Using this chance to shamelessly self promote. Again. https://www.deviantart.com/m00nliner/gallery/68740600/salvation-demands-sacrifice https://www.deviantart.com/m00nliner/gallery/70598830/panem-ex-machina May even accept some ideas. It's been half a year, so my writing itch may need to be scratched. 40k only, don't know diddley about FB and AoS.

Managed to save some posts from the old thread. Not the original poster. I had a similar idea involving Tau water caste but also added in some fattened Sororitas for fun. A group of Tau explorers finds a human world unclaimed by the Imperium. Naturally, they want to court the local population as quickly as possible before the Imperium shows up so a diplomatic cadre is sent to the planet to find out the best way to get the locals to side with them. After a tepid first contact, the water caste ambassadors discover that the humans of this world survived a great cataclysm, the Age of Strife, but experienced numerous famines during that time. As a result, their culture came to view heavy, well-endowed women as symbols of fertility and ideal mates even after managing to pull their society back from the brink of annihilation. Working off of the logic that it is far easier to negotiate with horny residents than hostile ones, the Tau decides that the best course of action to annex the planet quickly is to start fattening up their female diplomats and merchants who are more than willing to sacrifice their figures for the Greater Good. Pretty soon, Tau diplomatic envoys start arriving with bigger, rounder women much to the poorly-hidden joy of the local leaders. Unfortunately for the Tau, the Imperium had previously discovered the planet and sent a missionary fleet but arrived late because of a warp storm. The Imperials, seeing the locals mingling with surprisingly corpulent xenos, naturally want to attack the Tau and the xenos-corrupted humans but are, for once, reluctant to go through with it. This is both because getting a proper invasion fleet to reinforce them is out of the question this far from the rest of the Imperium and because initial scans show that there may still be Dark Age era technology present on the world which the Adeptus Mechanicus wants as undamaged as possible. That said, the Tau aren't pleased with the Imperium's presence and secretly hope that the native humans will outright reject the Imperials now that their diplomats have the local population twirled around their fatty fingers. In short, open warfare isn't an option. Seeing that they are already facing an uphill battle, agents of the Ordo Sabine, the Sororitas sub-order in charge of re-integrating rediscovered human worlds into the Imperium, decide that two can play at the fat game if it means winning over the population. The Sabine Canoness order her sisters to start packing on the pounds so they can compete for the native's affections believing that once the poor, ignorant fools bear witness to the bounty the Imperium has to offer they will turn away from those xenos harlots and back towards the Emperor’s light. From there, the situation rapidly devolves into a bloodless proxy war as the two factions desperately try to pull the natives of this world onto their side with bigger and chunkier women.

>>13 Pt 1: Sister Palatine Evangeline of the Order of the Virgin Rose loved the God-Emperor. The stern, handsome face that glared down at her during her education in the scholam was the sole source of comfort in her life, the thought that she might die for her god Emperor as he eternally died for her a comfort in a life of constant training, exercise and spiritual piety interspersed with violent combat. She would do anything for the God Emperor, pit every ounce of her tall, tan skinned body against the demon, heretic, xenos and worse. When the Inquisitor had tasked her and her squad of Palatine Sisters to under go what the order Sabine's Sister Dialogus Xanadu called 'the Process' instead of leading an orbital assault against the Xenos who'd dared try and corrupt a future Imperial world she'd of course accepted. She could never refuse an order but now as she woke from the dull haze of her drugged slumber... 'Him on Terra, I'm fat as a grox!' Evangeline gasped, looking down at the wreckage of her self. When she'd been injected with the experimental supplement, designed to bulk up grox before slaughter, Sister Evangeline had been fifty seven terran years old standard and kept twenty three by doses of rejuvenant. A daily twelve hour program of running, calisthinics, weight lifting and weapons drill had kept her tall, darkly tan body perfectly fatless, strong and utterly graceful, although also giving her nothing but the smallest breasts. Her sinewy, muscled and leggy body was when combined with her vivid green eyes, thick black hair and surgery perfect face (for the Virgin Rose demanded that their sisters have flawless visages) made her both beautiful and a near ultimate weapon even outside of her white and gold power armor. Had made. 'My, my, my...I've got tits!' she groaned, placing her hands on her normally near flat chest and finding swollen, malleable mellons. A squeeze or three found them unbelievably soft and as she sat up they sagged against her palms and gave a sensitive shiver down her back. Beneath them her chiseled eight pack rolled down into her lap, clearly past her breasts. That brought another gasp and Evangeline felt a fat tummy big enough to pick up with two hands. 'By Terra,' she whimpered in fear, rolling off the infirmary bed to a body wide jiggle and a sudden lurch of unbalance that almost knocked her over on her ass. She turned around, noticing fat creases on her sides, and felt her eyes widen as she noticed that her steely buns had collapsed into a water fall of dough. The lean Palatine's ass had puffed up as heavy as her breasts or gut, softer than any pillow on the ship other than the Inquisitors perhaps. She kneaded the fat, trying to find some sign of the thousands of lunges and squats she'd done over the year and finding only lard. She pinched her self all over, from her lardy legs to the flab of her arm fat to the puff of her chubby fingers and had to realize she was a warrior no more... The doors slide open, allowing her to see Sister Dialogus Xanadu enter with a smile. In contrast to the bloated Evangeline, Xanadu was slender and elegant, a short and rail thin beauty with a freckled face and icy blue eyes. 'Xanadu, what's...what's happened to me?' Evangeline sobbed, having not expected the sheer scale of the transformation. 'Hmmm, it appears that the grox treatment has given you a gain of about forty kilograms,' the elegant Dialogus said coldly, 'it is a shame.' 'Yes, yes it is but...I had to sacrifice my body for the God Emperor,' Evangeline decided, 'yes...' 'Oh no, I meant that the change was so small,' Xanadu told her, 'your sister Palatines are far, far fatter.'

