Temple of Elemental Fatness

[Batman76]

I like DnD. I like warrior women/sorceresses gaining weight. Easy combination!

 

Chapter I: The Beefy Barbarian

 

Eyes blinking, the Goddess awoke.

 

Confusion gripped her. Her eternal flame was but an ember, the choir chanting her praises was silent, the nave filled with worshippers was vacant and the great sacrificial font was bare. Where were Her Priestesses? Where were the sacrifices?

 

She stood up, realizing only after she had done so that she’d moved on her own power. It had been centuries since she’d been small enough for even a goddess’ muscles to support standing. Her hands, thin and dexterous instead of puffy and round, found a body starved almost to nothing. Everything felt slim and lean, the proportions smaller than before she’d ascended from being a mere demigod. Once head sized breasts were a handful, she could still pinch an inch on her belly but it was nothing compared to the ankle length apron of lard it had once been.

 

‘What has happened?’ the Goddess asked, voice silent as she examined her great temple.

 

It was derelict, falling apart and abandoned. The gold statues of her at the full extent of her deific obesity were covered in dust and cobwebs and less than that remained of the paintings and texts. A thousand years must have passed since she had been conscious, enough time for her temple to fall and her great stores of power to waste away almost to nothing. She’d almost rather stay sleeping, dreaming of feasts and love making rather than awake to this.

 

She was hungry, hungry for the food of belief and the knowledge of her own destruction. There were no signs of war but her faithful would not have abandoned her, would they? Her priestesses could not have even if they’d wanted, they were all in the half ton range anyway. Swallowing her questions, she walked, an unfamiliar motion without even the waddle she’d had.

 

Memory struck her, memory of the time before millions of worshippers had made her vastly immobile, before she was even obese or even plump. It was of a time as a mere arch-angel, with hard muscles and lithe legs, far weaker than she’d been after ascending from a being of service and war into one of nature, harvest and love. But now she was almost as weak, barely hanging onto god hood, her form invisible to the mundane world.

 

She found what had awoken her from her long slumber: intruders.

 

Scores of unliving things moved in her cathedral, skeletal undead and inert constructs. Three living things were controlling them, everything about them shocked her. Evil and corrupt to the core were they, the vileness of their deeds evident in what to her was ugliness. Their bellies were so flat and hard they were hour glasses, their legs were lean and trim and their breasts didn’t even sag. Their features were painfully sharp, she recognized them as Dark Elves although rare had been any of that kind in her cathedral.

 

Deific rage roared within her, a desire to sweep these interlopers from her holy halls! But it subsided, she wasn’t a violent goddess and even if she was, she had no power. Perhaps she could subsume them, turn the greed and lust for power evident in them into service to her….no. They were too evil and she too weak, even if she succeeded she’d be corrupted with only they as worshippers. She needed purer souls…

 

She cast out her will, searching for chosen heroes. About her temple was only wilderness, home to trees and animals and she despaired. Then she found it, four souls. She dashed to them, finding it night outside and almost despairing again.

 

They were all lean, all slim and lithe, almost as much as the dark elves invading her sanctum. But…but they weren’t evil and in them was a weakness she could use, to turn them to her service and let them clear her temple. Hopefully while they still could, her faithful had never been suited to action.

 

Which one to take first? She had so very little power left to her, just enough to craft one miraculous feast to bind one to her, body and soul and with luck the gluttony and hunger would restore a bit of her godhood. But which one? If she failed, she couldn’t try again.

 

With a soft touch she reached out, brushing the mind of the only one awake. This one was harder than any of the others physically, a mountain of muscle abhorrent to her, but her mind was weaker. Already she was hungry, desiring not just fullness but feasting. That she could do and began crafting her trap, feeling her slightly soft body lose even that minimal pudge as she did. Then she spoke, filling her mind with her name…

 

‘Nalara,’ Shega whispered to herself, blinking in surprise.

The barbarian looked around, startled. Why had she said that? Had she said anything?

‘Damn nymph prayer has me hearing things,’ the barbarian mused to herself, standing up from the stump she sat watch on and proding the dying fire, ‘I notice she never volunteers to have the spell that makes you not need sleep cast on her.’

Shega stretched magnificently, feeling all the muscles in her 6’6 body groan, then cracked her neck, braided red hair shaking from side to side of her square face. At twenty five she was hardly an old woman, but the barbarian had found she was sore from sitting too long anymore. She paced around the fire, strong hands on her broad hips, feeling her belly gurgle. They’d run low on supplies and what she wouldn’t do for a big juicy steak.

‘Not that any weak southlander knows how to cook proper food,’ she grunted to herself, ‘its either sweets or vegetables, its why their either fat or scrawny and weak either way.’

For a moment, the towering barbarian woman considered the weakness of the southlands. She was far superior to any opponent she’d faced here, taller and stronger than any human, swifter of mind and fleeter of foot than any monster. Shega respected her three companions in questing, but none of them were a proper warrior. Jayli might have been a sorceress, but she was so scrawny Shega could snap her with one hand. Ayla had curves in abundance and her fae blood made the druid cleric a powerful caster, but she was so gentle she could barely bring herself to hurt a fly. Only Calla had any skill at fighting, being reckoned very tall and strong for her kind, but Shega had six inches and forty pounds of pure muscle on the paladin.

‘What I wish for the company of some real warriors, some of my people,’ she wished to the night sky.

A snap sounded from the bushes and instantly Shega drew her battle axe, ready to fight.

A deer looked back at Shega, a magnificent buck worthy of the stepps that had birthed the barbarian. She smiled, seeing twenty points on its rack and smiled harder at the animal’s body. It was rolly polly with fat and after several failed hunts had left the party only with the bland vegetables summoned up by the cleric, Shega was ready for some ready meat.

‘Easy,’ the tall woman mouthed, reaching for her javelin, ‘don’t move.’

But the deer turned around and bolted as soon as Shega grabbed the spear. Cursing, she took off after it without a second thought, dashing by the sorceress’ silk tent. There was no need to wake the others, the deer was so fat it practically waddled and Shega’s long legs took her after it with a blaze of speed.

‘Thank the gods,’ she laughed, easily spotting the deer in the dark, ‘I eat well tonight!’

