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Cakes In Cambridge

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About Cakes In Cambridge

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  • Birthday 11/07/1985
  • Location Cambridge, UK

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    6' 5" (196cm)

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  1. Chapter 5 - Kara as a well rounded stage act. ********************Tour four. Europe night 18*************************** “Go my revellers! My little hedonists! My true believers!” Kara was addressing the rear lounge, which was full almost to bursting. There must be half of the guests here! More, this looks like two thirds at least! All coming to see us? Incredible! It’s not us, Kara! It’s the Goddess that they want. It’s permission to seek pleasure. It’s encouragement! I mean, that and we look fucking awesome in the cloak today. “Get out there and savour everything. Drink in the sights, the music, the drinks if you can! Oktoberfest is a time of celebration. Of excess! I was created by an Oktoberfest. Not so far from this one!” You know, that’s probably true. I think I can see our old house from here. It’s going to be sad to quit this gig. You’re telling me, other Kara. But, it’s not really sustainable it is. We’ve grown so big. So fucking big. Hey! Stop that! Don’t you get too horny to give your little speech now! Let’s go out with a bang! “So go! Try a little bit of anything. Find the very best of EVERYTHING! The very best of the very finest of the most exquisite and decadent. And bring it back to me!” With that Marcelo and Dante flung open the doors and almost 30 people streamed out, through the lobby, and off into the fading afternoon light. “Well that was…something” Marcelo said. “I hope you can handle what’s coming!” agreed Dante. “I can. This can” She slapped her round belly, which wobbled heartily. Almost wish the weight limit on the contract didn’t exist, don’t you? Almost wish there was no safety net to stop you from swelling up like this forever. Almost, other Kara. Almost. “Wake me up when they get back” *************** In the end they hadn’t needed to – Oktoberfest revelling tends to make people loud. If the beer and wurst don’t get you, the oompas will. The first three to return had been, predictably, carrying beer and sausage. They had walked in to find Kara just waking on the couch, but her eyes had lit up when she saw them. She groggily managed to sit upright, spread her legs wide to let her round belly sit a little lower, spread her arms even wider in welcome and then rested them on the back of the seat on each side of her. “Feed me and receive your pleasure!” she leant back her head and opened her mouth. The three rushed forward, almost tripping over themselves to push great glistening chunks of sausage meat between her perfect teeth. They spilt a lot of the beer pouring it into her tankard, but there more than enough left to wash down their offerings. And every second she moaned with the pleasure of being fed, of being adored and worshipped, of being sculpted into this masterpiece. She told them how the food tasted, how rich, how greasy, how perfectly crisp on the outside and succulent in the middle. She licked her lips and then demanded more. The three ran back out into the autumn night. Aurelie rolled her eyes and harped embarrassedly. The next group came minutes later, and then the next. Before long there was a steady stream of guests returning from their festivities. Some more steady than others. Many had given the Bavarian branch of their own hired security the slip to return out onto Theresienwiese after claiming they were done for the night. And the sight that awaited them, that awarded them for their efforts, was shocking. Kara was refusing to move a muscle. No. Not refusing. She just didn’t need to. She was laid back against the seat with her arms and legs spread wide. Her golden head-dress was still on, but her golden bikini was as good as gone. Her hugely enlarged breasts had been freed to rest atop her great round belly and both were shining with beer, with sweat, with saliva, with oil. Where yesterday she had had angry purple stretch marks, today she had painted them all gold and so given her breasts, her hips, and her enormous belly wreaths of their own. It was impossible to know if she was wearing her bikini bottoms or not: her heaving gut obscured the view at the front, and at the sides there were at least two rolls that might hide a golden string. Three of her worshipers were forcing food into her simultaneously, fighting each other for the privilege of enlarging her further with each hundred-Euro mouthful. One poured more beer. Not into her tankard, but directly into her open mouth. On either side of her, Marcelo and Dante were working hard. Their muscles gleamed and writhed as they massaged her belly. Now and then, Marcelo took time to squeeze and wobble her hips, eliciting further moans of pleasure, and then moved onto cupping her breasts and ensuring that her nipples stuck out like corks. He lifted one and let it drop onto her belly causing a wobble that ran all down her front. And another moan. Dante was only using one hand on her belly. His other herculean arm was wedged in between the soft meat of Kara’s strong thigh, and the ever increasing mass of her belly. He’d shoved the material of her bikini bottom aside to let him caress her fattened and continually-engorged vulva. He cupped it, slapped it, and used two thick, strong fingers to fill her from below. Kara wouldn’t have given him up for anything. But, he wasn’t teasing her this time. Every ten minutes or so, he’d demand the revelers stop putting things in her mouth and stare deeply into her eyes. And then he’d let them all watch her come. Hugely, expansively, messily. He’d let her squirt all over his hand and wipe it on her belly while she bucked and wobbled, stuffed to the brim. He’d lean up, press his hard cock into her huge wobbling middle and whisper in her ear about how heavy she was, and how much she had that nobody in the whole boat could ever hope to achieve. Oh god, thought Kara, we may actually go out with a bang. So full. So bloated. So heavy. We need to stop. No! We’re not stopping! Look at the work these poor fools are putting into sculpting us. Tens of thousands of Euros each night. Their dignity as well! They’re fighting with each other to pour their riches down our throat. Aren’t you scared we’ll pop? No, don’t be silly, it’d hurt first. Ok, well then aren’t you scared we’ll get too big to walk out of here? No, we’ll hit the weight limit and get fired first. We agreed! That’s what tonight is about. You know as well as I do that we’re just as big as Joanne was. They’ll kick us out at the end of this cruise. And then we’ll just be fat and incredibly rich. And after a while, we’ll just be rich. Was that a pang of sadness I