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The Throne of Plenty


flyer33

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A pampered queen-to-be, a lustful paladin, the sexiest (and therefore most important) sorceress of an alpine kingdom, and an infamous witch-queen compete in a legendary contest to determine who will sit in the mythical Titan Thrones, and in doing so claim the eternal youth and unlimited power of the lost Gods themselves.

What (almost) none of them know is that the Titan Thrones themselves set the challenges in which their would-be possessors must compete. And the very first throne to do so is the Throne of Plenty, which offers epic power and wealth, but only to the champion who proves herself the greatest in the world by triumphing over all her rivals... In an eating contest, taking place across tables piled sky high with the fattening foodstuffs of the Titans!

 

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I've been really wanting to try my hand at a high fantasy story, with sorceresses and barbarian queens, and maybe Fat-Dragons that breathe liquid weight-gain fog, and alchemists trying to harness the regenerative properties of troll fat to produce a youth-regenerating potion. So...

In this story, four main characters (for now?) set out on a fattening quest to collect artifacts which will grant fantastical power and riches... To the girl who triumphs in an eating contest.

Edit - OK, for reasons I don't understand, the first name of the heroine in chapter 1 has been **d out. OK, new name time...

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Chapter 1

 

The Old City of Roem. Dawn. The balmy autumn water of the Central Sea glittered under early light.

Phoibe Silversteel, flaxen-haired tournament champion of the Kingdom of West Aquila and recently-appointed royal bodyguard, reached across from her bed with a hand calloused by lance-practice. She pulled aside a gauzy mosquito curtain and drank in the view from her palatial window. The dawn light and sea sounds were glorious – so entrancing she could nearly forget her raging hangover... On the other hand, the stink of the vast city so marred the air that not even a marble palace tower offered a fresh breeze. And, also on the other hand, she’d indulged in too much wine, courtesy of a cute noble admirer at a patrician’s banquet, and her hangover was pretty bad. Her sore head throbbed, threatening to grate on Phoibe all day without respite. In fact, the hangover might be even harder to bear than Phoibe ’s daytime task: looking after the most spoiled princess in entirety of Western Aquila, and quite possibly the most annoying girl in the civilised world, Princess Julia de Gorja.

Princess Julia would, of course, still be laying abed, sleeping off a night of excess. For while the curvaceous royal’s belly was accustomed to massive meals, her indulgence at last night’s banquet had been excessive by even her own standards! Her host – Senator Maximus – had spared zero extravagance in welcoming the Princess of West Aquila to the Old City. And so the princess’ party had been plied first with local delicacies of the Old City – fish, soups, aromatic stuffed flowers, wines, tomato breads, and tart – until their stomachs bulged. And then, while Phoibe reclined in a velvet chair feeling grossly overfed and fretting whether the seams of her black silk dress could handle the combination of her pert breasts and her full tum, Princess Julia had cooed with delight at seeing her host usher in a West Aquilan chef to present a cavalcade of her homeland’s finest foods! Roast goose! Mounds of foie gras on toast! Onion soup, thickly topped with cheese and served with wedges of garlic bread! Thick, rare steak on a bed of buttery spinach! And iced buns, mead, sweets, and cakes, cakes, cakes! 

Naturally, the pampered princess had devoured a big serving of everything, and plenty of extra helpings, even though it essentially meant binging her way through a second banquet in one night. Then Princess Julia had paused, without any embarrassment, while her personal masseur rubbed her bulging abdomen to make room for more cake! Which would have been fine, as far as Phoibe was concerned – let the brat gorge herself into a sugar coma – but Princess Julia had insisted her entourage sample everything too! Her ladies-in-waiting – every one of them looking constipated, plump, and flushed from excess – had complied delightedly!  Phoibe Silversteel had groaned at the decree. Her tournament-winning physique had taken a battering from the hearty tavern meals and castle feasts she had attended, in her role as Princess Julia’s bodyguard, during their sluggish journey from the Capital of West Aquila. It had been a ludicrously slow journey to the Old City of Roem, where Princess Julia was to be marry the great city’s titular Crown Prince. 

The Crown Prince of the Old City! Prince Alex was handsome, eloquent, and rich! In short, he was everything the illegitimate daughter of a West Aquilan noble – such as Phoibe Silversteel, for example – could possibly hope for.