Panting and sweating the deer surged, the barbarian right behind. Shega breathed easily, the long muscles of her toned legs propelling her on and on. Her deer skin boots ate up the yards, her firm breasts rising and falling evenly with each step, the round bulge of her perfect glutes straining her leather pants. The deer slowed, weaving with tiredness after barely a mile. Shega laughed, she was a Maroti, a child of the northern steppe, hard as a rock and swift as lightning! With ease she cleared a log and then followed the deer around a great oak to find….

A feasting hall.

‘What in the name of the northern gods?’ Shega asked, letting her weapons drop as she saw the great structure, easily larger than a long ship.

Forgetting the vanished deer, the barbarian approached, hearing sounds of music and merriment. She pushed open a door to find over a hundred of her people gathered around a long table, great platters of roast boar and foaming tankards of mead before them. Mouth agape she stood stunned, only for the Jarless of the house to greet her.

‘Ho there wonderer!’ the woman laughed, ‘You are a stranger in these parts I take it?’

The woman was big, taller even than Shega. Ten years earlier she’d probably have rivaled the red haired woman for fitness too, but Jarls were expected to be thick to show off their riches. This woman must be a queen, for a gut four feet around strained the gold buckle of a broad belt, head sized tits overflowed their breast plate, tree trunk thighs threatened to split her seal skin leggings and her gold arm bands dug into arms thick with soft fat rather than hard muscle. Looking close, Shega realized that the fat woman was her own age and would have seemed a sibling to her were it not for the wide weight difference.

‘What…what are Maroti doing so far from home?’ Shega asked the huge woman, noticing that all of the people before her were huskily built.

Young shield maidens who should have been at the height of their youthful beauty had two chins and guts that filled their laps. A veteran warrior woman of thirty years and three hundred pounds stood unsteadily, needing both arms to rise up and waddled to the privy, thighs rubbing together. Only one other person in the room was thin, a lithe priestess who danced nude over a giant pair of crossed forks at the center table. This woman was whip cord lean, her breasts small mosquito bites and her legs small enough Shega could have gotten a hand around them. Gracefully she spun and swayed, her gaze followed the barbarian with guarded eyes.

‘We’ve found a new land!’ the Jarless said, motioning Shega to a spot of honor, ‘Here the harvest comes in five times a year and every animal gives birth to triplets! Here, have a seat and take part! We’re honoring the goddess!’

Shega sat, already salivating at the food. She’d been living off of tasteless vegetables for a week and here she was now at a feast. Eagerly she filled a horn of mead and ripped the drumstick off of a turkey. The meat, from the rich muscle to the crispy skin, was heaven and the cold alcohol even better. In only a few moments eating she’d drained the drink and stripped the leg to the bone, which she threw over her shoulder for the dogs.

‘What goddess?’ she asked over a belch, as a servant refilled her horn.

‘Why Nalara!’ the Jarl boomed, ‘The Great Goddess! Giver of Harvests! Lady of Love!’

‘Nalara!’ the hundred others boomed, then went back to eating.

Shega frowned, then swallowed as she found she was half way through a slab of pork ribs, ‘I’ve heard of no such goddess, do you not mean mighty Freya or wise Sif?’

‘Nay, they are good and great, but it is Nalara that feeds us,’ the Jarl said, cutting Shega a big slice of beef and putting it on her plate before drowning it in gravy, ‘Come now and eat!’

The thinner barbarian went to say something and found she was eating again. The steak was amazing, it had been fried in butter and was like eating a cloud. After a while it was gone and she washed it down with more mead. Her head swam and her belly was sore, she undid her weapon belt, axe falling to the ground.

‘I should go and wake my friends,’ she told the Jarl, ‘They’re sleeping and missing all this!’

‘Let them sleep! There’s no danger in the woods!’ the Jarl laughed, putting more meat on Shega’s plate.

‘Are you sure?’ the barbarian asked, sometime later after finishing more food.

‘Oh yes, its quite safe, save for the temple!’ the Jarl boomed, refilling Shega’s horn and putting more meat on her plate.

‘Temple?’ asked Shega, before draining the mead and undoing the clasp on her pants.

Usually the barbarian’s belly was a taught six pack, but right now with an ever increasing amount of food piling up in it, it was bulging out into her lap. Undoing the button helped some, but pants that had fit perfectly were now far too tight. Everything Shega wore was too tight, her legs were stuffed into her pants like sausage casings, her ass was eating her underwear, her breasts overflowed the tops of her bra and her arm bands pinched around her upper arm. But with near a gallon of mead in her, Shega was too drunk to realize it.

‘Aye, the Temple of Nalara!’ the Jarl said, ‘It’s being defiled by foul invaders! Evil elves and their undead servants!’

‘How awful!’ Shega exclaimed, around a mouthful of cheese covered bread she couldn’t remember starting to eat and found herself undoing the laces on her leather shirt which was pinching her terribly for some reason, she took it off and sat wearing only her bra. Looking down, something seemed odd about her chest. She didn’t have a particularly large rack, but they seemed to surge over the bindings with every breathe, looking like bread dough in too small a bag.

 ‘You should roust them out!’ she said, looking up from the mystery of her larger chest.

‘Aye, but we are a peaceful people. Too long have we been Nalara’s faithful to remember our old ways’ the Jarl explained, patting her own rotund gut by means of explanation, ‘but you and your friends are strong, strong enough to save the goddess!’

‘Strong? Aye, strong we are!’ Shega laughed, flexing her arm, which felt strange to her, almost as if her usually toned tricep was wobbling.

‘Will you help the Goddess then?’ asked the priestess, who stopped her dancing and leaned down to put a hand on Shega’s shoulder, ‘will you serve her, despite the burdens?’

Shega looked at her. The nude woman was less thin than she’d initially thought, indeed she was very curvaceous. Her shapely thighs were full and strong looking, coming just close to meeting at the top, her belly was mostly flat but flared into wide hips, what had looked like mosquito bites were an impressive pair of grapefruit not quite starting to sag from their own weight and she had a delicate second chin when she looked down. She was breathing a little heavier than Shega had thought too, not in quite as good of shape as the barbarian had judged. But the eyes were still haunting.

‘Oh, I’ll do more than help!’ Shega declared, vaulting upwards with intoxicated enthusiasm.

It took more effort than she’d thought and a strange jiggle went through her body as she did. But the barbarian was standing up and raised one meaty arm up, holding the mead horn in her fist.

