn't phrased like the routine “you have to eat more, Lady Staceline!” that her aunt, maids, and finishing school had inured her to. Instead, it came from a deliciously handsome young man...

I could do. What do you propose?” Stacey remarked non-committally.

How about you let me order dessert for you?”

Stacey basked in the challenge.

Dessert?” She asked in alarm.

Yes, Stacey. Or were you planning to skip dessert after stuffing yourself like this?” Kal gestured as the empty plates, baskets, and milk jugs around Stacey's side of the table.

Stacey affected an injured tone.

Certainly not, Kal. The reason I'm shocked you're talking about dessert is because I obviously haven't had enough pasta yet! This is a pasta restaurant, Kal, and I brought you here because my tummy is very hungry for starches and rich, savoury sauces! And if I don't get a lot more of them before moving onto dessert, I'll go to bed hungry... You wouldn't want me to be hungry tonight, would you, Kal?”

Stacey batted her eyelids. 

Kal struggled to move his tongue.

Alright, Stacey. I am going to order you the biggest bowl of meaty pasta with cheese on the m---”

Two.” Stacey leaned back casually as she whispered the suggestion.

Two of the biggest bowls of pasta this place has on the menu.”

Piece of cake.” Stacey replied with an unimpressed look.

And, Stacey, I think you need some more bread. And I think you'd like it in the form of an entire extra-large calzone---”

Two.” Stacey countered.

Three.”

Fuck. The thought crossed Stacey's mind. Kal was definitely into this, and she could sense she was not going to get away with the light meal she'd intended... And with her boobs already uncomfortably swollen, she would definitely need a hard workout tomorrow unless she wanted her ass to grow fuller...

Three enormous calzones it is, My Lord.” Stacey patted her tummy. “But all that bread will be so dry! My tummy will want at least a whole gallon of milk to help wash it down! May I have that too, My Lord.”

Sure, Stacey, if you think you can handle it.”

Shall we see, My Lord?”

 

* *

 

Stacey rested her swollen boobs on the table for a bit while she swallowed a lot of milk and took a few deep breaths. Then she unenthusiastically cut up the last square of calzone, skewered the bits on her fork, and popped them in her mouth to chew.

Calzone, Stacey decided, was definitely not her favourite thing. The heavy cheese and sausage stuffing had been Okay, but the folded bread base had been too dry and thick, and she'd had to ask for extra milk and a small bowl of honey and banana to make it appetising. The spaghetti, by comparison, had been absolutely excellent. Still, the multiple pounds of pasta were making her tummy feel heavy – her afternoon binge had resulted in her feeling full much sooner than she had expected, and she was starting to think she should nudge Kal onto ordering dessert before she was too uncomfortably stuffed to enjoy it.

I feel I owe you an apology, My Lady! you truly do have an appetite to match your exquisite beauty---” Kal sweated, as Stacey finished the epic food challenge he'd set her.

The country boy was obviously uncomfortable – Stacey suspected he was getting so rock hard that it hurt, and she was enjoying the sight of him flush and sweat each time she swallowed the last of a serving.

Ahem, you mean cup size, Kal.” Stacey interrupted.

And beauty, My Lady. And it was rude of me to express any uncertainty in your ability to manage such an indulgent meal!”

Stacey smirked. Kal continued.

Would you permit me to order you a little dessert, by way of apology for underestimating you?”

Stacey's eyes narrowed. She burped slightly. She felt full – only a little more than comfortably so, as yet, but she had a pretty strong suspicion her next comment was going to push her way past that... Still, it'd be worth it to see if she could make Kal cream his pants...

Dessert, My Lord? I suppose I could move onto dessert already... But... Although the pasta here is delicious, I'm sorry to say the amount you ordered for me to eat simply wasn't enough to satisfy me!”

Stacey shifted forwards while leaning her elbows on the table, pushing her cleavage up as far as she could in the process. That was a lot. The sight of an overfed Stacey bulging over the red trim of her expensive silk wrap dress was, it transpired, more than her companion's over-stimulated manhood could endure.

Kal groaned. Stacey smirked some more, and watched while the cute medic gasped for breath. He obviously wouldn't be able to talk for some time.

Waiter!” Stacey called. “May I have another bowl of pasta, please? I fear my boyfriend needs a little time to catch his breath before he will be in a fit state to order my dessert, and I don't wish to grow hungry in the meantime!”