Alas! Phoibe might have inherited the flaxen hair and famous beauty of a highborn Aquilan countess, along with the broad shoulders and strong physique of some unknown knight, but that was all she’d inherited. She had no money and no titles, and hence no prospect of advantageous marriage. She had been raised as a priestess – and then, when her shoulders filled out and she grew taller and stronger than most squires, as a paladin of the Goddess. But that would never be enough to snag a prince. And so, in the absence of many monsters, dragons, raiders, or Halfling pirates threatening civilised West Aquila, Phoibe had made her name winning jousting tournaments. She was very good at jousting – and even better with a sword and board. Then, somewhere around her first few tournament wins, Phoibe's ambition of seducing a prince with her knightess skills had been replaced with a lust for tempting as many handsome knights as possible into her bed. Which had been a lot – highborn beauty, shining blonde hair, and tournament fame had made Phoibe Silversteel almost the perfect seductress, in the eyes of hundreds of desirable young men! Muscular or lean, blonde or jet-haired, Phoibe had snacked on them all, sometimes two at a time...

In fact, Phoibe Silversteel had been courting a severe penance for long-term lascivious behaviour – until one winter day a huge green dragon (in fact, a wyvern, but it was so huge that no-one except Phoibe noticed the difference) had swooped out of a blue sky and nearly swallowed the King of West Aquila. Phoibe had killed the lizard stone dead with a simple lance charge. That particular action, which had been Phoibe ’s only real fight outside tournaments, had forestalled any amount of punishment from the priestesses of her order. And it had seen Phoibe promoted from an obscure paladin to the bodyguard of the King’s favourite daughter, the apple of his eye, the ultra-spoiled Julia de Gorja!

Phoibe chugged cold water, splashed some more on her face, and set out to the hilltop palace gardens for her – badly needed, given the way her bottom was bulging out of her riding leathers after seven weeks with the awful Princess Julia – early morning run.

Ugh!

As she pounded the clay paths of the aromatic hilltop garden overlooking the bay, Phoibe Silversteel felt fat! Hungover too, but mainly fat. Or, at least, unfit. In reality, seven weeks in the service of Princess Julia hadn’t done that much damage to Phoibe’s figure... Unlike the princess’s assorted ladies-in-waiting, who were all pampered daughters of her Kingdom’s nobility, Phoibe had begun the year with a body of iron; she’d possessed far more muscle than could simply be wasted away by a couple of months in an overindulged royal court. All the same, Phoibe had added a more-than-noticeable amount of flab to her frame. Her ass bore the brunt – her riding leathers strained indecently, and every outfit except her newest dress gave her a muffin top.  

Pant. Gasp.

Phoibe felt out of shape. And it was frustrating having to spend her days watching the spoiled, chubby Princess Julia indulging herself in every pleasure and noble pastime that Phoibe’s dubious parentage had denied to the paladin...

But, on the other hand, life was looking up. Royal bodyguard to the wealthiest Kingdom’s most favoured princess was a well-rewarded position – and one that got Phoibe into the finest palaces in the civilised world. And, at 27, Phoibe was still easily pretty enough to snag herself that handsome prince. After all, unlike most noble ladies, who lost their figures by the age of 22 as their married, overindulged lives resulted in their developing a tolerance to alchemical weight-loss tonics, Phoibe was not many months from the fittest she’d ever been. And she had inherited good looks, at least, plus gorgeous, flaxen hair. And she was disgracefully well-practiced in bed, too.

Now, the problem was that the handsome prince whom Phoibe Silversteel really wanted to snag was the very same Prince Alex of Roem who was already engaged to wed the chubbily curvaceous Princess Julia. An impossible ambition perhaps. But, although she knew deep down that she couldn’t have Prince Alex to live with happily ever after, Phoibe Silversteel did fully intend to seduce him, and bed him so hard he’d be ruined for other women for the rest of his life. And Phoibe had no doubt she could do it – just provided she could sweat off enough of last night’s calories to squeeze herself into her strappy little black dress...

Pant, pant, pant.

Dressed in skimpy leather running shorts and bouncing more than she was used to, Phoibe Silversteel pounded the ground as she ran laps of the fragrant palace garden.

 

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6 minutes ago, Batman76 said:

Already in love she I need more!

Aha! I mean, I am shamelessly following one of your themes, so I trust you don't mind. 

Anyway, here is some blurb about the world of The Thone of Plenty. I'll do a map later...

 

Glossary of Places

The Old City of Roem - The former Imperial Capital, on the north shore of the Central Sea. The huge city lumbers on, with many old civic institutions and priesthoods surviving on the remains of their old wealth. The imperials alchemists, engineers, and army have broken up into mercenary guilds that serve the patricians. The Old City has a King, although the role is only titular and ceremonial.

West Aquila – The largest and richest of the civilised kingdoms. Touches the northwest edge of the Central Sea. Its western border is made up of a thousand miles of coast of the Great Sea.