just felt? You can’t hide from me, other Kara. A little part of us wants to keep doing this forever, eating, and growing, being worshiped and adored, with servants we can literally tell to do anything. A little part wants to spend our evenings on all fours, being fucked by Dante, while rich suckers pour money down our throat until our breasts and belly rest on the ground. I can’t believe *I’m* the one saying this. But it might be a good thing there’s a limit. Holy crap what is that? Is that Chocolate and Raspberry Gateau? Shit. It does actually hurt a little now. We may just pop, but we NEED to eat that. Are you with me? Oh to hell with it. Of course I am. I’m with you to the end of the line, other Kara. Kara opened her eyes and let the room swim back into focus. She saw the crowd hadn’t gone anywhere, but nobody was holding any food any more. She heard the Ping! Ping! Ping! of the people taking turns to tap the ‘satisfied’ marker on the door. Behind her Marcelo was rubbing his tired arms. “Fuck your tits are getting heavy” he whispered. Kara clamped down involuntarily on Dante’s hand, but her lazy and overexerted muscles did nothing to him but make him rub her harder in response. She shuddered. He motioned for everyone to step back again, and upped his tempo. He tried to lift her gut with the other hand to give himself room to work, but the huge weight was too slippery with spilt calories to hold. “No! More cake now!” she demanded and the guest with the cake stepped forward again and pushed a huge piece into her mouth. God, she could barely breath, her mouth was stuffed with the moistest, heaviest, most ‘Black Forest’ cake she had ever eaten, her lungs were being squashed from below by combined work of hundreds of devoted followers. And, below that, a man who’d jokingly refused to help her control herself was working his magic. She could feel how tight her skin was. On her thighs, on her hips, on her upper arms, all down her sides, her skin tingled as it stretched to contain more fat than ever before. As her body grew slowly, her belly grew slightly more quickly, but the pressure in her pelvis grew much, much faster. Dante moved his strong fingers quicker. And quicker. Kara started to wobble from the force of his hand inside her. She struggled to gulp down the cake and had even more stuffed into her mouth. And then, smoothly, Dante Pulled the front of his gold trunks down, pressed his hard cock against her belly and kissed her. Hard. Kara had no choice but to come. Nothing else could possibly have happened. Her heavy breasts wobbled under Dante’s chest, her fattened belly jiggled and bounced against his penis. Somewhere, buried under months of gluttony, there was a snap as the bikini gave way, Kara felt that. And, in response, she felt her body squirt copiously onto the floor in front of a roomful of captive millionaires. There was a very posh collective gasp. Dante pulled out and played with her clit to make her gush again just for the hell of it. And then reached up and kissed her more. He held her as she stopped bucking and started trembling. And then as she stopped trembling and opened her eyes. To thunderous applause. “Welcome back, Goddess” The clapping nearly drowned him out. “Why thank you! Everyone, you may leave us now!” The crowd continued to cheer even as they filed out. Ping. Ping. Ping. went the door. Aurelie put away her instrument, and Marcelo locked the door as Dante helped Kara stand up. He looked her up and down as she waddled towards the hatch and he chuckled. “What are you so cheerful about?” “Oh, nothing! I’m just happy that the union finally got rid of that contracted weight limit.” Other Kara and other Kara looked at each other. Fin.
  2. Chapter 4 - By her forty-eighth performance it's getting into her. *******************************Tour 1. America night 13****************************** Hypothetically, it is possible to do this job and stay in shape. You remember, Kara, we promised that we were going to do that? We worked it out. If we fasted from the end of one cruise to the start of the next, and only ate tiny breakfasts and no lunch, then we’d start each cruise the exact same weight as the one before. Hey! Your highness, I’m talking to you! Do we remember that? Do you also remember, O Kara, Goddess of Pleasure, that we sucked *hard* at fasting from Dubai to Istanbul? And then, we sucked *harder* at not eating during the day across Europe? And then we sucked the *hardest* at not fasting from Dublin to New York. And, so, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, that we’ve been putting on weight? Did you spot that? Did it even enter your pleasure-addled brain? Did you notice the strings on our bikini getting a little shorter? Did you see that the only things that fit us now are the stretchy dresses we brought onboard? Hey, did you see all that? Yes. Oh. Good. I thought you had, I was just checking. Now will you shut up? I’m trying to come without spraying food everywhere. As Kara kept an audience of three Japanese clients titillated by taking sequential bites from the enormous Texan Cheeseburgers that they’d brought her, a very expensive remote controlled vibrator squirmed and pulsed within her. Rightly figuring that she’d not have a spare hand, she’d given the control to Dante, and he had been letting her have a little here and a little there for the last three hours. He’d turn it on when she was looking full and sluggish, and then off again the moment before she came hard and gave the game away. For three hours, she’d desperately wanted to come. For three hours she’d been denied. For three hours she’d felt the swelling mass of her stomach and intestines putting more and more pressure on the vibe, and it had rewarded her by sinking its head into her g-spot a little harder after every mouthful. For three hours she’d been trying to work out how to hide her impending orgasm from the bastard with the control. For three hours she’d failed. But not this time! This time we’ve got him. Hey, don’t include me in this, I think it’s stupid even if it feels so…so...ok, do include me in this. This time we’re holding our breathing steady, this time we’re just doing food moans. This time we’ll get there. God, we’re wet. This time…oh god we’re close…don’t stop…We’re just about to… Dante stopped. No! Fuck you, Dante. Not again. Fuck this! No! “Marcelo. Feed me. Right now!” Marcelo, just as feline as his boyfriend, sprung from the end of the couch. “I thought you’d never ask…er…O, Goddess!” getting more into character as he realized that there were three suited faces showing a lot of interest in this development. He started gently offering the burgers to Kara in turn. Kara dropped her hands onto her belly and closed her eyes to block out the Japanese businessmen. I can’t believe we’re about to do this. Well believe it, that bastard has pushed us too damn far! Before she lost the buzz, she had