Of course, My Lady! Would you care for another of the four-pound servings of spaghetti, or something a little light---” The waiter replied.

Four pounds is fine! But just plain, with olive oil, pepper, and grated cheese this time, though.” Stacey interrupted, before patting her full, well-rounded midriff, and explaining. “I'm watching my weight! I'm concerned I might be getting a little bit... Fat!”


 

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  • 3 months later...

 

Cakes and Crushes (part 4)

 

After sunset, the summer evening remained swelteringly hot over the capital city. That was good for the very skimpily-dressed rich girls who staggered along the seafront, often leaning heavily on the arms of their companions because the combination of their food-engorged bellies, protruding a dozen inches or more ahead of them, and their towering high heels made it impossible to walk unaided. Not even the short distance to their carriages.

One rich girl who wasn't so stuffed that she had any problem walking, and who could probably still run a marathon in her gold sandals even though she had eaten to the point of looking six months pregnant in her red-trimmed wrap dress of plain silk, was Duchess Staceline “Stacey” Dolchetta Voluptua-Fuller Demoore. She was trying to enjoy the company of a lean, fit companion, but if either of them was supporting the other with an arm, it was Lady Staceline.

Staceline drew in some breath, but didn't say anything until she and Kal had navigated around a busty baroness in a too-tight purple slip dress, and her inebriated escort. Alas, the fat baroness and her beau were clearly enjoying a nicer time.

So, Kal...” Staceline said apologetically, before clearing her throat. “I'm really sorry about making you cream your shorts, earlier. Twice. I, um... I thought you were really enjoying it! But I really should have asked your consent to continue before I did that whole routine with the cheesecake, and it's my bad that I got too engrossed and I didn't. Sorry. Oh, and I basically never apologise to boys, so I really mean it.”

Kal Aresquay, the cute medical student whom Staceline had practically decided to start thinking of as her boyfriend, groaned.

It's not your fault, Stacey. It's mine! It was just so embarrassing!”

Staceline sighed, and tried to think of something charming to say. She'd been really pleased with herself for making Kal cream his shorts without touching him. Twice. It had really affirmed her sex appeal and erotic skills. And it was really annoying he'd, inexplicably, found it embarrassing. And what Staceline found even more annoying was that she felt a bit guilty about not noticing that Kal hadn't been enjoying himself as much as she.

Meh. Honestly, Kal, it's really not embarrassing at all! It's pretty much the best compliment a boy can give a girl, in fact. And, pretty much no-one noticed us! Plus, if anyone in that restaurant had noticed us, they'd have just been really impressed that you were into me, and I was, um...”

Kal seemed unhappy. Staceline gave him a supportive squeeze.

... Really into you. There. I've said it. And that is why I may have come on a little bit strongly, over dinner. But, Kal. I want to make it up to you.”

Kal sighed, dejectedly. Staceline decided to cheer him up by steering him towards the secure glass display frontage of an upmarket jewellery store that faced onto the waterfront. Its glittering lights drew in a fair number of late-night browsers from the rich entertainment district. Staceline found a slot next to the display of the biggest diamonds. A big diamond, she decided, would be a great way to raise a boy's spirits – it always worked on Alicia, anyway.

Okay, Kal. I'm fucking rich. Tell me what you want, and I'll buy it for you. Then you can forgive me and...”

Kal leaned quietly on Stacey's shoulder. He didn't seem very cheered up.

C'mon. I'll buy you the fucking store. Just say something.”

Sorry Stacey.” Kal managed. He even grinned a bit. “But you can't buy diamonds for a boy. That's the wrong way around.”

I totally can.” Staceline countered. “In fact, my banks get really annoyed when I don't buy enough diamonds, because it means they end up with too much liquid currency piling up in my accounts. Which makes the average return look bad. I had to buy the Rostau Diamond last year just to shut them up...”

This, at least, caused Staceline's boyfriend to laugh.

I'm not saying you can have it, Kal. My offer is one upper-mid market jewellery store. Not last year's most expensive gem. What do you say? One diamond shop and you forget about me being bad tonight? Seems fair.” Staceline pleaded. “Okay, one diamond shop and I'll throw in a riding horse and some silk clothes. Which you need anyway, by the way.”

Kal didn't reply. He looked like he was trying to think of something to say. And Staceline suspected it was a no. Damn.

Okay! You drive a hard bargain, Sir. Plus five hundred sovereigns... Per year. Come on. Please!