Hohenmark – A dark, forested kingdom of merchant princes, to the north

Helvetia – A high and mountainous kingdom, home to the College of High Sorcery.

Alexara – A chaotic city state at the southeast of the Central Sea, gateway to the Badlands

The Central Sea – The central feature of the known world, civilised kingdoms are to the north, the old world and sultanates on the south, Badlands to the east, and the Great Sea to the west.

The Great Sea – The western edge of the entire known lands; the Great Sea is actually a lake – although it stretches to the icebound north, and further south than sailors have ever reached, the Great Sea covers only 15% of the globe. It is, however, vast enough that its western edge is unknown.

The swamplands of Luxara – somewhere in the Badlands, the ground plunges away to reveal a hot, rainy basin of weird plants and scaled horrors. Once, it was another sea, at the centre of a lost civilisation.

The Far Sea – Far beyond the Eastern Badlands: the exotic east!

 

Glossary of Magic

The Paladins of Aquila – simple but reliable magic harnessed through years of physical training, built into sword practice.

High Sorcery – pure magic, controlled by focussed willpower. The college-trained sorceresses of Helvetia hone their willpower and drive by competing against their peers in beauty contests, with the most acclaimed beauties becoming the most potent mistresses of magic in the civilised world – at the cost of being exceedingly arrogant.

Elementalism – material magic, fuelled by physical strength and by manifestations of elemental energy. The Fat Alchemists of the Old City are experts in changing the properties of the physical world, albeit far more haphazardly than they would like to admit.

Necromancy – magic drawn from biological sources, such as blood. Blood magic is banned throughout the civilised world, and shunned almost everywhere. In the swampland of Luxara, however, the witch-queen Xenia has learned to draw the magic of life from the psychedelic nectars and sweet saps of exotic flora. And, furthermore, such power can be concentrated by imbibing the fattening milk of cattle fed upon these crops. Alas, this means the witch-queen's hydrascale armor is growing a little tight...

 

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Chapter 1 (part 2)

 

Princess Julia de Gorja reclined in the bubbly water of her wooden bathtub, a languid smile upon her lips. Mid-morning sunlight had roused the curvaceous princess from her bed. And so she had slipped from the silk bedclothes that draped her well-rounded figure, and strode with a luxurious, hip-swaying wiggle to the hot, steaming bath where her maidservants awaited with aromatic soaps, oils, and grooming implements. A stout young maid assisted the princess to step into the soapy water; a second hastened to summon Julia’s personal companion who would style the Princess’ auburn hair; a third brought a tray of sponges and warm towels; and the fourth caused Julia to beam with pleasure, as she brought a plate of little pastries and iced chocolates and popped one between her royal mistress’ lips on command each time Julia opened her mouth to signal her fancy. 

Pretty soon, as she lay back to enjoy her morning regime, Julia de Gorja’s fleshy belly bulged above the surface of her bubbly bathwater. If her maids happened to notice this sign of the considerable weight their mistress had put on, while they were sponging and oiling the curvaceous Princess’ fleshy physique, they didn’t mention it.  In due course, once the Princess had enjoyed a long bath, and the water began to cool, a pair of maids assisted her to stand, and wrapped her in warm, fluffy towels. Then, once she was dry and standing on a fresh towel, they began to slather their mistress in her expensive body lotion.

Julia de Gorja’s vanilla-scented body lotion was produced by the best alchemists in Aquila: the moisturising cream was made from a base of troll-fat, and the full power of the alchemical arts had been applied to purify the pertness-restoring and youth-rejuvenating essences of the cream. Julia’s mother swore by troll-fat lotion, for maintaining the youthful beauty of her skin – as did many of the other richest noble ladies of West Aquila, who prized its cellulite-banishing properties. Even better, so far as noble ladies were concerned, the lotion was very hard to make, and hence exclusive and expensive! There was no chance that a merchant’s daughter, or a Knight's wife, for example, could afford the stuff! (Or, at least, they could not afford properly-mixed lotion free from the obesity-risk suffered by ladies who used poorly-purified and untested batches of the famously regenerative troll fat)! Hence, the radiant beauty of Julia’s skin was not only captivating, and sure to drive her husband-to-be, Prince Alex, wild with lust at first sight, but also a clear sign of Royal wealth and influence!