her hand inside her…fuck these are getting a little tight…inside her gold bikini bottoms and on her clit. Oh. Wow. Everything was so wet. So hot. So plump with blood. Are we sure that’s blood? Are we sure we’re not just getting fat? Not just becoming a monument to hedonism by taking what these people can’t have? The thought sent another jolt of pleasure through her system. How fat? Show me. Her other hand rubbed her belly. She could really sink her fingers in a little now. She jiggled it and felt the ripples run across her, from her heavier breasts to her love handles. Oh. Her heart skipped a beat. The Goddess had given herself love handles. Her hand was soaked and she couldn’t think straight. So greedy. So hedonistic. So hungry. She needed filling. Needed to grow. Needed to swell. She needed something filling her mouth right now. And, lacking that which she’d prefer, more cheeseburger would have to do. “Feed me like a Goddess, Servant!” she moaned. Marcelo glanced at Dante, who shrugged. He pushed the remained of one burger into Kara’s face as far as he could. Dante turned the vibe back on for good measure. Kara’s mind exploded. She bucked, unable to help it. Gasped. Almost choked on cheese and meat. Spat it out. Gasped some more. Her hand was soaking and wet. Had Dante’s device made her squirt? Had Marcelo’s forceful feeding made her too wet to hold? Who cared? She put her head back and enjoyed feeling her body tremble. Well there’s a warm feeling that’s not going to go away. We need to get back to the cabin as soon as we can, I want to go again. You, my darling self, are insatiable. Agreed. Kara opened her eyes just in time to watch the Japanese men leaving without a word, all stopping to ping the ‘Satisfied’ marker on the door. Dante stood to lock the door after them. When he turned, Kara was surprised to see he was so hard as to be barely contained by his costume. Oooh. Huh. Oh. OHHHHH! That’s why Marcelo had been so protective. Not, as it turns out, gay. Just very specifically bi. Huh. There was a bang as Aurelie slammed her harp case into its locker behind the bar. She stormed off without saying anything. Her ears were red. Prude! Is she a prude, though? Or are we just a huge slut? Getting huger by the day, Kara dear. Oh, other Kara you tease, take me to bed or lose me forever! Kara mumbled something about good night and ran for it. Is this really ‘running for it’ though, Kara? This is more ‘waddling for it’, isn’t it? Oh fuck. That’s really hot. Goddesses don’t run, they either fly or waddle, and you’re doing both. Oh. Shit why is this cabin so far away? Oh, up these stairs you mean? The stairs you barely even noticed on your first day, but now, stuffed full of prizes and offerings, molded by your worshippers, you’re really having to work to get up? Those stairs? God, you can hardly keep your hand out of your pants can you? Are you really so addicted to pleasure that you can’t keep a lid on kitty for 60 seconds? Come on, you great fat artwork, through this little cabin door. Doubt you’ll fit through here for much longer, at the rate you’re growing. That’s if you don’t hit the weight limit and get thrown out first! Teasing herself mercilessly, Kara locked her door and jammed her hand back down her bikini. The waistband cut into the back of her hand. God, she’d gotten so round that she couldn’t make herself come in comfort. She pulled off the garment and tried again. She was having to reach *around* to get inside herself. The very idea almost made her come. Almost. But, she didn’t want fingers inside. She wanted the tool she’d got a glimpse of earlier. She wanted the man who’d tortured her for most of the evening. Inside her. Filling her in another way. This Goddess demanded to be totally and utterly full, by all meanings of the word, before she could come again. And she demanded it happen within the next thirty seconds. Good luck with that one, Goddess! thought Kara. There was a gentle knock at the door. We don’t have to answer it. We do though. Ugh. “Who is it?” The vibe inside her gave an answering buzz. Kara leapt from the bed, and opened the door without covering up at all…to find Marcelo. “What?” she hissed, trying to hide behind her door. “You can *borrow* him. But make him have a shower before he comes home!” Marcelo stepped aside and Dante peeked around the door frame. “I love you!” Marcelo said as he kissed his partner on the cheek “Be good. Come home before breakfast!” And he was gone. And Dante wasn’t. Neither of them said anything. Kara recovered her hunger almost immediately and pulled the man into her cabin. He broke away to close and lock the door, and turned back in time to be hit by the full force of her. She slammed him back against the door, kissing and biting his lips. She ran her hands over his chest, his abs, his thighs, groping, kneading. Feeling the muscles under nothing but skin and oil. She found the shiny fabric and let her hand cup its contents. Let’s see if we were right about the specifics? “I’m glad you’re here! I’ve been getting too fat to reach my own clit,” she exaggerated and lent back to throw the full round weight of her belly against him. The bulge in her hand twitched and grew. Gotcha. “I don’t know what’s come over me! It’s not just the job; I can’t stop snacking when nobody’s looking. I’m out of control and nobody’s stopping me.” It was thickening in her hand. Growing thicker, hotter. “There’s not one soul on this whole damned boat that doesn’t exist purely to serve me. The cook, the barman, the guests. Everyone’s just here to worship me. To feed me!” Thicker, longer, much much harder. Dante was starting to peek over the waistband of his tiny gold pants. “And without someone to stop me I know what’ll happen. I’ll eat and I’ll eat…” Kara leant over to grab a condom from her locker. Dante rolled it on. “…And I’ll grow and I’ll grow…” She took the two steps over to the bed, knelt away from him, spreading her knees a long way apart and letting her heavy belly just touch the covers. “…until my huge round belly, and my enormous fat bottom get me past that contract weight limit and I get chucked off this damn boat. Now are you going to control me and help me to mend my ways…” Putting her face in the bed she reached around and pulled her growing round cheeks apart with both hands. Offering him everything. “…or are you going to come over here and worship me like the Goddess I am?” And, moments after that, after nearly fifty days onboard, Kara finally felt completely full. And the Goddess looked and saw that it was good.
  3. There's nothing better, is there, than stuckage through appropriately-sized doorways that seemed to be *just fine* the week before, dammit! It's a way of grading FA, I guess, like those little plates with holes in for measuring spaghetti (the ones that tell you if you're a man, a woman, or a horse), how large a doorway do we each look at and go "Hmm"?