At last, Staceline extracted her reply from Kal.

Stacey, you don't have to give me stuff. Except dinner... You can pay for dinner, because, Okay, I can't afford to feed you. And. I wouldn't turn down a silk shirt. But you don't have to give me anything else. You are the hottest – and hungriest – girl I've every met. And I like you!”

Like? Staceline felt her body flood with relief, and happiness. The cynical half of her mind would be furious – she was drooling over a boy whose position in life was decidedly inferior to her own.

Like me?” Staceline squeezed her boyfriend. On cue, her tummy rumbled – it was heavy, but she'd been planning to eat more tonight, and she was hungry. “Great! In that case, we can go to somewhere for dessert! In case you didn't notice, we skipped it at the Sisilean place!”

Kal looked askance.

Skipped. You ate like five slices of cake, Stacey!”

Stacey punched him in the arm.

Yeah, slices! That was just because I thought you wanted to leave. Five slices is like starvation rations! Five cakes would be a good start! We can --- Oh! Oh! Look at this!”

Staceline dragged Kal towards a different display in the window of the jewellery shop. It was an advertisement for an exhibition.

I've seen this before!” Staceline explained.

The Fentiman-Jowelle Exhibition?” Kal read the card, on which various drawings of supposedly antique curios were arranged around the main title and details of the exhibition.

No, no! This thing!”

Staceline pointed at a drawing of stylised cow-head, seemingly a large silver antique statue of exotic origin.

You want to buy it?”

Yes!” Staceline said, before changing her mind. “No! But I want to find out what it's doing in the city, and who's interested in it... Um. Why? Well, have you heard about the so-called Cream Poisoner?”

Isn't the Cream Poisoner some kind of made-up explanation for why so many girls in the city are eating themselves sick? Which they do anyway, because they're greedy gluttons?” Kal asked.

Yes. And I'm happy you and I think alike, Kal. But it may also be something to do with that silver cow statuette, which is the emblem of an organisation called the Cult of Cream, and...”

Kal laughed.

No, really!”

Okay.”

And... If there is a Cult of Cream in the capital, it's my patriotic duty as a duchess of the realm to investigate.”

Is it really?”

Yes. Well, no. But investigating ancient cults is more fun than dating – oh, shit, present company excepted, Kal – so I want to. Plus, my countrywomen's waistlines may be at stake! The Cult of Cream used to fatten up noble ladies until they couldn't walk! And, although I'm sure my metabolism would protect me from any such nefarious plans, I have to think about my friends, like Alicia, who...”

Staceline stuck her tongue out. She'd been about to say it was her duty to protect her friends, like Alicia, from being fattened up into vast obesity by some sort of fat cult... But, while this was true – it was Staceline's duty to protect Alicia from such sinister schemes – the Duchess couldn't help but add the additional thought, “And if anyone's going to fatten up Alicia into vast obesity, it's going to be me! So I want to know how they plan to do it! And if they have any really irresistible recipes that Alicia could get hooked on!”

Anyway, Staceline remembered she had a companion this evening.

So let's head back to my place, so I can write and get myself invited to this exhibition. We can grab a couple cheesecakes on the way. You can feed them to me while I write... If that's okay with you, Kal?”

Whatever you want, Stacey.”

Great!”

 

* *

 

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  • 2 months later...
  • 5 weeks later...

Well, OK, I'll give you what I've got for this, but it's harder to set up plot than I'd like so I don't know what happens next. I mean, broadly, Staceline probably gets an empire to rule at some point - and the general theme of Pride and Prejudice with fat girls in a world that glorifies obesity must continue. But I'm lacking ideas of how to connect other characters from the world (compare: in Milf Avenue, I have a range of new characters to bring in). If you want to suggest new characters and motivations, like in the RPG stories, I'll think about them. 

 

Chapter 10: Cakes and Crushes (part 5)


A few days later.

 

It was morning. Well, Alicia Remonte thought to herself as she tottered tipsily along the finely-made carpets of the Demoore townhouse on her way to the breakfast salon, it was almost still morning. Alas, her head was still spinning just a little, and she had to admit to a teeny bit of a hangover – but all in a good cause! Lord Bingley Bonkley had treated Alicia to an extraordinarily rich feast the night before, and plied her with much mead and far more sweetened wine than the honey blonde's sloshed head was accustomed to. But what a feast! What a man! And what a venue! She had taken Staceline's carriage to a private dinner at Lord Bonkley's marvellous old townhouse. And there she had been wined and dined until she was sure her belly could hold no more and her new gold dress must surely split. And then, after the most perfectly calculated of pauses, and a gentle, exciting pat of Bingley's strong hands on Alicia's gurgling tummy, she had been offered yet more food! Exquisite honey-nut treats! Roast swan! Pate de foie gras on a platter of cinnamon biscuits! Cheese! Chocolate! Sweet rolls!