Another sign of Julia de Gorja’s Royal wealth was her prosperously curvaceous figure – more or less. In fact, Julia was at present unfashionably fat, especially around her bulging lower half, for West Aquilan ideals. But the Princess had both a reason for this, and a solution! The reason was that the de Gorja family spy network had learned Julia’s handsome husband-to-be had a lust for overly-voluptuous beauties. And so, to ensure a firm alliance with his powerful family, Julia had been encouraged to fatten up – not that the greedy princess needed any encouragement there! Indeed, for Julia de Gorja, fattening up simply meant indulging herself as normal; applying extra troll-fat lotion daily to prevent cellulite; and cancelling the fat-siphoning contract with the Kingdom's Court Sorceress... The latter of which Julia intended to reinstate, once she was married – it simply wouldn’t do for court ladies to snigger at her fat bottom and round belly, so she would hire a Helvetian Sorceress to siphon off her excess flab as soon as the honeymoon was over. 

After all, a pertly well-rounded figure was de rigeur among highborn ladies of West Aquila. Such a modestly voluptuous figure was the ideal, for it demonstrated beauty, fertility, appetite, and the wealth to indulge in ample fine fare. Excess fatness, on the other hand – despite being the natural consequence of highborn or wealthy ladies gorging themselves and being competitively overfed by husbands eager to showcase their rich fortune – was not the ideal! The kind of fat belly Julia de Gorja now sported was, in fact, a sign of poor self-control – and, crucially, poor self-control in a woman whose status was not high enough to afford well-made weight-control potions or even the Slimming Sorcery available to the most powerful royalty.

Julia smirked, as her maids finished dressing her – tying a silk belt around the flattering pastel silk gown that partly concealed her fat bulges, while revealing the large canyon of cleavage between the chubby Princess's creamy breasts. The princess looked forward to slimming down a little, for fashion’s sake, after she’d cemented herself in her new husband’s affection. Or, more accurately, she looked forward to being slimmed down – Julia had already signed an excruciatingly costly contract with a Helvetian Sorceress named Aura Yce, to transfer away thirty pounds of flab in due course, without the bother of diet or exercise! No! Ms Yce, in return for many pounds of gold, would be eating the steamed greens and doing the thousands of sit-ups which it would take to shed Julia de Gorja’s excess abdominal fat! Or, at least, Ms Yce would have to do those things, if she ever wanted to be seen again in the notoriously vain and beauty-conscious culture of the Helvetian High Sorceresses. But that wasn’t Julia’s problem.

“Thank you, Becky! You’ve done an exquisite job, as ever!” Princess Julia praised her senior maid for the perfect styling she’d applied to Julia’s glossy, gold-highlighted auburn hair.

With her maids thanked formally, Julia forgot about them. Her tummy was rumbling! And, although she had eaten to enormous excess the night before, and put away over a dozen little pastries and chocolates during her bath, she was hungry.

Julia patted her belly, inadvertently spoiling the plumpness-disguising shape of her gown in the process. It was getting late in the morning, and it was time for a big breakfast!

 

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1 hour ago, Batman76 said:

Alright, so far we've got a steely eyed bad ass trying not to go soft and a spoiled rotten princess trying to get out of the inevitable consequences of her gluttonous behavior...every chapter has been perfect so far...

I feel like I've stolen these clichés from somewhere. Oh well. 

Phoibe Silversteel - Brave Paladin of Aquila. 5’10’’ flaxen-haired (blonde hair, straight, to shoulders) and ocean blue eyes. 170 lbs – muscular but can’t turn down dessert from flattering suitors. Age 27. Twist: thirsty man-eater.

Aura Yce – The hottest (and hence most powerful, but also vainest) sorceress of her generation. 5’11 ¾’’ Ice-white hair and jade green eyes. 130 lbs – lean everywhere except her pert boobs. Age 36. Twist: gambler.

Julia di Gorja – Pampered daughter of a royal family, fiancé is the Prince of Roem. 5’8’’ hair is glossy, auburn with gold highlights, in ringlets and her eyes are dark and alluring. 220 lbs – pampered with a hefty plump belly. Age 19. Twist: skilled gossip-monger.

 Xenia <???>

 

Chapter 1 (part 3): Aura Yce

The echoing, concrete-domed Pantheon building, with its ancient marble statues and vivid mosaics of ancient scenes, was an inspiring sight. The Royal Court of the Old City, on the other hand, was in no way inspiring. It resembled nothing more than an excuse for a parade of odd characters from obsolete institutions – government officials with no physical office, priests from shrines with no attendees, etc. – to get together and bore the pants off of civic dignitaries and their “honoured” visitors with better things to do, all whilst wearing silly clothes.