  4. Chapter 3 - By her ninth performance she's getting into it. ********************************* Tour 1. Orient night 9 ********************************** “Oof!” Kara lay back on the sofa while Marcelo went to close and lock the door. Dante lidded the incense, and the harpist (whose name had, after 4 days, turned out to be Aurelie, not Amelie) rubbed some life back into her hands, pushed the instrument into a case, and stowed it behind the bar. Kara cradled her belly in both hands. God, she was full. Dubai has too many posh restaurants. Too many. And it had felt like everyone on the damned Whale had gone out and brought back at least half a meal for her. In reality it had been, what, 8? 12 people? But ‘little somethings’ really add up. “Last show!” crowed Marcelo “They can’t drink down there, but we can drink up here! Party in the crew mess? Aurelie? Une petite peut de booze pour vous?” “Hey,” Kara opened her eyes. Dante had turned to her as Marcelo and Aurelie stepped out through the crew hatch. “Sorry about earlier.” “That’s ok. Just…don’t let him surprise me like that” Kara thought for a second and added “Did she really…you know…want that?” “Every night. Towards the end, pretty much every minute.” “Huh.” Dante stepped out, leaving her alone with her thoughts. What are our main thoughts, other Kara? My main thought, other Kara, is that tonight got out of hand. Out. of. fucking. hand. It had been when they all started to queue up. And when she’d abandoned utensils, and just started shovelling food in with her hands. That had certainly kicked things up a notch. There had very definitely been moans. They may have been gasps. For all she knew, there may also have been grunts and squealing. She had felt her skin tingling with tightness. “Servants!” she had said. Are we ok with having called them servants? Ah whatever, the crowd had loved it. “Massage me!” Instantly, there had been four strong hands on her, on her arms, on her legs, but mostly on her bloated middle. Dante and Marcelo had known exactly what they were doing. They had touched her firmly, deeply, helping her pack in more and more. Mehalabiya, shwarma, ghuzi, various types of chocolate had filled her. Chew chew chew. Swallow. Feel the belly grow. Mouthful after mouthful. Each morsel making her bigger than she’d ever been before. And again, with the next bite. The script had gone out the window as she ate for the pure exhilaration of it. Her legs wide open, her mouth wide open. Her heart pounding and her cheeks flushed. Eating for the pleasure of experiencing the best food that these rich assholes could find. For the pleasure of enjoying more than they ever could. The room had gone kinda fuzzy. And then Marcelo had changed the mood in an instant. “Do you want to come now, Goddess?” he’d asked in her ear, running the very tip of one finger inside her waistband. Instantly, it all felt wrong. She snapped her legs closed, hating the loud SLAP they made in meeting and the way they wobbled a bit afterwards. What was she doing, stuffing herself like a pig in public? She ought to be ashamed. She was ashamed. Forget ‘sharing pleasure’, these people were just coming in to see a freak-show. Ugh. Dante had grabbed Marcelo and moved him away. “What!?” she’d heard him protest “Joanne used to want…” The show had to go on, of course. And, after the last 8 days of training, she had been able to put on a passable impression of enjoying food, even feeling awkward as hell. But after that moment it hadn’t been mouthful after mouthful of bliss, it had been mouthful after mouthful of thinking: Fuck. This is calorific. This is going to make the bikini too tight to wear. Ugh. We’re going to get so fat. Too late, Kara bear. We’re going to get even fatter. Stop. Please. We’re done. Can’t you see we’re already too fat. But still morsels had kept coming. She hadn’t been able to help imagining how she’d look if she kept this up. She imagined her thighs swelling up and forcing her knees wide apart again, her belly surging forward onto her fattened lap, and huge heavy breasts sitting on top of the whole bloated mess. All covered in food from people continually ramming it her mouth every time she opened it to protest. And then it had stopped. The last guest had walked out. Hovered at the door. And hit the green button. Ping! And now Dante would be dancing with Marcelo in the crew mess, possibly wearing more than their stupid gold pants, possibly not. Aurelie would be drinking white wine. And Kara was here. By herself. On the second try she managed to haul herself up. She kicked off her heels and padded across the room to pick up her cloak and then turned…and stopped dead. There, reflected in the window, was a goddess. THE Goddess. With nobody else in the room, letting it all hang out, she looked…amazing. Jesus, is that really us, Kara? It all feels so different from inside. Could have sworn we were enormous. Felt like we looked stupid. Like we’d let ourself go. But that person in the reflection hasn’t let themselves go. The belly is round, yes, but so far beyond full that it can’t look accidental. It looks deliberate. Like artwork in prize of place. And the outfit was clearly made to show it off. It framed her gluttony just as much as her hair framed her face. She put the cloak on and deliberately let it fall open around her belly. The reflection was a fertility goddess. A deliberately constructed monument to pleasure. Her heart regained some of its previous tempo as she climbed up the stairs back to her little cabin. Kara locked the door and further inspected the Goddess in her mirror. There really was a sort of sexuality to this. She explored it. Letting her mind recapture the knowledge that she could have more than the richest guest on this whole ship. Letting her pounding heart rekindle the fire that had raged through her as she’d through about every single mouthful was deliberately making her rounder than she’d ever been before. The slow swelling of her belly, and even slower swelling of her breasts, hips, bottom, were, in their own ways, a mirror of the much faster swelling happening between her legs. The throbbing heat around her clit, a perfect reflection of the overwhelming warmth coming from her bellyful of calories. But the time she let herself slip a hand inside, she was ready to burst.