"Greetings and salutations in the name of Sigmar, Witch Hunter General. I present you my promised report into the investigation of the riot at the Altdorf Opera House and have found a most sinister thread running through Imperial High Society. My first subject of interrogation was one Rosalina Hildegrand, the new prima donna of the opera and cause of the riot. She was in a most distressed state, having been fired and blacklisted from the opera across the Empire. Opera is of course a most sinful and decadent pass time and I had not been surprised at her appearance as she sobbed in her changing room. However, I was struck by a portrait of her in her changing room from a year before. This Rosalina was waifishly thin. Lean of leg, tiny of waist, narrow of hip, small breasted and slim necked. She had to weigh perhaps seven stone, and while beauty is but a trap for the simple minded was quite aesthetically pleasing. In contrast, the sobbing woman on the groaning chair was easily a quarter ton of lard. She was in only her unmentionables, sinfully skimpy black stockings and panties. Her thighs were merely plump and jiggly, pouring out of her tights. Her hips were wider than she was tall and her ass was bigger than a cart horse's. Her waist was a shapeless apron of fat plunging towards her knees. She had no trace of a neck and her face was so covered in fat I could barely see her eyes.When thin her small breasts were girlish and enticing, but when obese her dugs had been swallowed up by the rest of her. She wheezed and puffed at every word, barely able to draw enough breath to make herself heard but I ripped the box of chocolates from her hands until she made a full confession. Rosalina's story was that the year before she had had a grand premier, earning standing ovations and full audiences. But several reviews had said her lean body needed a few more years of growth to reach the very highest notes. A helpful patron, a noble man named the Viscount Von Holbard had offered to bring in a Tilean expert to allow her to reach perfection early. Rosalina accepted and found herself living in the lap of luxury, the expert declaring that she must increase the size of her body to hit the very highest notes. A halfling staff fed her around the clock: rare chocolates from Lustria, dwarven beer, elven fruits, averland steaks, Marienburg oysters, Brettonian wines, Tilean pastas and halfling pie after halfling pies. Claiming it would soothe her throat, she was bid to smoke mind clouding halfling leaf round the clock which only made her hungrier and lazier while damaging her vocal chords.To rest, she was forbidden from singing even a note or raising her voice. Saying that she needed to relax, Rosalina was forbidden even from moving, porters carrying her too and fro and she confessed that many lovers had been brought to her of both genders, tying her feeding into her sexual climax. A year of such treatment passed while a grand opera celebrating Rosalina's return to the stage was planned. That the leading lady wasn't at rehearsals was explained as her preparing privately. When opening night came, she was brought to the opera in a black coach with closed windows through a private entrance and arrived on stage without being seen. As the curtain rose, the audience gasped to see the porcine form waddling onto stage instead of the slender starlet they'd expected. The twenty year old needed a cane to support her pathetically weak body, all of her quivering like jello at the mere act of walking. She had been crammed into a dress made for a merely fat woman, fat rolls pouring out of the waist and skirt, seams ripping with each step, a corset wrapped painfully tight around her bulbous belly. Sweating as she heard whispers about her shocking obesity, Rosalina tried to sing, reaching for the notes that had once been second nature to her. But between the year of smoking around the clock, a total lack of practice, pentuppling in size and being shoved into a corset the pathetic woman could barely squeak. Panicking, she tried again and again, producing only a hoarse, squeal that coincided with her corset laces bursting from her groin to her chest. Fat poured into view, kicking off the angry, insulted crowd breaking into fist fights in the aisle. Many people were injured and a dozen duels spun off from the event, ruining several carefully planned marriage alliances. Rosalina, ruined body and voice, has been offered employment by the Viscount as a servant although I fear what task she could be assigned. Our orders holy books speak of a foul daemon entity of Old Night who loves both excess and perfection. I believe that Rosalina's gain was done intentionally, her excellent figure and voice ruined via excessive vice as a sort of living sacrifice to their dark god. More investigation is needed but there may be an entire cult at play." Witch Hunter Captain Montheim tapped his magnificent goatee and set the vellum onto his desk. He looked up at the eager recruit, Caronell Von Voltmartz, a tall, lithe noble girl who'd rejected a life of ease to serve the church as a witch hunter. Montheim took in her toned thighs pressing tight against her hose and boots, the tight sword/gunbelt around her tapered waist, the firm muscles on her arms and chest, her fatless, patrician face and intelligent blue eyes. "Hmmm, there may be something to this," he said, drawing another file from his desk and handing it over, "here take this, there has been a similar case in Averland. I want you to investigate." "Of course Captain!" Von Voltmartz said, snapping off a crisp salute and turning, her cape spinning to let him glimpse her toned derriere. The Captain smiled. So driven, so brave, so fit, so strong and at the start of her career...Caronell would be a perfect sacrifice to She Who Thirsts.