Aura Yce, Helvetian Sorceress, was in the category of “honoured visitor” to the Old City. Although, as it happened, an untrained observer might assume that her outfit – consisting of miniscule amounts of gauzy silk arranged around a forged silver brassiere, a chunky gold belt, high-heeled sandals, and literally nothing else except jewellery – indicated she was one of the people attending the Royal Court of the Old City in the capacity of “obsolete official wearing silly clothes.” They would be wrong. Aura Yce was visiting the Old City on business, and had been unable to come up with a valid excuse to not bother attending the Court at the invitation of her would-be employer.

Aura draped herself against the blocky marble base of a statue, and glared at the court proceedings – currently involving a man with an elephant-foot staff reciting a list with the assistance of incidental music from a flute-player – with a look of extreme boredom. Her lips curled in amusement at the number of equally bored male courtiers whose eyes were drinking in her alluring figure... That, at least, gave Aura a smug feeling.

There were perks of being a Helvetian High Sorceress. The arts of High Sorcery – the most prestigious form of magic in the civilised world, and the most powerful of the legal kinds – included physique-perfecting spells that meant every Helvetian Sorceress possessed beauty leagues beyond that of the most naturally pretty woman in the world.  Aura herself, as perhaps the most gifted sorceress of her generation, also enjoyed the youth of a woman aged eternally-nineteen, despite having been born almost twice as long ago. And, having honed her skills at the College of High Sorcery where power meant beauty and so proving one’s prowess meant winning ultra-competitive beauty contests, Aura had grown to enjoy having her body admired. Of course, it came at a price: two thousand sit-ups a day; another thousand if she planned on eating an evening meal; and seldom any indulgence more satisfying than lightly-steamed greens. But, for that price, Aura Yce was six-foot of ice-haired, sapphire-eyed, elemental beauty, and she had abdominal muscles that could grate cheese. Not that, unlike the overfed court ladies around her, Aura ever ate cheese...

Aura’s mood soured as she glared across the Pantheon. She’d spotted the complete lard-encased butterball who was the West Aquilan princess with whom Aura had a contract.

“What a fucking fat ass!” Aura sneered.

Sorcery was expensive. For example, unicorn horns weren’t cheap (they weren’t particularly legal in some Kingdoms, either, which didn’t help with the price). Dragon scales didn’t grow on trees. And when an alchemical recipe called for a “hundred gold-piece gemstone” the economics of sorcery was really not very flexible. Therefore, any young sorceress who wanted more power and advancement than the stingy High Mistresses of the College offered, was a sorceress who needed gold, and lots of it.

Thirty pounds of gold was exactly what Princess Julia de Gorja had contracted to pay Aura Yce... In return for Aura using her high sorcery to siphon out thirty pounds of the plump princess’s blubber.

“Thirty fucking pounds!” Aura glared at the oblivious princess – who quite possibly, Aura decided, lacked the perfect vision with which Aura could easily recognise faces on the far side of the court.

Aura was six-foot tall, and absolutely shredded. She carried zero visible fat anywhere – apart from her perfectly sculpted breasts, of course. She could, in her opinion, add thirty pounds of flesh to her sub-130 pound physique, and have the disgusting surplus fat exercised away within two months. Whereas she’d get to keep Princess Julia’s gold indefinitely. So she’d agreed the contract by letter, and promised to meet the porked-up princess in Roem.

The only problem Aura foresaw was that thirty pounds of slimming would, obviously, make little dent on Princess Julia de Gorja’s blatant obesity!

“Ugh!” Aura spat.

It was disgusting to see a young princess, of perhaps 19, with a belly so fat she looked pregnant, and thighs so wide that a long, flowing dress did nothing to conceal their bulk. Aura, who seldom wore more clothes than a bra and thong, plus a bit of jewellery, was repelled by the sight. The question Aura could ask Julia de Gorja – although it would annoy a rich customer, so she wouldn’t – was, “thirty pounds? Which of your thighs would you like to slim down to a reasonable size, Princess?” The Princess, as a whole, could clearly stand to lose a hundred pounds of flab! And, frankly, still be unfashionably overweight – except maybe by West Aquila’s plump standards!

“Hmm.” Aura mused.

Princess Julia was clearly a pig. But she was rich... Julia de Gorja could easily be good for more than 30 pounds of gold. The question was, was Aura Yce hungry enough for money and magical power that she’d be willing to let her 6-foot physique grow even more disgustingly fat than 160 lbs?

Aura mused on the question while the weird ceremonies of the Royal Court of the Old City continued, and she feared the answer was yes...

 

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Even by the peculiar standards of the Old City’s ceremonies – which had evolved and grown ever weirder over a thousand years and a few hundred more – the Oracle’s entourage was eye-catching. There was flute-player dressed as a lizard, and an old codger dressed as a wizard. And, accompanying them was a muscular, oiled slave (cute and very snackable, in the view of at least one hungry woman in the audience) carrying a brass gong and striking it with his bonger every time the lizard and the wizard doffed their silly hats. Which was about every five steps.

