Search the Community

Hello! A week ago, the amazing @SilverPathfinder contacted me with an idea for a collab! Together we've come up with an anthology set in a fantastical world, where several prideful beauties find that all glory is fleeting and probably fattening too. The first is the story of Queen Saraj, former barbarian and current queen who's trading a life of toil and danger for one of ease and pampering. SilverPathfinder will post the art before and after soon. I wonder what will happen to her... ..... A Queenly Figure… Queen Saraj' tale of decadence, denial and decline began where her old life of athleticism, danger and privation ended, with the death of the great dragon Mesulthep. Awoken from ancient slumber by an unlucky treasure hunter, the ancient wyrm burst from its lair in the White Mountains and visited destruction upon the outlying duchies of Weit-Ganberg. King Valten the III was no idle ruler to let such a threat go unmatched, the gallant war leader gathered not only his personal regiment of valiant knights but his brave son and heir, Prince Hal. At great expense to the treasury the King had the guild of Enchanters forge a hundred suits of fire proof armor, each set of plate the most heat resistant harness that could be made. Unfortunately for King Valten the III, Prince Hal and all their valiant knights, they should have instead paid more for valuable intelligence than enchanted armor, for the great wyrm Mesulthep was a frost dragon. As a result, King, heir and the best knights of the kingdom were all slain in a single unusually cold summer afternoon. Valten was succeeded by his second son Valten the IVth, a shy and scholarly young man without a martial bone in his body. At the advice of his mother, the dominating and manipulative Dowager-Queen Gloria, the gangly and timid nineteen year old rather wisely decided to make the dragon someone else's problem, putting a vast bounty upon the dragon's head. As the treasury was scrapped bare thanks to the useless enchanters, who'd skipped town with the money, the new King offered a royal marriage to whoever slew the beast. Most dragon slayers assumed rightly he meant his spendthrift sister Princess Beatrice but there was one who had her eyes set on a higher prize. ..... "Why can't frost dragons ever nest somewhere warm and temperate?" the adventurer known as Saraj the Crimson asked herself, "perhaps a nice beach resort with those drinks in coconuts with the little umbrellas?" If anyone was about, they'd have said the answer was obvious. But almost anyone about would have been too stunned by the sight of a bronze skinned Brilthani Amazon at the peak of their martial beauty and wearing not but a fur cape and boots atop a tissue's worth of leather and scale mail lingerie. Tall as a knight and yet shapely as a debutant, the veteran fighter's body was a tale of hard earned survival. Long legs had the hard tone of either a top dancer or a long distance runner, matched with a bubble butt inflated by the War Goddess alone knew how many lunges. The hips under her scale mail skirt were girlish and tapered to an absolutely ludicrous waist, the muscles bulging outwards into a terrifyingly ripped six pack flanked with obliques hard as a castle wall. Above the plain of hard muscle loomed surprisingly sizeable breasts who's incongruous size and over perkiness suggested a visit to a biomancer at some point. For anyone who got their eyes higher still, past the arms worthy of a blacksmith and shoulders worthy an executioner was a fiercely sharpe face who's nose had only been broken a couple times, green eyes blazing with determination. A waist length mane of wild crimson hair hung behind her, a far cry from the usually brunette women of Weit-Ganberg who wore their hair pinned up. "And if they have to pick a cave in the mountains, why on top of an ice cliff?" the steppe borne adventuress sighed. Of course, no one was around to look at Saraj for she was three thousand feet up an ice cliff, hanging on with finger tips and toes. "They can fly anywhere, why do they care if there's a nice trail or not up to their layer? Arrogant lizards probably would enjoy it, food delivered right to their door," Saraj sighed, continuing upwards hand over hand. Saraj had fought everywhere on the continent, from the blazing northern savannah to the frigid southern tundra in the course of a twelve year career that had taken her from bounty hunteress to bouncer to dancer to assassin. "And I swear if the reward wasn't so big, I'd let the damn thing freeze up here," Saraj muttered, getting to the cliff edge and pulling herself up one handed, doing a hand stand thanks to her prodigious core strength, "but fuck am I bored with killing goblins for shillings for rich fuck mine owners and rescuing damsels for lazy nobles when I can be the laziest, richest fucking rich woman of all." She'd kept up her monologue the entire climb up the gigantic cliff face, breath not rising at all. After so long fighting, the adventuress was as hard as hard got. But now Saraj stopped, for she was standing at a small ledge just at the edge of a massive ice cavern. Within she could hear the rumblings of a vast, slumbering predator, clearly the dragon sleeping off a market town. "Got you, you slumbering fuck," the red head whispered to herself. She pulled a bag of holding out of her belt, rummaging around for her favorite spear Gore-Monger, a short hafted stabber with a brutally sharp head equally good as cutting as thrusting. Not stopping, she pulled out a wine skin and guzzled down a bottle's worth of wine. Licking the red liquid off her lips and feeling warmer, Saraj creapt