  5. Thanks @ShrubberyLogistic, I'll try not to let you down The next chapter's a shorter one. As for the wordplay, I can't really escape it - I was raised on Pratchett. <edit> I just checked your sig. link. Great stories! I feel like I got fanmail from a master! </edit>
  6. Chapter 2 - We learn more on her first day on the job. The Cetocean Cruises warehouse at Tokyo Airport was alive with activity. Kara sat just inside the door clutching her bags against her like a shield. People were running back and forth with documents; two muscular men were sitting nearby chatting over coffee; boxes were being put into and taken out of storage; executives wandered by in the middle of heated phone calls; at one point two electricians walked by carrying a chandelier between them. It looked like it should be too heavy for them to hold, but they walked on easily. “I’ll be back, Charles! You mark my words!” the door of one of the offices had been flung open and a large woman in a sun hat and tight-fitting summer dress had stormed out. She slammed the door, and stood there red in the face as her impressive décolletage wobbled to a stop. Kara was transfixed. Talk about body confidence! She’d never seen someone so big in something so figure-hugging. The figure turned away from the door, momentarily giving her a full profile view of a pair of huge breasts, a perfectly round belly, and an arse that jutted out to counterweight and stop her falling over. The dress made it completely clear that there were no straps, bands, levers, cups, or supports involved: this expanse of cleavage was supported solely by resting atop that sphere of a gut. Then she stamped one of her boots in rage, sending a ripple up through one heavy thigh and into a bottom that would fill two of the seats that Kara was hiding in and stomped off. “What’s going on with Joanne today?” said one of the coffee drinkers to the other. “Didn’t you hear? She finally hit the limit.” “Huh.” He took a sip of his coffee “I was wondering when that was going to happen. Una bella liberazione!” “Hey now, she wasn’t so bad!” The office door opened again and a beleaguered-looking man in braces stepped out into the chaos. “Kara Suesse?” Kara nodded. He beckoned her inside. “Have you brought the forms or do I need to…” he started clearing documents off his printer. The completed forms were dropped on the desk. The pair went over them. He laid out pay. She stood there. He explained the length of the probationary cruise performance period. He explained the various cancellation clauses. She stood there. His eyes were all over her, but there was no lust behind them. Kara got the strangest feeling from the man. As if she was being fitted by a tailor. Or a casketer. Finally, he stopped talking. “Well then, welcome aboard! Do you have any questions?” “Just one. Why is your office at an airport?” The man stared at her. ***********************************Tour 1. Orient night 1******************************** Kara stood in front of the mirror in her cabin. This was never going to work. It hadn’t seemed so absurd earlier, when she stood next to the lounge’s full-height panoramic windows as The Whale gained altitude and anything had seemed possible. Below her had been a taxiway, and then a city, and then a forest, and finally she had watched a coastline slide by at 100kmh. She had shivered a little thrill of primal terror as her mammalian brain understood no barrier between her and that distant water. Jean-Marie Massaud’s vision of the manned cloud, with a little branding and some incredibly high-end clientele, had created the ultimate in flying experiences. A sleek and beautiful hotel in the clouds. A Flying cruise ship that could cover 1000km a night and touch you down in a new city every day. For 9, 15, or 21 days, if you could afford it, you could have everything provided to you and watch the world turn underneath your feet. You could explore the sights, sounds, tastes of whichever sparkling new city the ship had touched down at today, or you could stay onboard and be pampered with massages, treatments, drinks, whatever you desired. And, to be sure that the super wealthy wouldn’t suffer any of the disadvantages of those going on an ‘ordinary’ cruise, they even had a way that guests could enjoy food to their hearts’ contents without gaining a gramme. The Goddess. The man in the office has laid it all out. Kara’s performance role was to be that of ship’s figurehead or Goddess. For 6 hours every evening, she had been employed to embody the spirit of hedonism itself. Guests who found themselves tempted by gluttony while out paying thousands of Euros for mouth-watering delights were encouraged to redirect that urge and to bring the food back to her to have it enjoyed *to* them. The lower lounge could even be converted into a Grecian-style temple at 20:00 each evening for people to bring ‘offerings’, and have their contained pleasure unlocked. Kara had been able to see it working. Possibly. If you had the right performer. Apparently Joanne had been a star. Guests had booked again just to watch her perform. Big shoes to fill then. But now, standing in her cabin, wearing the costume, it all felt ridiculous. She couldn’t eat posh food and enjoy it *to* someone. And this costume was ridiculous too. The whole set up was stupid. A gold cloak with a gold fur trim? Come on. She walked down the stairs from the crew quarters, through various hatches, to the rear lounge. Ok. To be fair. This place looked fantastic. Convincing fake fire burned in two hanging cauldrons, the horseshoe-shaped seating had been faced away from the rear-facing windows and wrapped in some sort of gold throw, and the air was thick with incense. The room feedback buttons on the door still glowed red and green, but a harpist (Hey! Is that one of the girls from the audition? Annabelle? Amelie?) was dressed in a white toga and concentrating on repairing the tone. She felt hands on her and jumped forwards with a shout. “Sorry!” It was the two coffee drinkers from the airport. Gone were the tight black turtlenecks. The two men before her wore nothing but gold briefs and small wreaths of golden leaves in their hair. And muscles and oil. Lots of muscles and oil. “Joanne always gave us hell if we didn’t take the cloak off her. Bit of a habit there. Sorry! Are you ok? First night must be a bit awkward?” “I’ll…” Yeah it’s awkward. Why are these two dressed like Frank-n-furter’s Rocky? What is that accent? Is that…Sicilian? What the hell are we meant to do? There’s nobody here. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? This get-up is stupid too. Especially what’s under the cloak. “…keep the cloak for now…er…thank you.” “Sure kid. No problem. I’m Marcelo, this is Dante. Did they tell you about us?” “No. I mean…they said I wouldn’t be performing by myself.” “Yeah, that’s us!” Dante stepped in front “We are here to help you…help them. Use us any way you want!” “Hey!” chided Marcelo. From behind he ran his hands across Dante’s abs and cupped one over the other on-top of very little gold fabric. He pulled the other statuesque physic towards his own. Kara heard oiled muscle collide with oiled muscle. “Not *any* way she wants! Not without asking my permission.” Dante smiled as Marcelo kissed the back of his head and then walked off to take up his position. “Look, we’ve been doing this a while. Ask for help if you need us!” The two men lay at opposite ends of the couch pretending to eat grapes and occasionally throwing jokes at one another in Italian. Kara sat at the bar for what felt like hours. The centre of the sofa was clearly meant for her, but…it was too big. Too open. Eventually, a young man walked through the double doors carrying a box. Dante was on his feet instantly. “O, Goddess!” he bowed before her theatrically. “A worshipper brings you an offering so that you may revel in it!” He dropped his voice to a whisper “and you need to lose the cloak.” Show time. It’s one guy. How embarrassing can it be? She turned away from the bar and strode towards the man. In gold heels she was easily 15cm taller than him. “Hi…er…what’s your name?” Fuck. That’s not how gods talk to people. Come on. Kara puffed up her chest and tried again “I mean…what is your offering?” The man looked around. “Is the other goddess not here anymore?” Kara deflated. “No. It’s me now.” “Cloak!” hissed a whisper from behind her. Kara unclasped the cloak at her neck and went to throw it off, but it hooked on the points of her ornate gold headdress and both pieces fell to the floor leaving her standing in little more than a gold bikini and heels. Smooth, Kara. Good work. Come on girl. Rescue this. “And I demand an offering in my temple!” The man appeared to perk up a little at the tone. Maybe baby-Sheik here has never been told what to do? Maybe we’re channelling a bit of Joanne. Who knows? Use it! “Come with me!” Kara grabbed the young man’s jacket lapels and dragged him over to the couch. She gracefully sat. “What’s in the box?” “Chocolate cake” The full breadth of Japanese cuisine available down there and he brings me chocolate cake? Meh. Could be worse. Not a massive piece though. Whatever. Are we meant to talk to him while we eat it? Kara took the spoon out of the box and ate the cake. She tried to concentrate on the sensations and communicate her pleasure with the morsel. There were a number of moans and some lip smacking. She made a point of licking the spoon. Where the hell do we go from here? “Does the offering satisfy the Goddess?” chirped Marcelo, breaking the deadlock. He gave her a pointed look. “Oh…er…yes! A great offering! Go forth and…er…have a great night!” Kara tried. Marcelo sank his face into his hands. The young man looked a bit uncertain, but got up and left the lounge. He paused at the door. The feedback pad beeped as it registered him pressing the red ‘dissatisfied’ button. Bastard! That sucked and I put myself through it anyway and I still got a ‘Dissatisfied’. Everyone’s a critic! No. Hang on. Is it possible, and hear yourself out here Kara, that perhaps we’re not very good at this yet? And that, perhaps, again prepare for a radical notion, we could do better? “Dante?” The man spring off the couch like a cat and appeared at her side. “Teach me.”