‘I swear I will free the temple of the goddess who provided this feast!’ yelled the barbarian, ‘Burdens or no! Or perish trying!’

The Priestess smiled at the barbarian, refilling her mead horn, ‘Then take this token with you, may it quench your thirst and make you strong!’

Then the well lit mead hall vanished in an eye blink. Standing alone, Shega looked around in shock, finding herself back in the woods. She looked around, realizing through a haze she’d been ensorcelled but feeling less stunned then she had been.

‘What just happened?’ she asked herself, ‘Was this the work of the gods?’

She found she was still holding the mead horn and took a sip from the quart sized container, finding it full of sweat mead. With a long gulp she drained it, only to find it refilling from the bottom up. Blinking, the half drunk woman grinned like a mad woman.

‘A god was here tonight,’ she told herself, ‘Well Nalara, I swore did I not?’

Capping the horn, the barbarian bent to retrieve her discarded weapon’s belt. Her pants bit hard into her stomach as she did so, a faint grunt escaped her mouth and then a loud rip sounded through the clearing. The barbarian flushed as she felt cold air on her cheeks, it happened time to time when you made your own clothes.

‘Really ate too much,’ Shega said to herself, going to buckle the belt on.

The ends didn’t go together, stopping a full half a foot from each other. Shega strained, she was monumentally strong even without the enchanted arm rings she wore, but couldn’t for the life of her get them around her stomach. She tried sucking in her belly but it didn’t give an inch.

‘Really must have eaten too much. Good thing I only ate their one night! Imagine if I did every day,’ the barbarian laughed to herself, putting belt, axe and her shirt over her shoulder as a crude pack, ‘at least the others will believe me when I tell them of my vision!’

She started jogging back towards the camp, expecting it to take only a short time. After all, she’d only gone a mile, it should only take a few minutes. At once she knew something was wrong, her legs didn’t seem to work right. Her steps were smaller and each one brought an uncomfortable jiggle up her body. Each step brought a bounce in her chest as well, her breasts moving in ways they never had before and making her back twinge. Before long her inner thighs felt sore from chafing and her breathing was coming faster. Despite the cool night air, sweat formed on Shega’s brow and a strange pain formed in her side.

‘What’s…what’s wrong… with me?’ she gasped as she stopped a quarter of the way back to camp, bending over and trying to catch her breath, further seams breaking on her pants.

A pool was near Shega and in that moment the full moon came out. The barbarian saw the reflection of a tall woman in too tight leather armor. No one would have called her weak, but soft living had put a thick layer of fat over her muscles. Steppe sharpened features had been dulled, her cheeks were soft and her once firm jaw had a double chin dangling below it. Her arms still looked strong, but were substantially thicker with jiggle beneath the triceps. Very non-athletic breasts half hung out of her cloth bra, large as a matrons and with as much perk.

‘I look like I’ve nursed five children,’ the barbarian muttered, green eyes going down her reflected figure downwards.

The reason behind Shega’s non-closing belt was immediately apparent: she’d grown a hefty paunch, not as big as the phantom jarl’s huge belly but substantially wider. In the space of an evening she looked to have added at least eight inches of lard around her formerly ripped abdominals. Barely believing it, she poked a thicker finger into the heavy love handle that now hung over her pants, finding it soft as butter.

‘Its like I’ve eaten that much every night for a year,’ she told herself, patting her new gut for any trace of her old muscles and not finding them.

Shega had had the legs of a long distance runner her whole life, long and so muscled they bulged. They still bulged alright, but now her thighs rubbed together and she had gone from firm calves to a nice set of cankles that stretched out her boots. Turning around she saw that the same coating of lazy lard had covered her once rock hard glutes, there was still firmness but it was buried beneath two wobbling cheeks. They bulged at the split they’d put in her britches and the rest of her pants looked ready to go at a moment’s notice.

‘I can’t even believe it, every part of me’s gone puffy’ Shega muttered to herself, ‘I must have gained fifty or sixty pounds in an hour. It seems this Goddess’ service has a hefty price after all. Can I even fight like this?’

She considered it. She was still sweaty and panting after only half a mile jog, her body unused to carrying an extra sixty pounds despite its strength. Her fabulous endurance and speed were gone, what did she have left? A woman with a gut like hers wouldn’t last long fighting.

‘Despair not champion!’ the nude woman from her vision said, appearing in the reflection, her curves seeming very lean next to Shega’s bloated body.

Shega jumped in shock, her body rippling as she landed. She glared at the vision, taking a thick handful of paunch.

‘You’ve ruined me! How can I fulfill your quest like this!’ she demanded, ‘I can barely run half a mile!’

‘You will not need to run in my service!’ the Goddess promised, ‘You will be too strong! Drink of your mead horn and see!’

The vision of Nalara vanished and Shega shrugged, obeying as she sucked down more of the sweet liquid. It burned like fire in her veins, filling her entire body with strength and verve even as her pants got a bit tighter. Shega didn’t feel an ounce of her weight, she bounced on the balls of her feet and then picked up her axe and turned it onto a dead oak, weathered hard as iron. Shega slammed the axe blade into it, watching the trunk shatter into a thousand pieces.

‘Ha, strength indeed! You are a mighty goddess!’ Shega laughed, breathing only slightly hard.

‘It will pass in but an hour,’ the Goddess appeared again next to her, a starter belly starting to bulge her mid section, ‘But merely drink again to restore yourself!’

‘How can I thank you for this boon, my goddess?’ Shega laughed, ‘My friends will be stunned when I tell them!’

‘Merely clear my temple and worship me,’ Narala smiled, ‘I will visit your friends by the time you return.’

 

[riptoryx]

35 minutes ago, Batman76 said:

I like DnD. I like warrior women/sorceresses gaining weight. Easy combination!

Some of the old game materials that explicitly included weight gain side effects for use of magical artifacts certainly caught my eye, back in the day.

[flaming-hades]

Glad to see you throwing your hat back in the ring. Another exciting story that I cannot wait to see more of!