into the dragon's lair. Most of the monster hunters hired by the new king had tried killing the competition. The survivors had staked out claims in various villages to try and shoot the beast down with artillery. Only the barbarian Saraj had had the strength and skill to climb to the dragon's isolated cave. She was helped no doubt because the Brilthani battle wine she chugged from the enchanted wine skin protected her from freezing temperatures and sword blades alike while displaying herself in her skimpy armor. Belching a little, the only slightly tipsy barbarian leapt silent as a hunting cat through the cave, soon finding vast piles of treasure heaped around. The gold lead up to a vast, slumbering blue white form, Mesulthep the Terrible. The drake was big as a small town and stuffed with recent carnage, bloated off of kidnapped noble women and devoured cattle herds. To Saraj he looked like a fat, lazy cat sleeping in the sun. One worth a kingdom. Saraj smiled, did a ten foot standing long jump to land on one toe, cart wheeled over a pile of swords, jumped off of a stack of tapestries and found herself clinging to a great icicle hanging from the ceiling, long as a trireme. Ignoring how she went to goose pimples from toe to crown, the barbarian crawled upwards and jammed her spear into the cavern mouth. Hanging on one handed, she pulled a cherry potion from her bottomless bag of holding and chugged it down. "Damn wizards, they better not have stiffed me like they did to the King or I'lll...ohh.ohhhh!" Saraj grunted, face going beat crimson as her bloody mane as she belched a great gout of flame from the fire breath potion. At the sudden heat the massive stalactite dropped, breaking free from the melted ceiling and falling down. Mesulthep's awful blue eyes opened blearily as the stalactite slammed down...nearly thirty feet from his head. "Gods damn it!" Saraj sighed, "I'll do it myself then!" Kicking off the ceiling, the far deadlier barbarian fell spear tip first onto the dragon's skull. Looking around blearily, the dragon never saw the deadly missile plumet and put enchanted steel through his brain. His body gave a great shiver and his head fell to the sea of coins with a great *clang* of scale on gold, dislodging Saraj who bounced through the sea of lucre. She got up with a bodice full of coins, bra ripping apart at the heavy weight. "When I got these upsized I knew my fees would go up, I didn't expect they'd get me coin literally," she muttered, beginning the long task of shoving the dragon horde and the dragon's head into her bag, "He better have a bra my size in this hoard, I can't be at court with my titties out...although that might help the plan..." So it was that a day of loading coin and a dragon's head into the bag of holding and then a week of travel passed, with Saraj entering the Royal Court of King Valten the IVth. The great court hall was as big as the dragon's lair, with nearly as much wealth on display. Fifty foot tall windows and a gigantic crystal dome let the sun shine down onto marble pillars and golden statues. Knights in recovered and cleaned armor defended against any fire dragon encursions until a buyer could be found, while a forest of nobles in exotic silks, furs and lace gathered about the red carpet leading to the throne. A herald lead the dragon slayer up that carpet, through the forest of courtiers and towards the King. Whispers followed immediately, for Saraj stood out among the coastal folk. Although most of the men were taller than her, she had several inches on the women as well as much tanner skin and fiery copper red hair rather than the dark brown of the nobility. Of course, the dragon slayer wanted to stand out. The Adventuress put as much effort in catching a king as she did in killing a dragon. She'd spent some of her new immense wealth on visiting the best salons and biomancer in the city. Normally tangled red hair was now a luxuriously soft, perfumed mane, her teeth were straighter and whiter, her lips plumped and the crookedness of her oft broken nose fixed, while some sun damage from a life outdoors had been smoothed out. A half cape of slain dragon hide covered part of her back and knee high boots made from frost dragon leather and with an impractical four inch heel, showed off her legs and gold arm bands hugged her biceps, while savage feathered and fanged tokens were hung from her ears and hair. Discipline as well as money had gone into her appearance, usually after a big payday Saraj let loose a bit and oft acquired some wine bloat, but she'd had not but water and lean meat for a whole week while running every day, cutting her low body fat even lower until her muscles gleamed. That morn she'd reversed that a bit by having a biomancer top off her breasts to the next size up, an intentionally under sized mithril bra letting them bulge while Saraj' broad shoulders kept them high. Judging by the oohs, aaahs and occasional drools by the civilized folk glancing at her muscular curves, the money and effort had been worth it. Never mind that Saraj was a bit dehydrated and light headed, or that her heels made her gait unsteady or that her boobs were so big they made even she top heavy. She looked every inch the fierce steppe warrior, far removed and drawing every male and lesbian eye in the room. Saraj walked with practiced disinterest, taking in her competition. Weit-Ganberg was famous for its beautiful women, with local legend saying that the daughters of the Goddess of Love and Beauty had founded it, and the tall barbarian saw no shortage of fair maidens. Given that there was a new, unmarried young King on the throne every