“What the fuck is this?” Aura asked herself.

It was only when the peculiar trio reached the steps of the King’s throne that they announced themselves as the servants of the Oracle – or, THE ORACLE, as it perhaps should be – and proclaimed some news of real importance which made Aura Yce actually stop sulking that she’d wasted the day by coming to Court.

“The Thrones of All-Power!” Proclaimed the Lizard.

Bong!

“THE ORACLE has foreseen!” Yelled the old man dressed up in baggy red robes as if he were a wizard of some sort.

Bong!

“Foreseen what?” Aura mused.

Aura Yce had heard of The Thrones, of course. Every sorceress had. In short, during the age of myths, the first Gods – called the Titans – had received their power from the Thrones. Subsequently, the Titans had vanished, taking their world-shaking powers with them, except for some scrappy second-rate magic with which they’d imbued the oldest and greatest of the Gods... Blah, blah, blah, history happened. And, according to legend, one day the Titan Thrones would return to the world, offering their nigh-infinite powers to a new generation of Titans...

Needless to say, the powers of the Titan Thrones were significantly greater than the magic which Aura Yce could obtain with thirty pounds of gold to buy dragon scales and rent a unicorn horn!

“The Thrones of All-Power have awakened! They have revealed this news to THE ORACLE!” Said the man dressed as a big green lizard wearing a stupid hat.

Bong!

The Oracle of the Old City was, Aura knew, one of the very few reliable of her ilk. So Aura’s ears pricked up, as the Lizard continued.

“And THE ORACLE extends the invitation of the Thrones to all, through this Old City’s court! Let whomever would claim the Titan Thrones present their CHAMPION at the ORACLE’s ISLE, thirty days hence on the night of the full moon! A great CONTEST shall be held, and THE ORACLE will reveal the location of the FIRST THRONE to the victor!”

Bong!

“Hmm.” Aura mused. “A contest, huh?”

Aura enjoyed contests. She enjoyed winning them, in particular. In Helvetia’s endless parade of beauty contests, she’d never lost one in fifteen years. In formal duels of magic, she’d won eight out of ten. And, in any other contest... Well, High Sorcery trumped everything else, and she was very strong in High Sorcery. Which meant – maybe – a Titan Throne? Unlimited cosmic power? Well, there wasn’t anything to ponder. Whatever the Oracle’s contest involved, Aura Yce planned to win it!

“Lizard!” Aura shouted across the confused Royal Court. “My name is Aura Yce, sorceress of Helvetia, and I am your Oracle’s first competitor!”

 

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On 3/12/2021 at 7:48 PM, boss frond said:

This is shaping up very nicely! Loving princess Julia at the moment.

Thanks! Pretty pleased with character # 4, if I say so myself...

 

 

Chapter 1 (part 4/4): Xenia, Witch-Queen of Luxara

 

The swamplands of Luxara.

Deep in the arid Badlands, somewhere between the Central Sea and the exotic east, the rocky terrain plunges downwards and crumbling red cliffs drop through humid haze to a living world of lurid green. It is the Basin of Luxara. Once, it was a sea, and the centre of a terrible civilisation of now-forgotten sages and sorcerers. The ruins of their palaces and seaports dot the tops of a few ridges and mountainous edges of the great swamp, but little besides remains of the Old World. In its place, a shifting pattern of migrating tribes – the Sun, Moon, Wyvern, Jaguar, and more – make war on each other with weapons of obsidian and bronze, each seeking to claim as their own the safest lands in the noxious swamp, and, of course, to appease their gods with the blood of their enemies...

Only one tribe in the swamplands lives free from the threat of war and dinosaur rampages. That is the Serpent Tribe, safe in their mountainside valley, for none in Luxara will risk the wrath of the all-powerful sorceress they worship as a goddess: The Witch-Queen of Luxara, Xenia. No storyteller knows any tale of a time before her coming to Luxara – with her supreme mastery of the elements, blood, and other magics besides, Xenia has ruled from her cyclopean mountain temple and enjoyed absolute power for centuries.

The Witch-Queen herself, however, as the swamplands of Luxara sweltered under a steaming hot noon and she herself retired to the cool opulence of her personal chambers, carved into the mountainside, would admit to one teeny problem caused by enjoying centuries of absolute power. Well, perhaps two problems.