[zachi]

can't wait for more

[Batman76]

Chapter 2: The Sorceress' Sweet Tooth

Nalara went happily from the barbarian, walking invisibly through the woods. Not only had the wanton gluttony of the savage woman restored every bit of divine weight the Goddess had burned for the miracle, but Shega’s faith in her was a constant trickle of power. It was nothing compared to the constant flood her once millions of worshipers had given her, but after a thousand years of starvation it was something. Thus, Nalara went with a full bust, round hips and the start of a belly to secure a second worshiper.

 

Being slim was a disturbing feeling to the goddess. It reminded her of unpleasant times, when she’d been changing from a powerful angel into a true goddess. Vague sensations of armor that was suddenly too tight came to mind, as did memories of weakening limbs, slowing reflexes and wings that had to beat harder and harder to keep an increasing weight above ground level.

‘What happened to my wings?’ the curvaceous goddess asked herself, feeling her smooth back, ‘I may as well use them for now. Shega won’t be moving quickly, but I'll need time to convert her friends."

With a thought, they unfurled from her back and she flew easily over the tree tops. An old thrill rose within her, of righteous might and zealous speed. A stitch rose in her side too, the Goddess had slept for a millennium and had been in horrible shape before hand. She was panting a bit when she landed at the adventurer’s camp, bent over with a small roll on her waist.

 

‘Best enjoy that while I can,’ she smiled, dissipating the wings, ‘Won’t be able to fly long at this rate. Now, Shega was easy. Who will worship me next?

Nalara touched the three dreaming minds around her. Two were in one tent, wrapped in each other’s arms and dozing peacefully. Both had strong wills, a small sniff told Nalara that the women were divine casters of no little faith and great experience. One was a sworn paladin, a type of worshiper that Nalara for all her vast beneficence had never attracted, with less fat on her than a vegetable patch. The other was generously curvaceous, in fact she was a bit plump, but was not only sworn to another goddess as a cleric but was a fae being as well. They would have to wait for later, so she turned her mind towards the last woman.

 

This woman slept alone and fitfully in a silk tent. Nalara almost recoiled touching her soul, finding this woman greedy, vain, spoiled and self centered beyond reason. She wasn’t truly evil, but was almost totally selfish despite a touch of the divine somewhere in her bloodline. But the Goddess pressed on, for this woman, little more than a girl, already possessed an ogre-like appetite. That she could work with and if she could make this woman a bit of a better person in the mean time all the better.

 

Nalara padded into the tent, finding it enchanted to be much larger on the inside. Near a dozen dressers and wardrobes lined the walls, filled with hundreds of outfits and a thousand pairs of dainty shoes. Each piece of furniture had a full length mirror worth as much as a village, even Nalara who had once had a thousand worshipers do nothing but carve increasingly rotund idols in her name found that vain. Ten magical devices were in the room too, wands and shoes and jewels aiding a sorcerer in combat mostly, but three of them were small machines that summoned food from the aether.

 

‘Ah, someone has a sweet tooth,’ Nalara mused, helping herself to one of a dozen chocolate truffles that popped out of one never ending box, ‘let’s see how its treating her.’

 

The Sorceress dozed in a huge four poster bed in the room’s center, next to a gigantic marble bath tub. Nalara peered through the curtains, finding a young woman wrapped in the covers. She was barely twenty, barely over five feet and weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. All of that was due to her metabolism, there were tell tale chocolate stains at the corner’s of her plump red lips and the transparent nighty showed a belly bulging with a midnight snack.

 

‘Someone’s going to get fat once that metabolism goes,’ Nalara said, running a divine finger over the food baby, ‘and it’ll be going soon, probably she’s already at her peak metabolic rate. I’ll just make sure she enjoys it.’

 

The Goddess leaned in close to the sleeping sorceress and whispered her name…

 

‘Nalara,’ Jayli muttered to herself, sitting up sleepily.

The Sorceress was groggy, as she was at any point when awakened before noon. She sat up, lifting her sleep mask and blinked blearily. Her tent looked different and she wasn’t exactly sure why. Everything was in its right place but…

‘Why am I back in my rooms?’ Jayli asked, realizing she was in her mother’s palace.

Before she could get up, the doors swung open. A maid hurried in with a covered tray, a pale blonde girl who’s size eight body was squeezed into a size four outfit. Jayli’s curiosity was immediately replaced with a superior sneer at the low class girl’s puffiness. Only a servant would let herself grow too fat for her clothes.

‘Breakfast milady?’ asked the maid, laying the tray before the awakening magician, ‘the tailor’s coming soon to have you fitted for your dress.’

‘What dress?’ Jayli demanded, starting on a high stack of pancakes that were drowning in butter and syrup.

‘For the royal ball, being held in honor of your engagement to the prince!’ the maid curtsied, a small rip sounding as her plump legs ripped her too small stockings a bit, ‘We need to make sure you are at your best!’

‘You must be new,’ the sorceress laughed to herself, ‘I’m always at my best.’

She posed herself, utterly sure of her looks. Jayli was a dazzling beauty, provided you like women short, thin and mean. Her hair had never been cut and hung in a raven black braid down to her ankles, gleaming with expensive oils and perfumes, while her nut brown skin was without blemish. Her legs were very slim, a prominent gap was between her thighs, and although her hips were wide there wasn’t the slightest hint of excess either there or on her heart shaped bottom. Despite usually eating three thousand calories a day her stomach was concave, although it was also soft and untoned. Her breasts were big for her tiny frame, perfect tear drop Cs that were the result of her own magical enhancements. Her arms were stick thin and graceful, just like her fingers, while her neck was slim as a swans. Jayli’s face was a perfect heart, tan skin complimenting her opal eyes.

Or at least, that’s how she thought she looked as she finished the pancakes and started on the heavy side of bacon, the plate of biscuits, the half a dozen sausages and three glasses of sugary coffee almost white with cream.

‘Clear this away,’ Jayli said a moment later, daintily wiping her lips with a napkin, ‘and then run a tub. I’ll need to bathe first.’

The sorceress slid off the side of her bed, finding her limbs strangely sluggish. She put it down to being tired from adventuring, when had that ended by the way?, and lifted her arms up to be undressed. Her lingerie pinched, the bra cut into her tender breasts and her lacey underwear was giving Jayli’s heart shaped buns a wicked wedgie.

‘And you’ve let my negligee shrink in the wash,’ she said as the maid began to undress her, ‘whip yourself later for it.’