noble woman with a Lady before her name and a Van, Von, de or Di in the middle of it was here trying to catch a royal eye. Brocaded skirts were slit to the hip to show glimpses of slender legs in high heels, while the gowns were pulled in tight at the waist to show hour glass curves. Faces were snow white pale and tastefully painted, lips berry red and eyes ringed with mascara to pop, while the mostly curly brown hair was tied back in severe buns, small, pointless hats pinned to them with pearl tipped pins. Whole lordships were clearly being mortgaged to pay for the many plump busts bulging against low cut tops and straining straps, by inward curved shoulders some of the smaller girls were having difficulty managing suddenly head sized boobs. There wasn't an ugly girl in sight, each of them would have been a once in a generation beauty in a smaller city with messy hair and in rags, now they were dressed to their best. No noble daughter of Weit-Ganberg would ever be caught at less than their best in public, the shame alone might kill them. To that end, as Saraj noticed, there were few girls over twenty and none who were even approaching plump. Noble women in Weit-Ganberg were on severe diets until their majority, for producing daughter more than svelte was an uncurable scandal. Biomancers were excellent at making flat chests sprout and turning pimply complexions peachy smooth, but only diet could make fat bellies shrink and thick thighs stop chaffing. And given how the great city was a center of exotic luxury trade, shipping in new tasty sensations every day, combined with no noble woman wanting to admit her beauty took effort to maintain....well. Saraj wasn't surprised to see that all of the oh so slender debutantes held small plates of tasty entrees who were getting out of hand now that they were no longer under their mother's thumbs. Most years the young beauties tried to get married by twenty one, as early in the tourney season as they could, so they could get pregnant with some gallant knight's sprog and go into seclusion where their weight wouldn't be an issue. After a decade or so of pregnancies and some crash dieting, most tended to re-enter public in their early thirties, for a young matron was expected to have fertile curves, aided acceptably by corsets. A few had a head start, the handful of girls over twenty were standing a bit stiffly and having a bit thinner waists than their hips and busts would suggest. It only showed compared to their younger cohorts, but given how so many were popping bon bons to mouth due to jealousy at Saraj' cut figure the others would soon catch up. "Announcing the Dragon Slayer, Seraj Redmane!" the perfumed, plumed herald yelled, "Slayer of the Great Ice Wyrm Mesulthep!" Seraj ignored the clapping, looking at the royal family on their thrones. The new King Valten wasn't built quite for her taste. He'd led a life reading and studying laws and histories and philosophies, which had given him soft hands and thin body. Clearly his famously muscular brother had been the family athlete. But only one of them was alive and given the current King's face was fairly square jawed, Saraj could live with him being a bit delicate at the moment. Especially as she'd chugged a fertility potion before entering the throne room and planned to give him the work out of his life when it kicked in. "Approach the throne, heroine of the hour," the young monarch said, eyes practically undressing the stunning barbarian and licking suddenly dry lips, "I, um that is we..." "We regret to inform you that the offered prize of the hand of Princess Beatrice is off the table," a much firmer maternal voice said loudly from the throne next to him. Dowager Queen Gloria seemed far sharper than her son and her throne sat a little higher than his. A still beautiful woman in her early forties, she was quite slender in her tight green dress, any fat save her bust burned off by pure intensity. Her black hair was pulled back and her grey eyed gaze seemed quite predatory, matching her raptorial limbs. Her daughter Princess Beatrice sat a smaller throne, a debutante on the elder edge of the pretty women in the crowd. Her face was the glorious heart of most Weit-Ganberg maidens, although her hair was blonde and her figure strained the bonds of acceptable. Her dress slit went only to the knees, a stiff posture told of a corset hiding a tummy inside her cloth of gold gown, while arms actually had a little softness to them. Where it came from was no mystery, for the girl's soft fingers, many rings biting into them, were popping chocolates into her mouth. Saraj suppressed a giggle at the decadent sight, in her own tribe it was rare to see a woman under forty without abs. "But the throne shall offer a greatly valuable title for slaying the dragon, as well as the princess' weight in silver...," the Queen began before the dragon slayer cut her off. "Oh there is no need to stress the treasury, for I seek the original bounty. As the bounty papers said, a royal marriage," Saraj smiled, looking the King directly in the eye and standing erect, inhaling to make the mithral bra sigh, "what do you say your grace? I am but a barbarian girl true, but I bring with me a heavy bride price..." Saraj opened her bag of holding, letting a flood of heavy, ancient gold coins pour to the carpet, stopping when they reached mid calf. "The King's ambassadors already negotiate-," the Queen mother began to say, only for the King to now interrupt her! "Of course you are accepted! With great glee!" the young man said hurriedly, trying not to squeak, youthful lust overriding fear of his mother. "Then my love, let us