Witch Hunter Captain, As instructed, I have reached the castle of the Von Bov family near Averheim. I would hate to be impudent but the assigned itinerary, while safe, took me at a glacial pace from inn to inn. And traveling in a carriage was unnecessary, a horse would have been better. In any event, I found the Von Bov estate suspiciously peaceful and prosperous. The sign over its gate boasted of the fattest cows in all of Averland, which seemed ominous and boastful although the immense heffers in the fields seemed to make the claim based in reality. The Lady Von Bov was a stereotypical Averland matron: an over plump woman in her forties clinging vainly to a long vanished youth, an overworked corset fighting to keep her waistline below forty inches and to keep her breasts from resting in her lap, while too much makeup tried to distract from her chins. What was unusual was that she was happy to see me. A younger woman dressed incredibly sinfully (with exposed ankles, sleeves that showed her wrists and immense bosoms almost fully exposed) at her side was introduced as her second eldest daughter, Rachel. She was respectful although I found her a little plumper than a maiden should be, clearly the gentle climes of Averland has made her soft. Lady Von Bov, although fat, was not the victim you had assigned me. After Rachel served us tea, sandwiches and cookies (before leaving and saying she had to go and feed the cow) she began the tale of her eldest daughter Isabelle. Isabelle was counted the eligible girl in Averland. Firstly, all of the Von Bov children were girls, meaning that her son would be heir to immense tracks of lands.Secondly, her younger sisters 36X28X36 figure was comparatively chubby and under developed. Isabelle was a staggering, ridiculous and sin inducing 38X22X38, a stupefying hourglass that was the result of a strict diet and dancing program and would surely go to pot the moment she wed and became pregnant. Isabelle had a great many suitors competing for her hand, but she held out to become Queen of Love at the grand tourney in Averland. I do not need to tell you of this sinful waste of time, a weeks long party of vainity and decadence , of the bawdy shows, live stock judging and excessive consumption while knights from as far as Estalia compete for the grand prizes. Just as tight a contest was that for the title of Queen of Love, where the most lovely noble girls in the county compete through dance to be named the fairest in the land. Never has a winner not been betrothed by the end of the tourney. It is common for Queens of Love to marry the son of an Elector Count or a Brettonian Duke and even the sitting Empress can trace her station back to how her twenty year old self danced. Isabelle was ambitious, vain and lustful. When she should have been on her knees praying for Sigmar's mercy, she was practicing to win the title and the hand of some nobleman even richer than herself. She seemed a shoe in for she had won the same title at many minor tournaments in Averland and was counted as graceful as a wood elf. But her hopes were dashed when word came that a Brettonian Princess with a supposed 41 inch bust was to compete. While her mother suggested that she merely do her best and perhaps marry the handsome Baron across the road, Isabelle doubled down. An invitation came from a past winner, a Viscountess Johanna to help train Isabelle to her best and the girl took it without hesitation even though it was on the other side of Averland and she would be gone for a year. That was as far as the Lady Von Bov knew, for the rest I had to speak to Isabelle directly. This was difficult, Isabelle had seen and spoken to no one but her family since her return. Lady Von Bov was hesitant to allow me to see her but after Rachel returned and topped off our refreshments she relented. After a very long seeming set of stairs to the top floor of the castle, I was brought to a room at the very back of the structure. As I approached, tired by my travels, I began hearing strange sobbing noises intermixed with disgusting munching and slobbering noises. Through the door and in between bites, Isabelle's husky voice clumsily explained what had happened to her. At the castle of the Viscountess Johanna, she had on the first day been bid to dance to complete exhuastion. Johanna, although herself well gone to seed, was an exacting master who declared that everything Isabelle knew from her pirouettes to her breathing was wrong and that she would have to be retaught from fundamentals. As for her figure, Johanna produced a potion that she said would give Isabelle perfect breasts at the cost of some mild confusion. Isabelle remembered very little about her missing year. Her lessons began as grueling, Johanna teaching her things that she could have sworn were completely wrong and she became increasingly clumsy. Her tutor put her on an ever increasing diet, claiming it would build up her muscles even as she limited the girl's actual dancing by the day. Days turned into weeks into months and before she knew it Isabelle was stumbling onto the dancing stage, back and knees sore from what she assumed were hard workouts. Instead of the usual wolf whistles and catcalls, she was greeted with stunned silence that only grew deeper when Isabelle began a simple dance, beginning with raising her leg up behind her head. Her graceful body refused to obey, leg not moving past her knee. Her other leg trembled and she lost her balance, falling back onto her rump with a rip of fabric. Isabella stared down as the laughs and hoots began. The absent year had turned the talented dancer into a balloon, each of her thighs were twice the size of her old waistline and were a road map of spider veins. She could feel her belly rolls jiggle but she couldn't see her protruding gut, blocked as it was by her gigantic breasts. Isabelle had always been very large, but her bust line had swelled into ludicrous proportions. Veiny dugs sagged down past her her hips, more slack than a woman with ten children and larger than the tits of her family's prized milk cows. Tears streaming down her face, the obese ex-beauty tried to get up but found her limbs far too weak to push herself up, having to jiggle helplessly before several stage hands dragged her off. Isabella, humiliated, was shoved into a carriage and sent home. Refusing to go into her old room, which held many portraits of her at her peak as well as champion ship ribbons and letters from old suitors, she waddled to the guest room at the rear of the castle and swore not to come out until she was thin again. Her jubilant younger sister, engaged to the handsome Baron across the road, tells me that Isabelle tried to dance every day for the first few weeks but had become so clumsy and uncoordinated that she gave up and turned to drink. That now she sits in complete darkness and gorges herself on ten meals a day, each hand delivered by the once overshadowed younger sister. I have looked into this Viscountess Johanna and have found that she disappeared shortly after winning the Queen of Love title. The castle that Isabelle was brought to burned to the ground the day of last years tournament. The Lady Von Bov has graciously allowed me to stay at her castle while I run down leads..." The Witch Hunter Captain smiled to himself, knowing that there would be none to find. He selected another file and began plotting out an itinerary that would take her to the Moot, hitting every inn along the way...