The maid nodded in agreement and began undressing her mistress and Jayli realized the woman was heavier than she thought. Her soft thighs brushed, mushrooming over her stockings and her big bust was pouring out over her neckline. The bottom of her shirt didn’t quite meet the top of her short skirt, giving her a puffy muffin top. Jayli sneered again, this woman looking so plump was punishment enough.

‘Or not, I’ll be merciful,’ the noble and now naked magician sighed, walking towards the big tub which was already filled almost to the brim with water, putting the slight offness in her step down to be tired.

She lowered herself in, water rising over herself and let herself float in the hot water. Glancing down she grinned at her gorgeous body, it was distorted by bubbles and water but she knew she was perfect. Her adventuring companions had each been pretty, but none could rival her. Shega was muscled too much like a man and Calla the paladin was flat as a boy uptop. The nymph Ayla was of course perfectly womanly, but she was a little too plump in Jayli’s opinion, especially in fall when she swelled up for the change in seasons.

‘Would mistress like a snack?’ the maid asked, proferring a tray just as large as the first, but covered in chocolate truffles.

‘I can’t, I’ve already eaten as much as a family would,’ Jayli yawned, turning over and feeling her full belly bump the bottom of the tub, ‘I don’t want to throw the measurements of my dress.’

The Maid smiled, ‘If you don’t mind me saying milady, you look a bit thin from all of that hero work and you know how men like a robust woman.’

‘Hmmm,’ Jayli thought, mind a bit muggy from being full and idly took one.

There were many portraits in the young woman’s room, all of them beautiful women. They were also all rather plump, with delicate second chins under their soft smiles, full bosoms hanging over gently rounded bellies and soft arms reaching for treats. They were the same portraits as in Jaylis real room, give or take forty pounds per model.

‘The prince especially likes his girls plump so they say,’ the maid offered, putting a second tray down.

Jayli thought of the prince, the most handsome man in her home city of Caligar. Tall and broad shouldered, a gallant cavalier with an angels face. She’d known him of course and in the dream vision memories of walking together in the park were replaced with ones of him hand feeding her. She felt a flush start between her legs and reach her face.

‘Of course,’ the Sorceress said, ‘I’ve wasted away to practically nothing out in the wilds and must look my best. Get another tray. When am I to be married?’

‘Tomorrow in the Grand Temple of Narala,’ the maid said, her figure growing plusher with every morsel Jayli ate, ‘as soon as you clear it out.’

‘Who’s Narala?’ asked Jayli through a mouthful of chocolate as water started to pour over the lip of the tub, ‘And why is her temple need cleared?’

‘Narala is the prince’s favored goddess, a great and beneficient goddess of love, peace and the harvest,’ the maid explained as the sides of her shirt started ripping under the pressure of her growing gut, ‘and cruel dark elves have seized her temple. None can use it until then!’

‘I’ll clear them out myself then, if they’re between me and getting laid!’ Jayli yelled, raising a soft fist out of the water and hitting the edge of the tub, ‘Towel me off and get my fighting clothes!’

She stood, her arms and legs slow to react. Usually she rose easily, but her legs threatened to buckle ad she had to use her arms. The water pulled at her as she stood up and Jayli felt slightly dizzy as it splashed off of her. Raising her leg to step out of the tub was harder than it should have been, as was raising her arms up for the maid to dry her off. As the soft towel rubbed over her, she felt her body strangely jiggle back and forth. The maid was breathing heavily, as she drew away Jayli saw she was very plump indeed, the too small maid’s garment ripping with every moment on her overfed curves.

‘Get my fighting clothes and then take the rest of the day off,’ she said to her, ‘you’re working yourself too hard.’

As the maid walked, with a slight waddle, to obey, Jayli considered that she’d been a bit easy on the plump girl. But it was clear she’d outgrown the garment and she of all people knew how hard some physical labor could be when you’ve put on a few. The last thought felt odd as the maid brought her underwear, the thong, bra, stockings and garter belt looking very large. When they went on they pinched, especially around her waist but she swallowed another reprimand while adjusting the panties over the silky black pubic hair.

‘And the robe,’ she ordered, seeing that her magiced fighting silks also looked like a tent, probably a trick of the early morning light.

The pink and gold kaftan slid over her shoulders, its fur lined silk instantly warming her. Jayli wanted to look at it in the mirror, to see how the slit up the hip showed off her slim legs and how the navel low neckline displayed her perfect breasts and flat belly but all of her mirrors seemed to have vanished. A soft gut poked into her lower back as the chubby maid went to belt her, soft arms enwrapping her waist to tie the enchanted belt on. The heavy girl struggled to get the pearl studded belt on for a moment, long enough for Jayli’s arms to get tired and grab the ends of the belt. She tied it off, the knot pinching against her waist.

‘Did you shrink my belt too?’ she demanded, tugging at the knot, ‘If one of the pearls of power sewn into it was damaged I’ll be cross.’

‘I’ll let it out for you milady,’ the maid said, touching the belt which instantly loosened its grip to sit rakishly across Jayli’s broad hips, ‘now step into your shoes.’

A pair of red stiletto boots worth a town was placed on the floor. Their toes and heels were solid mithral and had runes carved into them. Jayli would recognize all her shoes but didn’t know this one.

‘Is this a gift from the prince?’ she asked, stepping into them, frowning as she failed to see her feet, something soft and covered in pink fabric getting in the way.

‘No, from me,’ the maid said, finishing the straps and standing up, the maid uniform falling away, ‘Do you swear to clear Narala’s temple?’

Jayli felt the power off her, realizing that this was no maid at all but something grander, but kept her response disrespectful ‘If it’ll get the prince’s face between my legs of course.’

‘All men will find you desirable, by my status as goddess I do swear,’ the plump, naked woman promised, ‘and gift you these shoes, which will allow you to soar no matter how heavy you grow.’

‘How heavy?’ asked Jayli but suddenly she found herself back in her dark tent.

Alarmed, she let a light and saw a very plump young woman standing in front of her, wearing Jayli’s caftan. The garment looked ridiculous on her, showing off her heavy gut kept from resting on her chubby thighs only by a broad fabric belt. Fat legs led down to a pair of very expensive red boots, Jayli frowned to see them and the apple shaped girl in the mirror frowned too.