be wed this very eve, for my barbarian passions run hot after a battle and can only be cooled by a royal heir between my hips," the Dragon slayer added, hamming herself up quite unnecessarily. Saraj dismissed the Queen Mother, thinking the older woman defeated. But she should have noticed the hateful green stare of Queen Gloria boring into her abs. It was a fatal mistake... For Saraj' figure. ….. Dowager Queen Gloria was out not just for revenge, but for the continuation of her power. Weit-Ganberg’s old laws about the handover for power were finicky things, with old bylaws and customs baked into them from long centuries earlier. For instance, a King’s mother maintained the title of Queen not just until her son married and not just until the King’s bride gave birth, but until the woman lost her baby weight and was predictably gorgeous again. Gloria was keen to hold onto that title and was not about to lose it to an over muscled slut fresh from killing monsters. Plans of poisons and assassinations were going through Gloria’s pretty head as the ethereally slender Queen sat through the measurements of Saraj’ gown. The barbarians buff curves were phenomenal and it was unheard of for a twenty eight year old to be so fit. Gloria herself had been a shapeless, post-pregnancy blob at that age, three hundred pounds of lumpy cellulite and stretchmarks who hadn’t even begun slimming down until two years and another pregnancy later. “A lady of Weit-Ganberg does not flaunt herself so brazenly, especially a Queen. It is quite unbecoming of someone who must be known for being demure,” Queen Gloria said to her new daughter in law as the tapes and measures were put away, “and I would suggest perhaps a hair covering as well after we put it into its proper bun....” “Ha, well a proper lady wouldn’t have killed a dragon, would she?” Saraj laughed dismissively, “I’ll flaunt my muscle and my hair as I should, I’m proud of them and will let them be displayed. Anyone young woman with curves like mine would.” It was the first time in years any had gainsaid Queen Gloria, much less insulted her as the not so subtle jab at her age and diet potion flattened chest did. Saraj’ words made her thin face redden in anger and her daughter and all of her friends in the bridal party laugh to see the matriarch pu down. But on the inside she smiled, for she’d been proven correct, told to caution herself and this barbarian would only do the opposite. Servants, unasked for by the girl’s but scheduled by the Queen, brought a layer of treats into the fitting room: delicate little cupcakes and tiny pies, cookies and biscuits and clotted cream and tea. While the Queen merely had a cup of sugarless green tea, the younger beauties began to feast, that Weit-Ganberg tendency to gorge going from the lowest Count’s daughter to the near plump Princess Beatrice to the future Queen, for Saraj was starving. Gloria let them gorge a bit undisturbed, then said her planned peace. “Perhaps it is not wise to eat such sweet and fattening fair while being fitted for such tight dresses,” Gloria said to the bridesmaids with false sweetness, “some of your measurements are already looking rather large at the midsection. And my future in law, perhaps you should watch your diet. If the Gods bless us you will carry my grandchild soon and pregnant women are known to pile on the pounds…”’ The future Queen snorted, mouth full of cake, “While I’m sure to be carrying a Prince in my womb come morning, some sweets will not hurt me.” Queen Gloria put her tea cup to her face to hide a scowl, one that was secretly a smile. She would barely even need to craft a trap to snare this barbarian harlot into fatness. But just having her plump up wasn’t nearly enough for the older monarch. Saraj would soon spend the rest of her days living as an obese shut in, too humiliatingly fat to leave her chambers and it would start today. Every famed Weit-Ganberg beauty lived in anticipation and fear of their wedding day, anticipation they could at last relax from the punishing beauty standards and fear of becoming so fat they had to lock themselves away. Staring at the shapely bubble butt of her new daughter in law as the white silk was laced up her tan curves, Queen Gloria knew the same would strike Saraj, just by the way she drooled at the pictures of possible cakes. It was almost too easy. Excusing herself, the Queen Mother made several orders to the palace staff she still controlled. She was laying a trap as dangerous as the one Saraj had laid for the dragon, if one that would take longer to snap shut. Any sympathy she’d felt for the barbarian woman faltered during the ceremony when the muscular redhead strutted down the aisle in a gown that showed her abs gleaming in all their glory, making Gloria seethe in remembrance of the flat belly she’d had before child bearing had given her stretchmarks. And any chance that the trap would fail was put paid at the wedding feast. After more than a week of cutting, eating not but water and vegetables, Saraj was absolutely starving...even before the appetite stimulant Queen Gloria had laced her drink with at the fitting kicked in! The barbarian beauty stuffed herself silly with butter fried bread, glazed nuts and stuffed mushrooms before the meal, then stuffed herself even more on steak and baked potatoes (both drowned in butter) during the main course. Thanks to the libido potion she’d chugged down (and perhaps the four bottles of wine and small keg of cider that followed at the feast), the barbarian was getting hornier by the bite, her face going red and breathing becoming labored. By the time the main course got there she