By any chance does anyone have the warhammer 40k fanfic about a group of rouge traders finding a dark age of technology artifact that fabricates food which in turn fattens them all up. It was like a ten part story on the last thread before the brainlets nuked the site

>>18 That would be Panem-ex-machina The link for it is>>12

>>10 When Abaddon launched his 13th Black Crusade, the Departmento Munitorum ordered a mass recall of Cadian regiments to return and fight for their homeworld. Unfortunately, many of these regiments did not make it back in time, being tied down in ongoing campaigns, delayed by warp currents, or being simply too far away. The all-female 169th Cadian was one such regiment. Forced to stop on a backwater paradise world when their troop transport malfunctioned in the warp, the 169th could do nothing except sit and wait for their transport to be repaired or replaced. The Munitorum had promised to send another vessel as soon as it could, but, in reality, the nature of Imperial bureaucracy and the ongoing Chaos invasion meant that they could not afford to send a transport to pick up a single regiment so far away from any real warzone. The natives of the paradise world, for their part, did their best to try to make their anxious guests comfortable, offering them luxury lodging, succulent food, liquor, and anything else they could want. For the longest time, the Guardswomen and their officers rejected their offers, cited that they needed to remain in peak physical condition for the battle ahead. Then, Cadia fell. Upon learning that Abaddon had finally succeeded in destroying their home, moral in the 169th began to plummet. For her part, the regimental commissar maintained discipline solely with the hope that they might return and avenge Cadia. These hopes were dashed when their unit’s astropath relayed their new orders, hold position indefinitely. The news that the 169th would be denied even the chance to take revenge for their homeworld caused moral in the regiment to implode. Since then, the 169th has since all but ceased to be a military unit. Once steadfast and iron-willed guardswomen have come to accept that they will likely spend the rest of their natural lives being waited on hand and foot by their hosts as they stuff themselves silly. Its command staff have holed themselves up in their resort suites as endless streams of room service enter and empty plates exit, while their elite kasrkins, once the pride of the regiment, behave more like grox being fattened up for market. And what became of the regiment’s attached commissar? Well, no one has seen her exit her suite in weeks and many speculate that she physically can’t anymore.