All in all, Alicia was certain she was in love! She just hoped she'd eaten enough to show it. After all, as the fourth daughter of a family of modest means, Alicia had little to recommend her to a man so rich, handsome, and eligible as Bingley Bonkley. Well, little apart from her charm, her affectionate good nature, a respectably-good education, beautiful glossy hair, her good bust and excellent bottom, and, of course – most important of all for any flower of Imperial womanhood – her lusty appetite!

By long tradition in the Empire, just as in all the civilised foreign lands Alicia Remonte had learned about from her tutors and at college, it was the done thing for a woman to pile on lots of weight when she dated a young man. Especially if she liked him, and all the more-so if he were of higher status! After all, for a pretty young woman to fatten up demonstrated three extremely important facts of nature about the relationship: first, that her beau was a man of means, able to indulge his paramour far in excess of her basic needs, even to the point of her spilling out her her dress or popping seams and needing new clothes; second, that the young woman's appetites were stirred into lustful hedonism by her admiration for the young man, who, the world must therefore appreciate, was all the finer a specimen the fatter he gorged her; and third, quite importantly, that the young woman had a robust constitution, proving she was of good breeding stock!

Alicia certainly hoped her own display of appetite over the past week was amply proving her affection for the delicious Bonkley. She'd been trying very hard, and had put on a stone! Of course, she had fallen into a deep slumber last night, after being hand-fed a final tray of sweet rolls by her handsome host. Which meant, embarrassingly, that she'd been carried back to Staceline's carriage and put to bed at home, instead of fulfilling her earnestly-hoped for intent of seducing Bingley Bonkley to his bedchamber after their private dinner. But Alicia was in too happy a mood – and still too sloshed on mead, dessert wine, and refined sugar – to really worry about that lapse in her romantic schemes.

Alicia tottered to a hardwood dining chair, and waved an instruction in the direction of the maid.

Only a light breakfast for me, Melissa!” Alicia said carefully, as her head spun to a rest. “I dined very well last night, and my tummy is a bit delicate! So, only one serving of Aquitainian toast; a little candied fruit, and some cheese, and perhaps something to settle my tum tum. Um... A bowl of oatmeal. Milk to drink, please – just one quarter cream.”

Alicia surveyed the table as Melissa hurried off after pouring a cup of coffee with plenty of sugar and cream – fresh from one of Stacey's own dairy estates.

The dark-haired, silk summerdress-clad, impressively busty although scandalously svelte Staceline Demoore regarded Alicia from across the unusually busy breakfast table. Staceline was munching industriously on a cinnamon bun, from an almost-empty platter, and was surrounded on one side by coloured boxes of letters and paperwork, and on the other side by a sea of lidded breakfast dishes. Plus the actual plate in front of the Empire's most eligible woman was laden with enough mashed potato, eggs, beans, pastries, pancakes, and waffles for a small hotel.

Staceline arched an eyebrow at Alicia's hair – whoops Alicia realised she may have forgotten to brush it, due to slight tipsiness.

Morning, Alicia! Successful date with the Empire's clumsiest cavalry officer, I assume?”

Alicia bridled at her friend's disrespectful tone.

Lord Bingley – hiccup!

Uh, huh?” Staceline poured milk and stuffed a pancake in her mouth while Alicia sipped her coffee.

Lord Bingley Bonkley...” Alicia resumed. “... Um, what was I saying?”

You very much admire his looks, élan, and cleverness, I think. So I'm not to call him clumsy.” Staceline surmised, then ate another cinnamon bun. Then she devoured another helping of creamed potato, with a look on her face more of determination than enthusiasm. 

Well, quite!” Alicia confirmed. “You shouldn't, Stacey. Bingley is a fine young man!”

Hmm. If you say so, Cia. I'm happy you like him!”

Alicia felt she should emphasise some more of Bingley's good points.

I do, Stacey! And, he has a very big mead cellar! He showed me!”