was eating one handed, her other hand under the table and wrapped around her surprised new husband’s shaft. Gloria ignored her son being given a hand job under the table, which would lead nowhere as she’d had her personal alchemist dose every ounce of alcohol with powerful birth control elixirs.Fertile as she might seem, Saraj wouldn’t quicken tonight. No, Queen Gloria was focusing on how much and what Saraj was putting away for future study. When the six foot cake was wheeled out, Saraj’ eyes bulged in pure lust. The bride cut the cake with a greatsword long as a man and nearly bit off a royal finger when her husband fed her a heavy slice, the woman gluttonously gorging down nearly a whole tier. “She looks like she’s going to need to be rolled out of here,” Princess Beatrice chuckled, the blonde princess adjusting her own skintight dress as the bulge of her too stuffed belly bit into her ready to split corset when she got up to get her own slice. “And you dear daughter, look ready to pop that corset my little chubette. Sit back down, you’re on a diet with no booze, no bread and no boys until I can see cheekbones on you again,” the Queen Mother told her daughter, “Ignore our barbarian inlaw, you know how those not from the city lack control…” The next morning, the new Queen Saraj woke up in a four poster bed big as a peasant’s cottage. She was a bit bloated from her feast, a bit sore between her legs, for despite his scholar’s build her new husband came with a battering ram any knight would envy, and most of all, very, very hung over from her vast booze up the night before. Her new Mother In Law left her a present, a potent hang over cure in the form of a massive mug of coffee bearing so much cream it was practically a dairy product. Between the cream and the coffee Seraj didn’t notice the next dose of appetite stimulant. She slid into a small skirt and ab bearing top she’d ordered made out of royal purple silk, hard core muscles holding in her mild bloat and began her day. “Perhaps such a racy garment doesn’t befit a Queen at court…,” Gloria told her daughter in law when the former woman at last left her chambers. “Or perhaps past Queen’s didn’t befit a garment such as this? I will be different,” Saraj smiled. Unusual exhaustion plagued the fire haired new Queen all morning as she was congratulated by the kingdom’s nobility. She regained some energy after a vast luncheon where she attacked with the same fervor she’d shown the frost dragon,although she got a little ** on wine until the Queen Mother told Saraj that drunkenness at noon was unbecoming of a monarch. This led to Saraj becoming very ** indeed, before the King and his new bride disappeared for a small ‘training session’ that sent high pitched screams ringing through the vast castle and left Saraj napping until late afternoon. She groggily engaged in a tour of the palace grounds that afternoon...before the former Queen Gloria managed to make her attend a high tea only by promising that it had vast amounts of food. Gloria had been the center of these teas for years, but now she was ignored by curvy matrons who’s curves required corsetry and their slender daughters as the new Queen Saraj waxed poetic about her famed conquest, both romantic and battlefield. While of course, eating heavily. Dinner was almost an exact copy of luncheon, with Gloria suggesting again and again that Saraj restrain herself now that she wore a golden crown...which the younger Queen did not, leaving the table, full, ** and with the King in hand. Gloria pretended to be flustered, letting that travel among the court’s younger ladies, whose ranks didn’t include her daughter Beatrice, that chubby princess having been hauled off to the Nunnery of Holy Denial to slim down to an acceptable level. It was a well established pattern by the end of the week: the appetite stimulants kept Saraj hungrier and lazier than she would be naturally, while the birth control made sure no royal heir would yet grow in her belly. There were a few half hearted training sessions that Gloria allowed Saraj to indulge in by having the sedative levels lowered, lest things appear too suspicious but the warrior woman’s heart was out of her life of arms on its own. Sleeping late, being waited on hand and foot, with ever new delicacies at hand to try and her only exercise laying with her husband, Saraj began to soften. Those proudly flaunted abdominals were the first to go. In her warrior days, Saraj had done hundreds of sit ups and planks and crunches every day to keep her core tight. It was the first thing she abandoned as a Queen and the impact was soon seen as the muscles began to lose mass and fat began to collect around them. Fat started to build over her navel, rising up as a vengeful sea to drown the proud islands above. By the end of a month all trace of muscle was gone and little fat rolls were showing on Saraj back as love handles started in. Hard won definition of her legs and arms faded away, her arm bands starting to bite into fat instead of clinging on to muscle. That massively enhanced bust didn’t hold up quite so easily, settling a bit as her shoulder muscles weakened. There was some shrinking though, without any squats or running, Saraj’ bubble butt began deflating faster than fat could grow on it. But her precious waist was the real star of the show, soon growing soft and pinchable. Two months into her marriage and the Queen’s starter gut was jiggling as her husband pounded her, the barbarian bride clinging on with softer thighs and putting in less effort. The sudden weight gain was a talking point at court, for their was nothing more cherished than a