>>19 Thanks

Here's an idea, a Biologis magos becomes obsessed with pushing the limits of how fat the female form can become and begins capturing various xenos to fattens them up as test subjects.

Fantasy idea: The dark and high elves find a prophecy that says some macguffin, like their long declining fertility can be reversed or their slumbering dragons awakened...by the True ever Queen getting fatter than fuck. It'd be an excuse to have a positive and negaty story: In ulthuan, the humble, radiant everqueen accepts the burden willfully, happy her secret fetish is now doable. her handmaidens and consort Tyrion help the "reluctant" but dutiful Alarielle into immobile obesity, making sure she's buttered up with sex and compliments even as she gets too big to get on her eagle/horse/move. The land becomes ultra feetile and elf maids start looking at least plump, with them getting pregnant at the drop of a hat. Meanwhile in naggaroth, the vain, unwilling Morathi is captured and force fed by her former cultists/a vengeful Helebron, who constantly denigrate and insult her, contrasting her ever fattening form with old statues of her beauty and making sure the former sex pot can't even masturbate. Naggaroth gets a similar transformation, the monsters becoming more obedient and raids more successful the bigger Morathi gets. The witch elves get crueler the more they get fat, lax and lazy, with Helebron regaining her youth and leadership of khaines cult. She denies Morathi access to blood cauldrons just enough to let her impossibly fat body get gray hair before she gets rolled into a cauldron, popping out young perfect and fit...as the process starts yet again. .

>>57 The feeding dungeon trope? Don't mind if I do. The real problem with this, however, is the lack of distinctly humanoid or humanoid enough species with proper gender dimorphism in 40k for it to work. I mean, there are Eldar of Craftworld and Commoragh variety, there are Tau and their five castes, one form of Genestealer Hybrids, maybe Enoulians, and... that's pretty much it. Might still give it a shot though.

>>59 There seems to be plenty of variety with the xenos if you look deep enough. Off the top of my head, the Eldar and Dark Eldar include numerous subtypes to play around with, such as farseers, aspect warriors, rangers, wyches, succubi, scourges, etc. There's also the Harlequins if anyone is into fat clowns. It would be interesting to see how the different eldar warriors react to being force fattened, especially given their race's unique connection to pleasure and gluttony through Slaanesh. Craftworlders would probably struggle to suppress their ingrained desire to feast with reckless abandon like their ancestors did while the Commoragites would only be held back by their own pride. As for the servants of the Laughing God, I'm sure Cegorach has a collection of fat jokes somewhere in the Black Library. As for the Tau, the different castes have radically different figures and body types according to canon, such as Earth Caste being short and stout, the Air Caste being tall and having hollow bones, and the Fire Caste being the most muscular. That said, after a period of time, the tech priest may begin to look closer to home for new subjects, such as the female guard regiment sent to garrison the facility, the Sororitas convent in a neighboring system, or the Ordo Machinum inquisitor sent to inspect their findings.

>>58 Somehow I get the feeling that Teclis was involved in discovering this prophecy thing and goaded Tyrion into going along with it. What about Malekith? Is it wrong for me to think that he many mommy issues would lead him to discover a dormant lust for fat women? Also, I can just imagine a scene where Alith Anar sneaks into the Black Tower of Naggarond and mock Morathi in between feedings. Seeing his second greatest foe and one-time dance partner turned into a giant pile of pale lard is bound to get at least a chuckle out of Shadow King.