Oo.” Staceline smirked. “So you made out with Bonkley in his wine cellar, Alicia? I'd have thought you'd be more of a moonlit balcony girl...”

Alicia blushed. “I only made out with him a little, Stacey.” Alicia protested, before rubbing her sore head and sending Melissa for a headache pill. “Alas, I ate a bit too much, and must have fallen into a little slumber, for I just awoke in my own bed. Humph! And I had hoped to finally seduce Bingley with the help of the rather raunchy silk underwear we picked out yesterday.”

Staceline finished her small mountain of mashed potato, and refilled her plate with a quantity beyond Alicia's expectations.

Someone's got an appetite this morning, Stacey!” Alicia remarked, eager to change the subject from her own accidental failure to fuck her new boyfriend on their third date.

Nope.” Staceline denied, before reaching for more poached eggs with a long, toned arm, while Melissa switched her empty stack of pancakes for a new one, drenched in syrup. “Not that hungry. Ugh.”

Alicia was confused. Her best friend had the most colossal appetite and a metabolism to match, and she could eat any two of their friends under the table. But Staceline was was also a headstrong and frustrating young woman who refused to do what other young Imperial ladies who needed to put on weight would be forced to do by their elders and betters, and gorge herself beyond satiety. Usually, anyway.

Um, if you're not hungry, Stacey, how come you're still eating breakfast?”

The Duchess flashed a smile at Alicia, then flicked a misplaced strand of dark hair clear of her cavernous cleavage. Then she admired the summer view of the garden, before answering.

Oh, full marks, Alicia, for realising it's midday and I'm still eating breakfast. And I didn't wake up at noon...” Said Staceline.

Alicia burped in confusion and slurped some creamy coffee. Happily, her small one-quart bowl of oatmeal had arrived. She ate a little, while Staceline cleared her plate of more pounds of creamed potatoes, beans, eggs, and tomatoes. Then Alicia burped, and patted her tummy. She felt bloated after only a light meal, because her system hadn't dealt with the previous night's huge gorge.

Burp!” Alicia patted her stuffed belly. “Oh, I feel so fat! I do hope Bingley notices! You know what we learned in school, Stacey: a woman should try to put on ten pounds in the first week after she begins dating – fifteen, if she wants to really impress him. And, you know, anything under five pounds is pretty insulting. So I do hope Bingley can see how much fatter I've gotten!”

I think he'll see.” Staceline confirmed, licking her lips and eyeing the blonde's fattened-up body. “How much weight have you gained, Alicia?”

In the week since I met Bingley?” Alicia prompted, with a smug smile. Staceline nodded.

Fourteen pounds!” Lady Alicia Remonte declared, proudly.

Staceline sighed, and munched a cinnamon bun from a new plate. “Want to know how much weight I've gained this week, Alicia?”

Alicia coughed and looked up. Staceline Demoore didn't really gain weight. Except muscle, which most certainly didn't count. Still, if would be most impolite for Alicia not to have noticed weight gain, which was normally something a woman was meant to compliment her friends upon. “Gained, Stacey? Oh, congratulations, you have gained a little.”

Staceline sighed. “One pound, Alicia.”

Alicia burped politely. “Oh, well, that's not bad, Stacey! Only another forty pounds, and you'll be a respectable weight for a woman of your station!”

Staceline huffed, and stared unenthusiastically at the platter of mashed potato.

I thought you said, Alicia, that gaining anything under five pounds in the week after you start dating a young man you like is, I quote, pretty insulting?”

Alicia didn't just burp. She was so surprised, she hiccuped and farted simultaneously as well.

Oh! Stacey! You're dating a boy and you're finally going to fatten up for him!” Lady Remonte squeaked in delight. “That's fantastic! Hooray!”

A hot, angry glare from Staceline did nothing to calm her blonde friend's delight.

I didn't say that, Alicia.”

Oh, you don't need to, silly!” Alicia retorted. “You've chosen a date from among the Empire's most eligible suitors, and you're finally going to bulk up to a respectable, healthy weight for him before the marriage proposal! That's wonderful news! I knew this day would come eventually, if I prayed for it daily! I'm so happy I could pop! BUURP!

Staceline glared harder, and was ignored by her friend.

I only said it would be kind of insulting not to gain some weight, if I happened to have agreed to date a boy. Which, yes, I have. Date, not get engaged to. Date.”

Alicia nodded enthusiastically, clearly taking the rest for a nailed-on guarantee.