beauty gone to seed as gossip. That Saraj kept appearing less than her best scandalized the court, turning any sympathetic hearts away from her, although rumors that the red head was showing a pregnancy from before her marriage didn’t help. After all, didn’t she’d only been married for two months and yet now Saraj was clearly bloated each morn! Saraj herself was oblivious, alternating as she was between hung over, ** and horny. Every day servants loyal to the old Queen replaced her skimpy garments with slightly looser ones, ensuring that pinching or ripping fabric didn’t reveal Saraj was going to seed to herself. No one in court brought up her chubbefying to her face, it was quite gauche to do so, so nothing stopped Saraj from snacking heavily between meals as her bad habits built up. Any sign of her husband’s ardor fading wasn’t apparent, for the young King Valens the IV was starting to bulk up with muscles even as his wife plumpened with fat and like all men of Weit-Ganberg, it was understood that your beautiful bride would get bigger quickly. But after a few weeks of showing up to court with an ever large bulge, rumors that the Queen was carrying a bastard let Gloria strike. “Ughhh, I should cut down on the drinking,” Saraj sighed as she finally stirred from sleep at the prod of her growling tummy, “and Valens is really thrusting harder, yawwwnnnn!” The sleepy, naked red head stretched on the satin sheets, her stomach almost flattening before relaxing into a paunch. Yawning and bllinking hangover gunk from her eyes, Queen Saraj rang the little bell next to her bed, summoning servants with a massive spread of cinnamon rolls, bacon, potatoes, fried eggs, toast and cheese, as well as a vast selection of jams and honeys and sauce. She munched happily for near half an hour before sliding into an immensely hot bath, stuffed belly bulging at the top, nearly sleeping again as her maid’s brushed her hair. Only a sharp pinch behind the back of her head made her set up with a yowl. “What the fuck are you girls doing?” Saraj snapped at them, reaching up to find that her wild main was pinned behind her head. “Exactly what I told them to, lovely daughter in law of mine,” Dowager Queen Gloria said smoothly. The naked barbarian turned to glare, the prim and trim older woman sat on a stool and drinking green tea. Next to her was laid out a pink dress for a tall and somewhat plump woman. “What are you doing in my chambers, hag?” Saraj growled, as if she was still an alpha predator. “Why I’m here to take my darling son’s bride to the royal physician,” Gloria smiled, “its been three months since you were married and tongues are a lolling about whether or not you’ve a royal bun in your oven.” Saraj blanched at that. Three months and at least three sex acts a day hadn’t stopped her cycle, despite knowing she should be quite fertile. “I have no need for your help with that,” Saraj hissed, standing up (pressing up with her arms) to let water run off her soft, bloated stomach, “your son manages just fine…” “Oh but is he? For by royal law, subject to every queen for centuries, if the bride fails to become pregnant within a year then she is exiled,” Gloria told her daughter in law calmly, “stripped of all her titles and possesions and dumped on the border. To that end, every three months she must be examined if she’s not yet knocked up. I’m sure a strapping barbarian woman like you must be tired of such a luxurious life with its servants and massages and meals but I don’t want my son’s heart broken…” Saraj only glared harder, for she quite enjoyed being pampered, “Fine, I’ll go to the physician but why does this involve you?” Gloria laughed once more, “Why me? Because as Dowager Queen it is my responsibility to ensure you are pregnant, for if you go more than three months without conceiving then you lose all privileges and rights until the year is up, becoming completely under my authority.” The barbarian went red as her hair in anger, pulling the pins from her bound hair to let it fall free. She stepped towards the Queen mother to stab her but slipped a bit on the tile thanks to her weakened muscles, slowed responses and changing center of gravity. After a moment’s awkward stumbling she leaned against a wall, breathing hard and glaring, having dropped the pins. “I suppose you don’t need to follow my orders...unless you aren’t pregnant after all…,” the Queen mother smiled, “now come, there’s a sedan chair waiting for you.” “I’ll walk, unlike some I’m not a spoiled, useless noble woman,” Saraj said with an upturned nose, showing off the double chin she was growing, “Girls, get me dressed and not in that pink abomination!” An hour later a tired, slightly sunburned Saraj completed the long, hot outdoor walk to the royal doctor’s office. And an hour after that, exhaustive test showing that she was very much not pregnant, a state that the paid off physician put down to over indulgence of food and alcohol combined with lack of exercise, she returned via sedan chair. Saraj long locks of red hair were gathered up in a tight bun behind her head, while a pink silk wimple covered the top of her head. Her gown was the same color, which didn’t flatter her sunburned face one whit and it didn’t help that the dress was much too small, hugging her softened body like a sausage casing. A little external corset was built into the dress, it didn’t help at all and its over stretched laces were pressing tight into Saraj’ soft ** belly. “Tut tut, getting so chubby before you’ve had a child?” The Queen said to the chair mounted barbarian. “Shut up,” Saraj fumed. “I’d warned you to watch your figure as you entered the