Realizing that she gazed upon herself in one of the many mirrors she owned, Jayli fainted backwards onto her bed, the seventy pounds she hadn’t gone to bed with wobbling as she collapsed.

[Guest fatladylover]

This is a very good story, it is well written with a coherent plot. I do wish you would finish the Witcher weight gain shorts, however.

[Batman76]

Chapter 3: The Chubby Cleric

Narala waddled out of her newest worshipper’s tent. In truth she didn’t need to waddle, although her thighs brushed together yes, she could still easily manage a good stride. But the goddess was enjoying the feeling of soft leg fat rubbing together and exaggerated the effect, not that any could see her.

‘Two worshipers down in one evening,’ the long dormant Queen of the Harvest said to herself, running plump fingers over her round belly, pinching and fondling it, ‘and the magic that one had…a very nice effect on me. I’ll need to have a legion of arcane worshipers when my temple is cleansed, although I’m still a stick in comparison to what it was.’

Narala’s mind viewed a possible future, one where her temple shined once more. Tall, stocky women guarded it, their tree trunk legs and beefy arms hiding powerful muscles, big pot bellies stretching scale armor while supportive steel breast plates held up their hefty breasts. Cadres of sorceresses blessed with Her divine touch traveled the land as heralds and diplomats, their gleaming eyes and bulging paunches convincing kings and emperors to send great sacrifices to the Grand Feaster.

‘I can’t get too carried away,’ the borderline fat goddess hummed, walking past the dying fire and towards the second tent, ‘I have a captain of the guard and an envoy, I’ll need a high priestess next.’

Stretching her divine power, Narala examined the sleeping cleric within. As she assumed, the woman was a fae, one of the wild races and more than that a nymph. Narala liked nymphs, they liked harvest time, festivals and most importantly could go years without moving. This woman of the woods was different though, a wanderlust was in her, a desire to see all that there was to see. Narala had felt that as an angel, defending the divine and mortal realms against the infernal, and weak as she still was could sympathize. All the more so because unlike Jayli’s selfish inclinations, this woman radiated kindness and selflessness.

‘Good, I like seeing people happy,’ Narala smiled, reaching out to touch the nymphs mind, ‘and we’ll make them happy together.’

For a moment she paused. The nymph was a cleric, by the symbols of the Nature Goddess Cessana. Cessana was practically family to Narala, but it had been a few millennium since she’d seen her. Would she be angry?

‘Probably not, its just one,’ Narala guessed, ‘and we can always share. It’s the girl’s choice anyway.’

She entered the tent, passing through clerical wards without tripping them. Two women lay snuggled together inside several blankets, the taller spooning the smaller. Both had soft smiles on their faces, smiles of those close by the ones they loved.

‘Sweet as sugar the two of them,’ the goddess said with a smile of her own, ‘I’m sure the paladin will follow. Although this reminds me, I’ll need a consort.’

Close, she could see the nymph in detail. With her pointed ears and graceful limbs, she could be mistaken for an elf maid, save that no elf had ever had a bust that big, a plump pair of perfect melons with soft pink nipples. With her full chest and matching hips she could be thought of as a perfectly curvaceous human woman, save that not even the most agile dancers had ever had a pair of legs that perfect or a face that breathtaking.

 Even to a goddess the fae was heartbreakingly pretty. Volumous blonde curls framed a face that was a perfect oval, her eyes very big, her nose up turned above pert lips. Her age was hard to guess, there was no flaw or wrinkle and apart from her pointed ears could be mistaken for an elf, save for the exact ratios of the features could drive a mortal to madness and even Narala paused for a second before continuing her investigation to marvel at them.

‘Fate sent me a powerful servant,’ she smiled, ‘and one who loves her food. For a nymph you’re a plump one already.’

Nymphs waxed and waned with the year, growing lean in winter and then plumper during autumn as harvest times approached. And this nymph had truly waxed, for all her grace and perfection she was soft and untoned. Her legs were perfectly shapely, but that shapeliness was a little too round, especially in her delicately full ankles and plump thighs. An hour glass figure was maintained solely by the breadth of her childbearing hips and plump bust, the fae woman’s waist was a touch thick and instead of flat even had a little bit of a belly.

‘I’m bad at measurements, but I’d say that you’re what, 5’6 and 150?’ the goddess asked the sleeping woman, ‘and your paramor doesn’t seem to mind, does she?’

Indeed, the paladin woman had one strong hand across the nymph’s budding paunch, gripping the soft bulge protectively.

‘I think you’ll enjoy serving me,’ the goddess smiled, ‘It’ll be very rewarding to serve...’

 

‘Narala,’ Ayla yawned as she woke up, sitting up from under the pile of blankets.

The nymph stretched, an instant sense that something was off in her mind. For one, Cala was gone and hadn’t at least poked her in the side suggesting she join her on a run. She’d felt the paladin’s sinewy finger in her rump every day since her hips had started spreading despite never once getting up with her. For seconds, as she looked around, Ayla realized that instead of being in her tent she was home.

‘My shrine…,’ the cleric gasped at the familiar surroundings, finding herself back at the well lit cave behind the water fall in the limitless depths of the Verdant Forest, ‘but I haven’t been here in years…’

Ayla sat up in the bed of leaves, instantly awake. She hadn’t been in this shrine for over ten years, since she’d found Cala injured out in the woods and nursed the Paladin back to health. Yet everything was as she’d left it: her cloak hung on its knob of wood, her dresses sat folded on a shelf of dead wood, her bow was by the entrance and the carved holy symbol of great Cessana, a sheaf of wheat. So little had changed and it seemed so real that it felt the last ten years of wandering was the dream.

‘Its like I’ve never left,’ the Nymph trailed off, rising from her bed, finding her hands on her waist, ‘except of course I didn’t look like this here.’

Ayla remained unquestionably perfect, possessing a beauty that mortals could not comprehend, much less match. Her face and body were completely symmetrical down to the number of freckles on her apple cheeks, her honey blonde curls never tangled, snagged or split, not a speck of hair grew beneath her long eye lashes and her eyes were a shade of green that no human had ever possessed. Whenever she was in a town, Ayla had to wear a hood lest she accidentally blind someone.

But that didn’t mean she was still as thin as the wasp waisted fae who had never left this forest. Ten years of traveling among civilized mortals, tasting bread and butter and milk and cream had left their impact and it had come in the form of thirty five pounds across her once willow frame.