Yeah this will be teclis idea. I plan on having a buff handmaiden tsundere bully the poor arch wizard and heavier, slower and hornier each time they meet

here we go, first part is way too long. On a warm summer’s Eve, amid a great sylvan forest that chirped and skittered with song birds and insects, a solitary rider pulled his horse to a halt. He was short and gaunt for his breed, his pale skin drawn tight to his face and his eyes weary with old pains for all that he looked young. Blonde hair was drawn back tightly behind a scholar’s narrow face, showing off the slightly pointed ears of the long lived Asur, the High Elves of Ulthuan. A wide sleeved robe and tall hat announced him as a Lore Master of Hoeth, a powerful wizard, while his snotting nose proclaimed him a long sufferer of allergies. He pulled a golden dart from his belt and cautiously channeled a little magic into it, the tiny arrow rotating this way and that in confusion. “Cursed sylvan magics,” he sniffed, stifling a sneeze, “and cursed pollen. It's bloody winter in the rest of the hemisphere why does my brother’s accursed hussy have to have it always be summer here?” He paused quite suddenly and carefully, as a razor sharp spear head was suddenly placed against his throat and a haughty voice spoke: “Just for attempting to find the Ever-Queen’s Court I should strike you down where you stand, yet you further your folly by adding insult to my lady as well,” a strong yet feminine voice sneered, “tell me boy, why should I let you live?” He cast a glance at the woman who had snuck up on him, repressing an urge to whistle. Almost all Asur women beneath five hundred were beautiful, but the elf maid with a spear to his throat was a true stunner. Blue eyes stared from an oval face with a sun tan over its freckles, while long red hair was pulled back into a warrior’s braid and she wore the circlet of a Handmaiden of the EverQueen, an elite body guard and emissary. A breast plate and short leather skirt did little to hide her tan, chiseled limbs or deny the tight taper of her waist above lean hips. Even for an elf she was fatless, although where most Asur maids were very petite she had half a foot on the wizard and so much more muscle that a coupling might seriously injure him as badly as a physical fight. Licking his lips and trying not to think of a pick up line, the wizard spoke, “Because, fair Handmaiden of the Ever Queen, I Teclis, renowned sorcerer and brother to her consort, bear a message of great importance from the White Tower for your August lady, one she will need to hear for the good of all Asur.” … The handmaiden’s name was Cisena and she begrudgingly led Teclis into the Ever Queen’s court. Teclis would have been annoyed that the vast festival was apparently somehow mere feet away from him without him noticing but he was much distracted. Partly by the unthinking sway of Cisena’s hard hips in her short skirt before him and partly by the endless ribaldry going on around him. Teclis’ race was one in sharp decline, their cities half empty and their familes small, doomed to decay. Yet here several thousand young Asur of both sexes danced, feasted and made merry without a care for their inevitable destruction. Harpist played with abandon, couples (and more than couples) made passionate love right in the open and endless dances that were’t much less sexual than the actual penetration wove through feasting tables of game and fresh bread. “It will take some time to find her, the Ever Queen holds a celebration for her consorts victorious return from fighting the Undead on the Vampire Coast,” Cisena told him, turning around with one hand on her spear. Teclis was not the largest fan of muscles on a woman. In fact, the world traveler much the soft, overfed women of the human Empire with their round hips and head sized breasts. Some were so plush and overfed that they had to belt their bellies flat to fit into their dresses. It had been a surprise when he’d taken an hour glass strumpet up to his room only to unlace a woman with a belly bigger than a heavy pregnant Asur. But the sight of Cisena’s accidentally flexed bicep sent a shock of erotic desire straight through him none the less. “I know, I was there and fought as hard as anyone,” Teclis said, annoyed that the songs o his brother’s victories always left him out somehow. “Yes, as hard as anyone,” Cisena said with a raised eyebrow at his blatant erection, “Is it true what they say about lore masters? That from all those incantations your tongues can tie a cherry stem into a knot?” “Um…never heard that one but I’d be willing to try,” the Mage admitted. “Perhaps later, for now we must find EverQueen Alarielle so your message can be judged for its import. And if it is not, why...I will make you beg for your life,” Cisena promised, “one way or another.” The two found the Ever Queen immediately after, dancing swiftly with Teclis muscle bound brother, Tyrion. Tyrion was the tallest Asur in the gathering, muscle bound and