next stage of your life, I didn’t know you’d get so chubby as to avoid getting pregnant!” the Queen muttered tittered, “I did tell you to not eat so much…” “I...shut...shut up!” Saraj fumed, rising with difficulty from the chair and running down the rest of the hall to her vast, pampered chambers. “Don’t worry daughter in law, I’ll ensure you slim down before you’re dumped, fat and weak and helpless and naked on the border. No more snacks, no more big meals or booze ups, just a strict, strict diet from now on. Starting tomorrow, nothing but raw carrots and broccoli for you!” Gloria laughed through the door, going on for her next plan. Inside her chambers, Saraj tore off the tight, humiliating pink gown in a fury. One that turned into a struggle as she wasn’t strong enough to rip off all of it in one go anymore. Viciously angry at her mother in law, the ruby haired young queen looked around her soft, palatial rooms in a frenzy and grabbed the first thing that came to hand: a snack. Over the last months, the servants Gloria controlled had been stock piling junk food inside the room: candies and cakes and pies, building up faster than Saraj could eat them. With several meals worth of junk before her and many bottles of booze as well, the former heroine did what was now second nature: indulge. By the time Saraj was through the third pound of chocolate, Queen Gloria was already three steps ahead. She found her Kingly son undergoing sword drills, new muscles shining and bid him to her side. “Pardon to interrupt my son, but I fear for your Queen,” the dowager said with false empathy, “there’s been terrible news from the royal physician. She was told at the start that she must gain a great deal of weight to conceive, which is why she’s let herself ge so big without complaint. But the treatment must continue and she’s in tears over it. I remember what it was like to be young and afraid you were losing your beauty, you must comfort her…” King Valens the IV was a kind man, despite his growing shoulders, and deeply in love with his bride, “Of course, at once, thank you for bringing this to me, I know you’ve not gotten along…” “For which I am ever so sorry, I feel almost like this is my fault,” the Dowager sighed, while eying up the muscular sword instructor Knight waiting for her son, “here is what you must do. Under no circumstances mention her weight to her or her fears of not conceiving, why the poor thing was terrified she’d be dumped alone at the border if she didn’t get with child soon, as if we were barbarians! No, what you must do is, well I hate to say it…” Fear and concern on his face, Valten could barely not interrupt her, “yes? What must I do?” “Well, when you have sex with her, you must insure she eats while you have sex. I’ve sent for funnels and tubing for the chambers you lay in, as well as a special mixture of cream and chocolate to make her more fertile. Its the only way for her to gain weight fast enough,” the lying middle aged woman smiled, “and the physician did mention that a change in attitude might help, so suggest that during sex she be tied up and spanked. If she learns to accept the changes to herself it will allow her to relax, so insist that she go every where in public with you so that she becomes used to stares and half heard jibes. She’s too embarrassed to wear her older clothes so tell her you love her wearing the civilized clothes she now has to squeeze into…” King Valten the IV would go down in history as a smart and effective monarch, but he never did learn to question his mother. Under the new regime, the already fattening Saraj ballooned. While she ate tiny meals, Gloria had paid Saraj’ servants to pretend to bring her treats. Hungry from being denied three squares a day, the former barbarian glutted herself at every other time on even more fattening junk and intoxicating beer ‘smuggled’ into her room by ‘friendly’ maids. The funnel feeding and light domination were the whipped cream and cherry on top of her gain, the kindly young King telling his wife how beautiful she was while she was blind folded and with a tube of cream in her mouth.Whenever the Dowager Queen pretended frustration at Saraj gain was one of the few points of pride that she had, making her forget the looming false deadline. At the King’s request, the increasingly fat young Queen accompanied him frequently to court. Surrounded by the lithe young ladies, most now half her size, Saraj felt not but embarrassment, especially as her clothes were always skin tight at the belly and loose and unsupportive at the chest, giving her a frumpy appearance. Over the coming months, what remained of the Queen’s figure disappeared. The untamed, wild planes of her face bulged out with cherubic cheeks, threatening to join with her multiplying chins and thickening neck to make jowls. Breasts popped up a few more cup sizes, far bigger than her head and with a matronly settling across her chest. Their weight made her weaker shoulders curve inwards, as Saraj arms inflated with fat to surpass her old bicep size and become wobbling pillows. Stretch marks appeared on the thigh fat hanging over her knee and the few times she did walk, Saraj now waddled and her calves got too chunky for her dragon scale boots or high heels. Widening hips began to get stuck in chairs and brush narrower doorways, while her cellulite coated butt remained flat. The hard tan a life of outdoors had given her faded, the woman going girlishly pale, almost piggishly as she was in soft pink gowns all the time. The sobrequiet “Royal Sow” began to pass around court, always whispered at the edge of the porky Queen’s hearing. Only the