‘I know not what watches me,’ Ayla said to whatever being had authored this vision, ‘but I sense no harm in you. I will speak to you, but first I must complete my daily worship. Great Cessana, I thank you all mother, for your boundless generosity, for the great world you have given your children and for the beauty you have poured with in me. May I use it well.’

The nymph bowed low to the holy symbol on the wall, crossing one soft arm across the wide pink nipples that tipped the ends of her completely identical breasts and tilting so low that her hair draped across the stone floor. Ayla felt a roll form across her belly and felt the tug of the earth on her heavy breasts, feelings that she’d not felt before living among humans, but held her bow for a full half minute while she began to sing a wordless hymn of praise.

Then the nymph’s long legs coiled and sprang, their softness belying a dexterous power. Ayla did a perfect back flip, landing on her small toes and sliding down on the polished stone floor into a split. She vaulted upwards nearly six feet, clapping at the apex of her leap, and then tumbled as she fell, rolling on her shoulders and springing back up. She spun, she summersaulted and pirouetted, all while singing in a daily performance that mortal ballerinas would have practiced for years just to do once at the height of their abilities.

After a full minute, Ayla stopped, breathing a bit heavily, the first signs of perspiration on her forehead and chest, and bowed low again. A faint tremble went across her tan thighs, long, smooth and shapely but also soft and starting to brush at the top, as she held the pose. The cleric had done the dance to honor the earth goddess for a hundred years without a mistake, but the sweat, faint panting and trembling had only began six months ago. Womanly her figure might be, but there were muscles underneath her broad hips and nascent tummy and only now were they starting to feel the strain of her extra weight.

‘I will either need to jump a shorter distance or eat less cream soon,’ the Nymph said to herself, rubbing a stomach that was starting to groan with hunger as an attempt to playcate it, ‘Every other nymph gets by on a handful of berries a day, but once I started giving you buttered toast and cream you’ve eaten me round.’

‘Nalara…’ came a whisper from the shrine’s entrance, bouncing off the walls.

It wasn’t threatening, but it was insistent so the nymph began getting dressed. Many of her race preferred going naked and while she wasn’t modest, the cleric did feel a certain style needed to be kept. Ayla slid her feet into the high boots by the door. A skirt was next, a bustle slit up the sides all the way to her hips, and then a low sleeveless blouse. All of the clothes had been gifts, offerings left either by artists looking for a muse or farmers looking to have a field blessed or a cow cured. None of it fit very well.

The nymph’s impossibly delicate ankles had gotten a bit thicker and her calves had rounded out, making the boots quite tight. The skirt didn’t bother her thighs at all, but that was because it hadn’t touched her plump legs and she could barely get its buttons done. Back when she’d lived on berries and wondered twenty miles a day, the fae woman had had very narrow hips for her species but the extra calories from her more mortal diet had caused her hips to spread and spread, rounding out into child bearers. Her once tiny waist had also expanded greatly, the waistline narrowing and migrating north. Fat formed a golden tan muffin top around the rim of the skirt where it failed to meet Ayla’s shirt, and she retained a claim to an hour glass figure only because her chest and hips had also taken up a fair share of excess. The shirt itself didn’t fit well, its sleeves pinched her soft arms and when she’d been fitted for it, Ayla had had a small chest.

Those days were long over. Dairy had performed a miracle on her maidenly B cups, transforming them into a pair of ripe melons. Although exactly the same size and shape, they didn’t defy gravity and had a heft to them. They pressed hard against the fabric of the blouse and Ayla missed the supportive bra she’d started wearing as she’d grown.

‘I can’t believe I used to be so tiny,’ the Nymph sighed, finally getting the skirt fastened on the last of six buttons, letting her gut out and feeling it be pinched along its whole circumference, ‘If I’d only started eating more sooner.’

Ayla left the cave, taking her bow and quiver with her. She was a pacifist against things that weren’t directly evil and preferred praying to direct fighting, but was a deadly shot when needed. Of course her chest was starting to get in the way a little bit, but that couldn’t be helped.

Leaving the cave, the Nymph found its entrance much changed. Instead of a water fall, a thick white substance poured over the rocks and into her pool. She reached out a finger and touched it, not surprised to find it was buttermilk.

‘My favorite,’ the Nymph smiled, cupping a handful and drinking it, ‘Oh my, Cala said I was going to get fat drinking this, but I never thought she meant this quickly.’

Ayla had felt herself gain weight, only a few pounds but she felt her clothes tighten. The blouse ripped under her arm slightly  and the gap between skirt and shirt lengthened as . She smiled, undoing the skirt and stepping out of it while tearing away the shirt. The nymph showed no signs of alarm at another five pounds making their home on her body and looked around the reproduction of her grove, noting every tree in bloom with fruit.

‘I feel tempted, I do,’ Ayla said, hand going unconsciously to her belly, ‘but I would see my temptress.’

‘Then turn noble one and let us speak,’ a voice said softly behind her.

Ayla saw another woman sitting behind a stone table. First she noticed the tall glasses of butter milk and the pile of fresh biscuits, along with the large crock of butter, the bowls of blue berries and strawberries and preserved apples and plums. Then Ayla noticed the woman on the other side of the table was fat.

Unlike the nymph who sat on the line between curvy and plump, this woman was between very plump and down right fat. Her hefty breasts sagged noticeably, their tops resting on a thick gut that had no waist line. Her face was soft in several ways, the hint of noble cheek bones visible over puffy cheeks and the start of a third chin. Ayla felt she was beautiful in a matronly way, feeling the concern radiating off her. She didn’t seem human, but was no elf or nymph either, her white gown was of a very old style and her pinned hair was not of this century.

‘You provide a generous spread,’ the Nymph observed, sitting on the other side and crossing her legs, ‘Yet what is its price?’

‘One of service,’ the fat lady said, making a sandwich of bread, fruit and butter that she devoured with much enjoyment, ‘clearing my temple of foul invaders.’

‘Thus speaks a goddess or one who’d be one,’ Ayla said evenly, ignoring the food despite the protests of her stomach, ‘what is your name and who are these invaders?’

‘I am Narala, Queen of the Harvest and Goddess of the Full Table,’ the heavy woman said, ‘I am in need of worshippers to drive away evil dark elves and their servants.’