  7. Thanks, @Hoss Delgado. I'm sorry to tell you that those particular posh shoes don't make another appearance.
  8. Wow! The hair, the top, the shorts, the thighs, the smile: Awesome photo. Well done
  9. Chapter 1 - Kara, a tall Bavarian linguist lands a performance gig on a cruise ship. Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting! Salad fork hit champagne flute and the murmuring in the hotel’s fanciest event room died down. “Ladies, if you please?” expressed a woman with expensively-cut steel-grey hair and thousand-Euro heels. “The film you are about to watch explains the requirements of the roles that Cetocean Cruises is looking to fill. We will then hold some skills sessions to discuss your special talents, before moving through to the audition space itself in about an hour or so.” Kara Suesse looked at her watch. An hour? Come on. To read some lines? She was going to miss lunch. Kara had to be back in uniform and on shift in 90 minutes. Ugh. Should have had a bigger breakfast. Something made her look down at where her fanciest dress was swelling outward just a little bit more than it was meant to. No. Maybe not. Whatever though, an hour was some bull. The agent continued and she looked back. “The client has laid on a buffet, so please feel free to get yourselves something now, or at any time during the session.” With that the large projector screens lit up and neatly hidden speakers played an elegantly modern take on Vivaldi. Stock footage flowed across the screen of rich people laughing over untouched meals at rustic restaurants on Mediterranean clifftops. “Cetocean Cruises” said the voiceover “The ultimate in ultra-premium escapism.” Kara groaned and wondered how soon was too soon to head to the buffet. First up shows initiative, right? Was that important here? Why were these people so cagey on the job details? She was sat near the back anyway. Might as well. She sucked in her tummy a little and stood up straight as she walked to the marble counter. It was a nice feeling to not want to slouch. By the looks of it, everyone in here was 177cm (5’11”) or more. The casting call had asked for taller women. A whole roomful of long legs and perfect posture. She crept like a cat to avoid attracting attention. Carefully took a plate off the rack and put it down on the runners. CLICK. Heavy plate and hard marble made more noise than she’d expected. Some heads turned. She was certain she heard a tut. Well tut you too! Bet you’re not off for a 12 hour shift after this are you? Girl’s gotta eat some time! And there, look, respectable dainty portions. You just watch rich people on their stupid cruises. The film had moved on, apparently, to routes offered. “…operating three routes: a 9-day historical voyage through the Orient; our 15-day American extravaganza; and a 21-day tour of the European capitals of culture!” Sure. The ones on the coast, at least. They’d never see the sort of culture Kara knew. Black Forests and Black Forest Cakes. God. She could almost taste it. No matter how many so-called gateaux she tried (and there had been a few…ok, more than a few), it wasn’t the same. Although, whatever that last things at the buffet had been. The little round crispy things. They had been pretty good. Should have taken more of those. “…and a level of service that keeps our travelers returning to us again and again. And since we limit each journey to 40 guests…” Wait, what? “…each is happy to invest their share in achieving a perfect experience. Cabins start at €140,000 for the shorter journeys…” Kara laughed out loud, but managed to catch it by the tail and pretend it had been a cough all along. That’s…house money. On a boat trip. The fuck is wrong with some people? No wonder the casting line-up looked like Swedish royalty. They probably were. Jesus. Well, they can stretch to another plate then, can’t they. This time she was ready for the click and timed it to go with some music. And took a generous helping of the little round crispy things. And two more for the walk back to her seat. “...world-class acts and entertainers providing relaxation, enthrallment and hedonism…” The screen showed a muscular firebreather lighting up the stary night sky, a close-up magician pulling an emerald green snake out of some woman’s hair. There was a flash of a woman, scantily clad in gold and linen, draped over a shays…chays…chaise…a leany-down-sofa-thing, and then a tattooed woman mixing cocktails with the sort of flair that makes mere mortals feel like they no longer know how to open a screw-top jar. Oh. Ok. That sort of ‘Special Skills’. The casting call maybe should have been more specific. Over 175cm? Check. Willing to travel? Check. Cultured? Checkerooni. Special skill? Speaking four languages and the ability to juggle no longer seemed to cut it. Can chuck a little round crispy thing into my mouth from here, though. See? No? Hmm. “…is why Cetocean Cruises serves more of the world’s elite than any other platform. We believe that the best way to motivate is through reward and we offer a generous package for all of our team members. We are very selective, but we invite you…” And there was the kicker. Every single online review rated performance/hosting gigs for Cet. Cruises as some variation on the theme of “*****- Very Highly Paid”. And Kara could REALLY use some of that right about now. Ok. Game plan. Distract from lack of special skill like…neurosurgery or foot archery by staying away from the skills discussions. Just get to reading lines and looking great and prove that you’re the best performer! Simple. She looked down at only the front half of her feet. Also, probably don’t go back to the buffet again. Or no more than one more time. Click went the plate on the marble, and she sat down with a full plate of her favourites. A couple of minutes later the presentation wrapped up and the woman in the sharp suit and the steel-grey bob-cut was speaking again. “Thank you all. I’m sure you’ll want to discuss your skills with my colleagues, so when you’ve finished your lunch, we’ll be expecting you to come and have a word at these two tables” Kara looked down. A plan presented itself. Just don’t finish lunch. Stay here. Don’t eat the food. Don’t get drawn into the special skills discussion. Perfect. She watched the other girls gather a little plates of green leaves and sit in small groups. Listened to their various chatters about…nothing…these people were talking about nothing. She forced herself to ignore her plate of food. Not too tricky, this was her second. Wait. Third? “You’re not eating, dear. If you’re finished, please come over and talk with my colleagues” Steel bob had snuck up on her. “I…ah…no, sorry…I’m just a slow eater…er…easily distracted,” stammered Kara. Steel bob’s gaze dropped to her happily full middle and then up again to look her straight in the eye. “Is that so?” she raised an eyebrow, “In that case, of course, please enjoy your food. I’ll make sure I keep an eye on you to remind you to come over when you’re finished. Bon appetite.” Kara watched those thousand-Euro heels stalk away. Change of plan. Eat whenever Steel bob’s looking this way. Which…oh…she is. Kara shoveled a couple of mouthfuls in to put on a show of being hungry. Steel bob smiled to herself and looked away. Kara got another couple of big forkfuls in for good measure. God this stuff was good. She looked up to find at least three of the salad-eaters staring at her and reflexively sucked in her stomach. They looked away instantly. Great. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Kara read some of the info pack she’d been given and tried to eat slowly. Despite her hopes, it turned out that eating slowly wasn’t Kara’s latent ‘special skill’. She had to keep going back to top up. Steel bob hadn’t grown bored of glancing over at her and Kara hadn’t mastered the art of the partially-full fork, so now she found herself here: in an already too-tight dress, unable to stop pouring rich buffet food down her throat. She’d pulled her chair close to the table to hide her belly, but she could feel it trying to settle down into her lap. A few of the girls were now just openly watching her. Kara wasn’t paying them any attention. She was single minded. Full. Oof. Come on girl, another bite. It can’t be long now. This food is so damn good. Ok. Swallow. So full. God, so much for starting a diet this week – When this lot all settles we’ll be lucky to fit back in our jeans. Do we fit in our jeans now? We can do them up! Yeah, if we jump around a bit first! Another mouthful. Actually, get some of the shrimp too. Nice. We can do this. Too full. No, not too full. Remember Christmas? That was *too* full. Fine. Yes. But still full. Full enough to feel the skin stretching around the middle. To feel the weight of it all in the belly. To feel a little difficulty breathing. How strong are dress seams anyway? They’re pretty strong right? And far too full to reasonably be able to suck it in convincingly for any length of time. Another bite. Ok. Wow. This is actually phenomenal food. Imagine having this all the time. Good luck staying skinny. Ha. ‘Skinny’. God. So full. What happens if they don’t call time for the audition? Do we just keep eating? Kara had sudden mental image of her belly swelling until it split the seams of her dress and the weight of her broke the chair legs, leaving her sat on the ground unable to get up. Helpless as the salad-eaters pointed and tittered their high-class titters. Enough. She put down her fork and pushed her plate away. At the other end of the room, Steel bob looked up and smiled evilly. She stood up to walk over, but as she did so the mantel clock chimed. The woman stopped and then took up her champagne flute and salad fork again: “Ladies, thank you all for sharing with us the details of your skills and talents – Now, please follow us through to the audition.” A hundred thoughts went through Kara’s head as she waited for the room to empty. ‘What the hell are we doing?’ was chief amongst them. What was this audition going to be? Why the hell did we eat so much? What had Steel bob meant by “All”? And are we going to be able to get up? She pushed the chair back and looked down. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but there were no snapped seams, no popped buttons, no gaping holes letting acres of fat gut spill onto hugely fattened thighs. Just crumbs and a much more visible belly than before. She tried to suck it in. Nothing. Not a cm of change. Did it still jiggle? Nope. She poked it. The fabric was tight and hard, and inside the belly felt the same. “You too, darling – You can play with that later. I doubt it’s going anywhere.” Kara froze. Steel bob was holding the door open for her. Fuck. Fuck fuckity fuck. Ok, get up. Ignore the weight of it. Good. Right. Walk. No don’t look her in the eye. And don’t waddle we’re in heels! Fuck. Are we sucking in as hard as we can? What the fuck do you think we’re doing? Ok. We’re there. Ok… “Ahem?” Kara looked up at the perfectly put-together agent. “Your bag.” She could feel the older woman’s eyes all over her as she scampered back to the table to get her handbag. She could imagine her every feature being judged and found…well ‘wanting’ wasn’t the right word for it. With the dress now pulled even tighter, she felt like too much wurst stuffed into too little casing. Bloated and heavy. Those imperious eyes would be sneering as months of poor discipline jiggled a little on her hips, thighs, buttocks, breasts. All orchestrated by 45 minutes of bloody-mindedness in her solid round middle. Great. She grabbed the bag and hurried back past Steel bob with her head down, and into the auditorium to join the line of candidates. “Now, ladies, the role we’re looking to fill is all about communication – So we’re going to keep this simple and a little playful! Communicate with my colleagues and me, as clearly as you can, your enjoyment in having dessert” There was plenty of chatter as everyone reveled in the sheer fashionable absurdity of being judge on eating a croissant or sorbet! Oh how the society pages would make understated comment on this! My personal trainer won’t believe it! Do you have anything without gluten? Etc. At the back of the line, Kara slowly approached the beautifully laid out desert trolley. She felt Steel bob drop into the line behind her momentarily. “Only one this time, if you please, Miss Suesse” Kara’s cheeks started to burn. She didn’t look up. The other woman strode away. By the time she reached the trolley, there was only one thing left. A jam doughnut. Plain. Simple. Plump and overfilled. How fitting. The hotel attendant placed it perfectly in the centre of a beautiful delicate china plate. “Now, let’s make sure everyone gets an opportunity here. We’ll reverse the order. Miss Suesse, if you would?” Steel bob indicated a chair on the small stage, about 4 metres away from the group. Kara walked towards it. “All you have to do is show us that you enjoy eating, dear. I doubt that’ll be too much of a problem.” There was poorly-muffled laughter from one