Problem number one: not enough sex! Well, that wasn’t true at all. In fact, Queen Xenia’s harem, of young males bred for their beauty and trained to serve their goddess’s lusts, rivalled that of the most decadent sultan of the Central Sea. Alas, the problem faced by a woman whose city-state held her in awe and fear was that, for centuries, none in her harem had dared to administer so much as the lightest spanking to their mistress’s bottom – without the most explicit and tedious command. And, until one recent day, the Witch-Queen had almost forgotten how much she missed such treatment! That day had come when Queen Xenia had chanced to attend a slave auction at a Luxaran trading centre, and her eye had been caught by an alluring specimen from the distant Central Sea, by the name, apparently, of “Knight.”

Some weeks later, Queen Xenia found herself bored. It was a boiling hot day, as ever in Luxara, and she had passed the afternoon slaking her usual lusts – first, with a half dozen young concubines; then with a golden bucket filled with spiced bananas and mountain-yak butter, enriched with the puissant syrups of some of Luxara’s narcotic plantlife. Neither indulgence really satiated the Witch-Queen, for so strong were her powers of blood sorcery that her eternally youthful body held a boundless endurance which soon consumed both pleasures and demanded more. And more. And so, after a second serving of both pleasures, and feeling stuffed with banana and syrup but still bored and with a desire for more of something, the Queen had demanded her new barbarian slave brought to her – and quickly found herself adrift in an uncontrollable ocean of sexual delights, from which she might never escape!

The barbarian, Knight, was nothing like Xenia’s other concubines. Oh, he was handsome and strong, and pumped her full of his seed, but the Witch-Queen was accustomed to a dozen such handsome snacks a day, and they left her yawning and unsatisfied. Knight was different. After filling his mistress to a most satisfactory extent, he did something unexpected – he uncouthly pressed on the Witch-Queen’s banana-and-butter-filled belly, so hard it made her gasp with surprise and loudly burp!

“How dare you!” Xenia had gasped.

But touching his mistress without permission was the very least of what Knight dared! With limited vocabulary, he told her so.

“You are grown plump, Witch-Queen!” He said, and dared to press again on her full belly.

“Huh?” Xenia had gasped, as a rush of unexpected pleasure filled her for the first time in many years. She brushed her jet-black hair away from her bronzed face and gazed at her barbarian slave in shock.

Fat, indeed! For you eat too much, Queen of Luxara!” Said Knight.

Xenia gasped again, almost paralysed by the exotic sensation elicited by the barbarian’s touch and words! Could it be sorcery? She felt a huge surge of power building within her, as her adrenaline pumped and her blood rushed - and the Witch-Queen spread her mighty thighs and commanded the barbarian do what she wanted.

“More!” Xenia felt close to a momentous climax!

But the barbarian didn’t comply! She’d wanted to be fucked – and hard! Now! But what the Witch-Queen got was something very different. Oh, Knight jumped on top of her, alright, and she orgasmed so hard she nearly blacked out. But the cause wasn’t the demanded fucking, but a huge fistful of syrupy banana with butter, shoved into her mouth!

Xenia climaxed. It took minutes for her to recover. When she did, she complained loudly to the barbarian on top of her.

“I should have you flayed! Uhn! More!” Said the Witch-Queen.

Xenia gulped hard, as another fistful of sweet, spicy banana and butter was forced messily into her mouth.

“Argh! I mean fuck me more! Not feed me!” Xenia yelled after swallowing. “I’m not hungry! In fact, I’m stuffed!”

Gulp.

Xenia swallowed more food.

“Are you insane? I said I’m full! Stop! No more!” Xenia shouted.

A moment passed. Xenia panted – and felt a twinge of disappointment, as if, actually, she didn’t really want the barbarian to stop stuffing her. Then she realised he’d only paused as he reached for a new, fuller bucket of bananas and butter.

“No! Mmph!” Xenia gasped, as she felt the bucket tipped to her lips, and Knight began to shove the gooey contents into her mouth, spilling some, but gorging the Witch-Queen with more!

Gulp! Gulp! Gulp!

As the barbarian fed her, they fucked, until the Witch-Queen reached the last mouthful of banana gunge... And a colossal simultaneous orgasm that left her gasping.

“Uhn!” Xenia panted, eventually. She felt sick.

“I should have you flayed.” Xenia said, but with zero conviction.

“More?” The barbarian asked.

“Yes.” Said Xenia, before realising exactly what she had been enjoying so much about her new sex slave. “I mean no! Absolutely not! I’ve eaten so much I feel very sick, and I have a figure to maintain!”

Knight pressed Xenia’s churning belly. Then he reached for a plate of candied fruit.

“More...”