‘I see, you are an old name, one near forgotten but my mother spoke of you when I was small,’ Ayla said, recalling memories from her distant child hood, ‘You had many worshippers but few believers as the years went on. The rich got fatter and the poor thinner to serve them, until they could bear it no more. You were proscribed, outlawed by a kingdom long dead. Why should I serve you? I can grow fat on my own and I serve a goddess already.’

Narala was taken aback. Was that how it had happened? Had she let herself be corrupt? Even if it was true, she’d press on.

‘That may be true,’ the Goddess said with a shrug that sent fat rippling, ‘it probably is, my memory is dim. But I seek to rebuild, to the truth of what I was. I want everyone to be happy and need a high priestess, one of vision, ambition and …’

Her eyes looked at Ayla’s stomach, its slope starting to brush her thighs, ‘great compassion. She would shape my worship for many centuries to come, particularly if she is herself long lived.’

‘I see,’ the nymph said, leaning back on her hands, flicking curls over her shoulder in a display that would leave many mortal men dead before they noticed her breasts, ‘And the fact that I am probably already the plumpest nymph on this continent has, what to do with that?’

‘Like I said, I want everyone to be happy and in my experience, a full belly only adds to that,’ Narala told her, ‘But I slept until this very evening. Your physique is your own and I can only enhance what you do of your own free will. Nor would I object to you keeping up worship of dear Cessana. She was a friend long ago and I am glad she did not perish as I did.’

‘In that case, then, I will help you,’ the Nymph said, taking a glass of butter milk and looking at it, ‘I will be heavier in the mortal world if I drink this, will I not?’

‘Much heavier, but it will suit you,’ the Goddess promised.

‘I am a nymph, of course I’ll look good,’ the adventurer laughed, ‘but I’ll need to be able to fight. I may be the party’s healer but if I’m lagging behind them fifty paces because I waddle I won’t be much help to you. Would it not be better to fatten me up after I’ve cleared your temple?’

Narala hadn’t thought about that. In truth, her three new worshippers would probably do a much better job without the weight she’d put on them. The old muscular angel she’d been would have known that, but she’d spent so long as a fat goddess of the harvest she’d forgotten where her sword even was, much less battle tactics.

‘I know that it will work out,’ she smiled, ‘nor will you lag behind your companions.’

‘Ah, you’ve converted the barbarian and the sorceress then?’ Ayla laughed, taking a long gulp that drained the glass.

The nymph had a second chin now that perfectly complimented her facial lines. Her breasts had bulged out, the nipples stretched wider and her little belly had not only grown into a full paunch, but had gained some friends in the form of love handles that led down to very generous thighs.

‘Jayli won’t like being fat, she’s too vain and Shega is like to go berserk if she can’t run for more than an hour full out,’ Ayla continued, taking up a muffin and dipping it in creamy butter, ‘she counts her abs every day.’

‘My new guard captain has been convinced of the need for a more robust physique and my envoy will learn to enjoy it,’ Narala said, watching as the Nymph’s hips widened even further, breaking the forty inch mark and going on, ‘You don’t seem to mind at all.’

‘My love likes me plump,’ the Nymph laughed, the sound of a water fall going over rocks in a virgin wood, ‘She liked me thin too, but she likes me plump better. She likes to criticize in public and in private pinches and fondles me, calls me the ripest berry in the woods and then puts her face between my thighs.’

‘I see, that will make her easier to convert then,’ the Goddess said, watching the beautiful woman expand further with every bite, her softening stomach forming a roll as it progressed into her lap.

‘Oh no, you won’t get Cala,’ the nymph insisted, dunking the last biscuit into the butter with fingers that didn’t look stubby or indelicate despite being plump, ‘my half elf loves to exercise and loves her war goddess. She likes me being fat, but you won’t put an ounce on that paladin.’

‘You of little faith,’ Narala laughed, heavy body jiggling, she’d grown obese while Ayla had grown fat.

‘I’m serious, her mind is like a steel trap,’ Ayla told her new patron, standing gracefully and evenly, but slowly, ‘nothing will break her will. Oh…I will need a new dance to worship you.’

Ayla had hit two hundred pounds during the conversation. Her little belly now sagged as a hefty paunch that wasn’t far from a standing roll, her thighs clung softly together and her breasts had grown undeniably heavy, like a pretty matron. She was graceful still, but it was of a slow moving, precise grace instead of a quick one.

‘You will think of something I’m sure,’ Narala assured her, not bothering to point out the strangeness of worshipping a goddess of ease by vigorous movement, ‘but for now, I must see your lover.’

[crtwrght_mrk]

This is a great read, I've often thought that DnD should make a good medium for a story and this is a cool approach.  I've been trying to figure something out.  Is the occasional swapping from Nalara to Narala and back again a deliberate choice with some meaning?

[Batman76]

7 hours ago, crtwrght_mrk said:

This is a great read, I've often thought that DnD should make a good medium for a story and this is a cool approach.  I've been trying to figure something out.  Is the occasional swapping from Nalara to Narala and back again a deliberate choice with some meaning?

Spell check doesn't work well on made up names. I'd initially thought to have the four trapped and being slowly fattened by a malevolent entity but thought turning it around would be fun.

[Observer10]

One nice Curvage feature for authors - we can edit our own posts, so going back days later and correcting what spell check misses is an easy task.  As for the story, great work thus far. I encourage you to keep it up. As the Goddess re-ascends I hope you make sure she keeps out the corruption of yore.  

[riptoryx]

23 minutes ago, Observer10 said:

One nice Curvage feature for authors - we can edit our own posts, so going back days later and correcting what spell check misses is an easy task.

That would be nice, but ... Only the first post in a thread remains editable indefinitely. Others are locked-in after a few hours. Or did something change recently and I just don't know about it?

[Observer10]

It appears clarification and guidance from the moderators is needed here.

In my current multi-part story, Maggie's Epiphany, I was able to edit installments for several days after posting.

However, this ability now seems to have expired.

[riptoryx]

26 minutes ago, Observer10 said:

It appears clarification and guidance from the moderators is needed here.

In my current multi-part story, Maggie's Epiphany, I was able to edit installments for several days after posting.

However, this ability now seems to have expired.

Sounds like the usual situation to me.