or two places in the small crowd. Kara tried to suck in her belly. It didn’t move. She tried to will away the flushing of her ever-so-slightly-chubby cheeks. They didn’t stop burning. She put her chin up and walked to the chair. So we’re a little heavier. Maybe more than a little after that meal. And they’re all so pretty. We’re like a…like…like a…pigeon amongst kestrels or something. They’re going to laugh at us. And they’ve got every right to. You know what. No. This whole process is bullshit. Get a job for eating a doughnut? Bougie nonsense. They’ve been laughing at everything about us since we arrived. Wrong dress, wrong bag, wrong hair. Fuck them. Fuck them and their tennis coaches. You want to see me enjoy this doughnut? Right, get a load of this! Kara dropped down into the chair heavily, delighting in the squeak it made. She picked up the doughnut in her right hand and then glanced at the empty plate in her left. It had gold edging and a raised pattern of leaves. It was beautiful. She looked back at the doughnut and threw the plate over her left shoulder. There were gasps as it shattered. Only just avoiding her fingers, Kara tore into the doughnut. Full or not, there was always room for dessert. She closed her eyes and moaned as the explosion of sugar hit her senses. A whole mouthful. Not a polite mouthful. Not a ladylike mouthful. Capacity. Maybe the debutants would learn something. Let’s give them the full lesson. Kara let her legs fall open and slouched back into the chair. Posture be damned. She stopped sucking in and let her belly bulge forward into her dress. Ignoring the creak from the seams, she took another enormous bite. Jam squirted onto her chin and dripped onto her heaving cleavage. She swallowed and felt the mouthful slide down her throat. She let her left hand caress her throat and then trailed her fingers down, through the jam on her chest, following the mouthful down, until the hand came to rest on the dome of her overstuffed middle. She slapped it just to feel how full it was. The last bite was gone in an instant. Kara hadn’t intended to moan, but she had. She licked her fingers to get the last of the sugar. And then made the mistake of opening her eyes. The whole room was staring at her. Even the dessert attendant. Nobody was impressed. There was shock and a little bit of disgust. It’s hard to hold onto righteous class outrage when shame is welling up inside you. Kara snapped her thighs together and winced at the volume of the clap. She imagined every single thought bubble above the group of women. A little herd of imaginary pigs. A little flock of imaginary foie gras geese stuffed to bursting point. Fuck. Way to recover from making a pig of yourself, Kara. Making a laughing stock too. She straightened up to heave herself out of the chair, but as she sat forward the seam at her side finally gave up. The noise was inescapable. The universe decided to give a second’s grace before collapsing around Kara. A second to consider whether she’d really ‘Stuck it to the Man’ or just done what she always did and taken any excuse to over-eat. A second. And then the laughter started. Kara made it to the door before the tears stung her eyes. And then Kara ran. *******************************4 Days Later**************************************** Kara listened to the message again. Ok, just one more time. “Kara Suesse” – Yes. Ok. That bit was right. “After reviewing the auditions” – Uh huh. Yes. That is what they would have done. “And my write up of your special skills” – This. This is the bit that made no sense. “Cetocean Cruises have decided that you best meet their requirements.” – This bit also made no sense. “They are offering the performer package as described at the auditions, beginning with a probationary performance starting with a meeting at Tokyo International Airport on the 24th of May. If you can’t make…” And then it just went into details. Kara hung up on the message. Considered her options. And a ate a KitKat.
  10. Here's 9500 words that I hammered out on Saturday in some sort of fasting-induced delirium. Synopsis: Chapter 1 - Kara, a tall Bavarian linguist lands a performance gig on a cruise ship. Chapter 2 - We learn more on her first day on the job. Chapter 3 - By her ninth performance she's getting into it. Chapter 4 - By her forty-eighth performance it's getting into her. Chapter 5 - Kara as a well rounded stage act. Meta-data: Triggers: All the usual weight-gain internal turmoil, and brushes with consent, immobility, addiction, financial domination, MM action, MF action, slut-shaming, and I don't know...air travel? Release schedule: I'll put a chapter up each day. If I remember.
  11. You mean Mr Nightmare? No, we don't have them in the UK. I have come across them when working in the US though. Pretty cool creatures. Favourite fact: They like to inject SO MUCH VENOM when they bite prey animals (moths, spiders, etc.) that their jaws weren't big enough to hold their venom glands, so instead they just sharpened up their first pair of legs to be biting spikes. I once had a 10inch jungle centipede run out from under the mat I was sleeping on when I lived in Cameroon. That scared the ever-loving bejesus out of me. Did not sleep well. Would not recommend.
  12. You're right for three reasons: 1 - The reason you listed - They're really into poop, and who are we to kink-shame? 2 - They're the only invertebrates known to navigate using the stars. 3 - They include the strongest insect (relative to its size) which can haul about 1100x its own weight in...you guessed it...poop.
  13. So, we all know what it's like, right? You snap the perfect photo: the lighting is 🔥, the pose is 👌, and you know the exact right filter...and then you realise that there's an antenna in the way! That's right folks: Bugs need some love too! And I know a lot of people don't like getting too close to them IRL, so I take photos of them in jungles and in the UK, and run a bug instagram account. It looks a little something like this: I'm really hoping to find other chub-loving, camera-toting, bug-nerds. They must exist. Right, folks? Folks? 🦗🦗🦗 (ps. I can also tell you why your favourite bug is better than everyone else's. Just name the bug).
  14. Gotta second the whatever you feel comfortable with comment. But also, gain whatever feels exciting and fun! You'll find people who adore your body no matter your weight. That said: I think you'd look great up about 15kg. Maybe 20. Ok, 25 because it's christmas.
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