Such wonderful news! I must tell Bingley! I shall write to him at once!”

Don't bother. He can't read long words.” Staceline muttered.

Oh! What a happy summer's day!” Alicia continued to chirp. “So. Tell me, Stacey! Who is the lucky boy? Is it one of the princes, secretly? I'll bet it is, because you weren't too disappointed by your dinner at the palace, so you must have been hiding something. Or is it a Duke? Or an exotic merchant prince from zer League? I wouldn't mind.”

Staceline sighed, and pushed her mashed potato away in defeat.

Nope.” She said.

 

*

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Thanks for these!

1 hour ago, Batman76 said:

The Prince from earlier offers Stacey an engagement...if she can fit into the royal wedding dress, which could easily fit two Staceys.

Good idea. I can see this. Don't bet on Stacey meekly saying "I will" though. 

1 hour ago, Batman76 said:

Of course, if it's just jump to gaining there's no tension. So have The cult from earlier curse stacey, because she's descended from an ancient line of priestesses who opposed them. The more she gains, the weaker her will gets, leading to get trying to undo the curse before she's a total ditz.

I did think about an "ancient curse" plotline. Might have to be a "season 2 or 3" plot.

1 hour ago, Batman76 said:

Introducing a rival would be good too: perhaps literally Amazonian diplomat from a foreign nation arrives, one who's taller, stronger, fitter then Stacey. Bonus is this is after Staceys fitness has slipped some and our heroine overexerts herself pushing her plumpening body to the limit.

No: the bonus is that the Amazonian princess is jealous of Stacey's boobs, and will stop at nothing to surpass Staceline's physique in this aspect too! Good idea, have to see...

EDIT: I've checked my notes, and Stacey is only 5'9''. She is preternaturally strong, but not so much as Chloe Southern (6'2'' or 6'3''), or Siaka (over 6'). Rebeca Moore (5'10'') is also taller, but is a lazy super-fatty with little strength. Countess Contoura "Connie" Décolletage is 5'10''. And Tara Tate, from my brief start at a speedster heroine, was 6'4''. 

I also had to look up hair colour. Stacey: black / dark hair. Chloe: Sunrise blonde (chlorine green tint). Siaka: almost certainly black / very dark Asian or Polynesian hair. Rebeca Moore: glossy dark blonde. Connie: very blonde. Tara Tate: black. 

1 hour ago, Batman76 said:

Or maybe a once fit and adventurous imperial princess or milf empress jealous that her potential sister  in law Stacey kept her shape while she's ballooned into palace bound sphericalness. Who tries some careful sabotage using an old spell book she found...

Yes, but I've avoided spellbooks thus far in this setting. People basically think magic / alchemy is "superstitious bunkum" (like the scientifically minded Dr Globus), or they use alchemical potions without having any clue what they do, or Lovecraftian science (like Professor Chadwick, who was examining the gem which caused the guests at the banquet lecture to become rampaging gluttons). 

1 hour ago, Batman76 said:

Or perhaps a younger noble woman who looks up to stacey as an exemplar, having gotten in shape and become a rich business woman herself... Just as her idols business ventures tumble and her metabolism nose dives!

Maybe. Difficult to write - I'm not sure I want Stacey to inspire a "cult of svelte" because it's more amusing (or, at least, easier), from the point of view of "Pride and Prejudice in a world that glorifies obesity" if the other major characters all object strenuously to slenderness. Also, Stacey doesn't really own business ventures in the 21st century sense of companies that might fail - although she does own banks, it's a key part of her wealth and extreme eligibility that she also owns vast tracts of land in various different kingdoms, and a strategic canal, so it's pretty much physically impossible for her to suffer financial problems or be anything other than extremely wealthy (this is why men want to marry her - it's not only for her boobs, and it's definitely not because she's smarter than them). 

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25 minutes ago, >_< 0_0 said:

Also: Stacy could stumble upon the realization that the Empire’s FA culture is not natural and begins to uncover a great magical conspiracy embedded into the highest echelons of government, holding the fate of the whole Empire at stake — and also her waistline.

Remarkably, something like that has always been part of my concept for the setting. Fools seldom, as they say. 

That said, by this point in world history, basically everyone is a glutton without needing any encouragement, and the FA culture is perfectly self-sustaining. The question which one might ask, however, is how come the empire's dairy farms, and the sugar and chocolate plantations in other lands, are productive enough to keep everyone in the world fat? 

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