 

* * *

 

Problem number two, for the Witch-Queen who has enjoyed absolute power for centuries: when one does finally obtain the barbarian feeder one never knew one wanted, the fact of also having ten-thousand servants who worship one as a goddess, and race to fulfil one's every whim, means that one can do quite a bit of damage to one’s figure in a space of a few short years...

Perhaps Knight spoke truly, however: maybe Xenia the Witch-Queen really had grown plump over the centuries. Maybe, as she mastered the secret powers of the lost Old World of Luxara and added them to her already immense sorcerous powers, she had engorged not only her magical might but also the size of her body! Maybe her hips, strong with blood magic and the elemental strength of mountains, truly had grown to an engorged, over-voluptuous fifty inches around – even before she had met her barbarian. Perhaps her figure, her breasts, and her strong shoulders had grown plush and sleekly fat over the centuries – unnoticed, because her sorcery gave her such physical strength that a few dozen pounds was as nothing. She wouldn’t have noticed, for the only mirror in her temple-palace was a vast obsidian relic recovered by the Serpent Tribe from the Old World of Luxara, which was enchanted to show the viewer anything in the world that might interest her – but which was notoriously unreliable in providing true reflections of the world in front of it.

Or perhaps not. Every day, Queen Xenia had continued to express outrage to Knight that his harsh words about her Fat Figure – as much as they made the sorceress squirm with pleasure – were untrue. Or, indeed, that if she had gained even so much as a pound or two since her youth, it must have been in the last three years, and entirely due to his ill-disciplined lusts for overfeeding her during their frequent visits to her Pleasure Chambers. But every day, Knight – even after he taught her the West Aquilan language and tried unsuccessfully to make the Witch-Queen use his real name – had brusquely denied Xenia’s claims, called her plump or sometimes even very fat, admonished her for her eating habits, spanked her roughly, and then force-fed her more buttered bananas than she wanted, even after she screamed for him to stop. And she’d loved every day of it.

One way or another, this had consequences. And those consequences included fifty-inch hips, and long, sleek thighs with girth to match. Which was fine, for a Witch Queen with absolute power, and little need to dress for travel beyond her private chambers, except for occasional ceremonial events where her forged-gold bustier was fastened with gold chains to which extra links had been – according to one of Knight’s scurrilous claims – surreptitiously added by the Serpent Tribe’s metal workers.

Weight-gain, over the centuries, was a problem, however, for a sorcerer-queen who wished to once again wear the armor that had been crafted a long time ago, when she was a heroine of the Republic of Roem. Especially when that armor, made for a lithe six-foot heroine with very little bulk beyond toned muscles and ample breasts, had been fabricated from the indestructible, scaly, regenerating hide of her first great foe: the Great Hydra!

“Knight!” Queen Xenia demanded, as she returned from the chamber of the Black Mirror, with knowledge that the Oracle of Roem had issued a contest for a great prize.

Her barbarian replied – just a little slower than he might.

“Yes, My Queen. What is your wish today?”

Xenia’s lips curled, in anticipation of the severe scolding she was about to receive.

“Bring my Hydrascale Armor, Knight.”

Just as Queen Xenia hoped, her command elicited a laugh, a slap on her rump, and a candied fruit forced between her lips.

“Your Hydrascale Armor, my Queen? You’re much too fat to squeeze into it! You do know that, don’t you?”

“Don’t be so stupid, barbarian!” Xenia retorted. “I was a lithe young adventuress in my youth, when my armor was made to commemorate my first great triumph. And I’m scarcely an inch larger today, over a thousand years later, except perhaps on my bust which has filled out pleasingly over the years!”

Spank!

“Uh huh?” Replied Knight.

“Yes.”

“You’ve grown more than an inch fatter since breakfast, My Queen. But if you want your Hydrascale Armor, I’ll be happy to bring it to prove, once and for all, how corpulent and fat you’ve allowed yourself to become over the centuries.”

Xenia pouted.

“Huh. In that case, Barbarian, bring a bucket of butter, in addition to my armor.”

Butter, is the last thing you should be asking for, Witch-Queen. It’ll make you even fatter that you already are!”

Xenia sucked air though her teeth.

“No, moron! It’s not to eat! Not today, anyway! You’re to slather me all over in butter, and then, after fucking me to work up a slick sweat, you can help roll the Hydraskin over my greased body! As if that wasn’t obviously what I meant!”

Knight pretended to look concerned.

“What if I can’t squeeze you into it, My Queen?” He asked.

“Then I’ll have you flayed! And perhaps I might eat you afterwards. I am a powerful blood sorceress, so I can do that, you know!”

“Heh.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Guess I’d better start by bringing two buckets of butter then, My Queen... One for each thigh!”

 

* *

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