agile, handsome in such a way maidens dream of. Teclis was used to seeing his brother but had to briefly look away at the sight of the EverQueen lest he go blind. To a Mage she was a vast collection of magical power, every enchantress who had ever held her title over the long centuries at once. But even without magic...whew. About five feet of glorious golden hair swung back and behind her as she spun, at one moment platinum blonde as she dipped, the next strawberry as she was tossed into the air and then ashen as she was caught. Although made of expensive spider silk, her gown was plain and simple, with a long skirt to her bare ankles, made out of a layer of silk so thin the shape of her legs were plain to see all the way to her hip. Alarielle spun away as soon as her nimble feet touched the ground,skirt flying out up to her hips and letting Teclis see that things were better than he’d thought. Asur women were famously slender and when he’d last seen the Everqueen three years ago she’d been as well. But she’d done part of her eternal duty and bore a daughter, rumored to be his brother’s since then, and court gossip was that she’d grown inappropriately round during her pregnancy and had been tardy in losing the weight. Those rumors had been true. For a human woman Alarielle would be shockingly slim, but she was the plumpest Asur in the crowd. The bare legs displayed when she twirled had a softness to them, not idle for she had dancers muscles still, but ankles had a slight thickness to them and her inner thighs were soft reaching towards each other even if they didn’t meet. Her hips were wider than was fashionable by a hair and the slope of her backside went down a bit lower out of her underwear than anyone else. Teclis hadn’t exactly seen her lower body the last time they’d met. Perhaps she was just what the Brettonian’s called “pear shaped” but he had to guess his theory was right if she was carrying a little extra. The Everqueen spun back into his brother’s arms, the smile on her face making her seem a lustful girl eager to lose her maiden head rather than the queen of all elves, but when Cisena coughed Alarielle quickly composed herself. “Light of Isha, a ...messenger for you from the white tower,” the muscular Handmaiden said, tugging Teclis forwards with ease, “a most rude one.” “Ah, dear Teclis, and here I thought the flowers of Averlorn upset your nose,” Alarielle smiled breathily, totally guileless and yet wise beyond measure, “we are gladdened you have come, please let us hear this tale.” The Everqueen’s upper body had its own faint layer of padding. Teclis could tell that the seam of her dress ever so slightly pinched at the waist, the fabric whiskered tight over a small belly. Her breasts were larger than her bodice had been cut for, noticeably bigger than any of the other beauties dancing around her. “Milady, I believe it best if we hear him privately,” Tyrion said with a glare, “my brother never brings good tidings.” Tyrion always glared slightly at Teclis. Ever had it been Teclis’ joy to cockblock his overmuscled twin, despite their close friendship. “That is...not quite true today, but still, I believe the Queen would like to hear this privately,” the arch mage admitted, trying not to look at the Everqueen’s surprisingly full cleavage. “I see, well, if it is of such import I must hear it dressed as the Everqueen and not as sweaty maiden set to get grass stains on her gown,” Alarielle said, sweaty cleavage rising and falling hypnotically. … Alarielle stood before the triple mirrors in her palatial pavillion, skin dripping wet from her bath. She ran her green eyes over herself from toe to crown, a naked woman without the trappings of power and bit her lip, enjoying the brief moment she had to explore herself. The lastlyear had been spent recovering from childbirth, sparing her many of her courtly duties and her physical training. She’d eaten well and enjoyed herself and it showed. Alarielle pushed her thighs together, feeling the slight layer of softness over her muscles squish warmly together. She ran her hands over the hips, cooing at the slight roundness that yet remained, and very lightly, so that no one could hear, spanked herself to feel the little jiggle of her backside. Eyes on her stomach she stuck her stomach out as far as it could go, remembering how large it had been when she was pregnant. Remembering how round and heavy it had been elated and saddened her. But she’d eaten very well that day, just enough to have a touch of roundness to her under the thin layer of softness that had filled up a concave waist. She ran her hands higher, elating that she couldn’t quite see her ribs, and cupped her breasts. Alarielle had always been a little fuller in the chest than most, but now that she had freshly stopped nursing they were heavy and swollen. Alarielle longed to have her consort’s strong hands exploring her softness. For gentle kisses and nibbles to turn into powerful thrusts… “Milady, are you ready to be