King’s insistence that he loved her and thought she was ever more beautiful kept her going, but while she found her self loving her husband Saraj found her self esteem plummeting in opposition to her weight. She wasn’t a warrior anymore, she wasn’t fast and dangerous, now she was slow and **, a tamed and domesticated pig of a woman who couldn’t even have children! Not that anyone could have told, given how vast the overfed Saraj gut looked. Hefty love handles grew thick as a folio of plays, then a multi volume biography of a particularly dull playright as side fat hung over her hips. Every day grew Saraj gut bigger and softer, bulging out until it began first to divide into two rolls as it filled her lap. Then it began to sag, pulling downwards and outwards until it was at her knees and her belly button could fit a wine bottle. “Come my piggish little princess, its your anniversary today, an entire year has passed since we met! Aren’t you happy?,” Queen Gloria said with a chipper smile early one morning, “although it is also your last chance to prove you are pregnant, lest you be dumped outside the kingdom…” She’d been starting her own affair with the palace sword master and felt like a billion gold coins, if such a number had yet to be invented and inflation wasn’t concerned. “Ugh, please can I wait another day, I feel sick to my stomach…,” Saraj groaned, huddled inside her bed with the curtains closed. Gloria practically floated inside, throwing back the curtain to find a blob in a tent like pink dress. Rather than dropping a few pounds, the barrage of fattening food had added another hundred to the once formidable woman. Fat as a pig and soft as suet, Saraj couldn’t even meet her in laws eye! “Oh that’s just nerves, but don’t you worry!” Gloria smiled, tipping up the now weak willed barbarian’s head, “I’ll take care of you! Darling Beatrice is coming home, having dropped that stubborn fat like any true born daughter of Weit-Ganberg can after a little starvation diets...well I guess you aren’t a true born daughter are you? Not with that fourth chin I spy!” Saraj blinked back tears, her fear only growing as servants brought in not one of her figure hugging dresses but her old armor! “What...what is that…,” Saraj gulped, “I can’t, I can’t wear that anymore…” “Oh darling, its the law! On your anniversary you must wear what you wore before the king first!” Gloria smiled, “don’t worry, I know you’re a little bit chubby now so I had it let out a few sizes...perhaps I should have done so a little more, you’ve really put on weight recently!” Getting Saraj into the skirt armor and metal bra was the work of a dozen servants, some of them seamstresses to repair the damage it took. “I’ve never seen an ass so wide and yet so flat!” one said “And this gut, its coverint up everything, how are we supposed to get this inside anything?” another seamstress sighed. “Best forget getting her arm rings on, they’re big as flour sacks!” the third grunted, throwing the gold a once fit Saraj had won to the corner, “and her fingers’ too fat for her wedding ring!” “This bra will almost work, she’s only gotten a bit bigger in the chest and they rest on the stomach a bit, it should stop her falling out of the bra...maybe,” another seamstress sighed. “These greaves won’t fit her cankles, they’re thick as her thighs were!” the last said. All the seamstresses were young and slim, each barely a third Saraj size. Every time she received a snide remark about her weight or felt a pinch on her soft body or the poke of a pin as they tried fitting her, the red head went redder and redder in the face. “Here dear, take this as a walking stick!” Gloria said to the once fighting fit Saraj, handing her her old spear. The weapon had gone rusty and it felt awkward, heavy and rough in her soft, swollen grip. She couldn’t believe that this polearm had once been at hand every day! Given how poor her sense of where her bulbous folds and bulges ended, she felt a shiver of fear at it, even though the blade was dulled. “Do I really need to carry this? And can’t I wear something a bit less...revealing?” Saraj begged. “Oh don’t worry love, after today, you’ll never need to worry about a weapon again,” the Queen Mother grinned, “Now come, lets get you to the Sedan chair, I know you’re a bit wide for the hallway and the seat, but those awful servants put some hot chocolate on it to steady your nerves…” It took the work of three royal guards to get the queen into the overloaded sedan chair and it took the King’s kind words to coax his shy, piglet of a wife out of her chambers where the assembled ladies of court (led by the returned and rail thin Princess Beatrice) laughed at her wobbling bulk. Gloria didn’t even hide her grin as the exasperated Saraj was hauled towards the physician’s office. “I do hope that she takes the news she’s pregnant well…,” the King mentioned quietly to his mother. “Oh I’m sure she will, I know she wanted to be told a bit later in the process so as not to worry but those fertility potions you gave her three months ago always do the trick,” Gloria smiled, “now that she’s in such a delicate state though, she must be confined to bed. And we must increase how much she’s eating, the poor thing looks so frail.” “Are you sure, mother? Saraj is always beautiful to me, but she’s so...big. It must weigh on her to be the fattest woman at court…,” the kind King said. “Oh don’t worry about that, she can go into seclusion after the pregnancy is announced. Now I know you’ll want to get her pregnant several more times and she’s almost thirty, so I will handle running the palace until she slims down…,” Gloria smiled.