After a knock, four handmaidens entered, all but Cisena clad in soft dancing gowns for attending the Queen. Her chief body guard watched as the damp Alarielle was scrubbed dry, a slight jiggle going through her body. Alarielle kept her head high, not making eye contact with her guard or exhaling. “Shall we prepare your dress of state, milady?” Cisena asked dispassionately. “Not today I think, it is far too formal,” Alarielle said, using all her training at courtly dissimulation to not let her voice quaver. “I had your tailor let out the waist, milady,” the muscular body guard admitted. “Ah...then, it will be acceptable,” the Everqueen admitted, her servants fitting her crown over her long mane of hair and placing her ithilmar necklace over her breasts. “Indeed, leave the queen and I alone, we must speak,” Cisena said, dismissing the other Asur warrior maids. She stayed quiet until the lesser warriors had gone, turning to her naked monarch. “Milady, I am sworn to protect and obey you but your departed mother asked that I advise you as well,” Cisena said gravely, “and this has to stop.” “What has to stop, Cisena?” Alarielle asked, looking the taller elf in the face. Taking a deep breath, the Handmaiden intoned, “Alarielle, you are going to seed.” “Hold your tongue,” the Everqueen ordered. “You’ve become slothful,” Cisena accused. “I danced harder than any maiden there today,” Alarielle insisted. “You overeat,” Cisena pointed out. “I...favor my chefs with my patronage,” the Everqueen waved off. “You are growing fat,” the body guard said at last. “I...am not,” Alarielle said, offended, “and I just had a baby.” “Nearly two years ago,” the Handmaiden said. “I...I quickened faster than any Everqueen before me in the history books,” Alarielle stammered, “within a year. It took my mother three centuries to conceive me.” “And all of Ulthuan gives thanks to the Gods for that,” Cisena said, “but milady, you are Everqueen. You must be perfect, a shining example of the High Elves, an echo from the olden times. It is why Everqueen’s remove themselves when pregnant, so that none can see them as less than perfect. And you can not hide here in rural Averlorn forever, feasting among your followers. Tongues wag, Alarielle. There are rumors that you have lost your beauty, that the gods have withdrawn their favor from you.” “Those...those who would dare?” she hissed, knowing many who would. Alarielle had been born and raised at the Phoenix King’s Court and knew the decadent princes and princesses loved to engage in gossip. Tongues had already wagged that she’d chosen a skilled if landless warrior as her consort instead of a Prince and that her daughter was certainly from that coupling had set off frightful rumors. “Imagine how they will chortle if you return to court looking so plump,” Cisena insisted, gentle tapping the little tummy Alarielle had relaxed at some point. The Queen’s eyes widened and she reflexively sucked in her stomach again. “I...do not,” she said, “I am merely...does it show that badly?” “Alarielle, you are the only Asur in this entire camp who has hips,” the guard whispered, “and your breasts...bounce at the slightest motion.” “In that case...bring me my gown, let us hear of the urgent message Teclis has brought us,” the Everqueen said, “It he is here in person it must be important.” “I doubt it, he seems but a cheap conjurer,” Cisena snorted. “No, not at all. I would not devalue his words. Sharp tongued he is, but he is as fell as his brother,” Alarielle said, “you should respect him.” “He is scrawny,” the handmaiden insisted as her subordinates returned with Alarielle’s white dress of state. “Not everything is about size,” Alarielle said, stepping into the gown which laced slightly snuggly, “he for instance could not take his eyes off of your ass despite it being flat.” “I...the craven,” she huffed. Giggling, Alarielle looked herself over in the mirror, seeing that the voluminous robes hid her hips, but that the lacing made her breasts look enormous. That she didn’t mind, Tyrion had been unable to keep his eyes off them and she hoped the message was not so important as to prevent a night together. There was a chance, however small, that she might quicken again and so delay the issue of losing her beautiful softness. In the olden days, the tales said, Asur quickened with ease and Ulthuan was so full the high elves had had to conquer much of the world. But that was long ago and the Asur steadily declined, only a tenth of women would bear a second child. If not for their long lives and skilled healing arts their race would already be extinct and some spoke of abandoning the outer kingdoms as it was. Determined not to let that happened, Alarielle went into the audience chamber of her tent, sitting into her throne of living wood and making herself look imperial. It was not that easy, she was only freshly into her second century and as a girl had been prone to flighty fits of giggling intensity but as Everqueen she had to be cold and regal. Her guards led the miserably allergic Teclis and his handsome warrior brother in after a moment, she felt them both be taken aback by the majesty of her appearance. “So Teclis, you wished an audience with the Everqueen, here I am,” she said, “speak wisely and well, for my chief handmaiden Cisena will otherwise drag you away to the bushes.” Her body guard snorted in startled confusion, but Alarielle silenced her with a finger. Teclis coughed slightly and looked around the room, trying not to stare at the Everqueen’s bountiful breasts. “I will be very frank, light of Isha,” the wizard said, “but as you know we are a race in deep decline.” “It is known to me,” Alarielle repeated, “and gnaws at my heart every day. But what is to be done? The wombs of our maidens are near barren, the seed of our knights will not take save but once or twice. We have sought an answer for long centuries but not even our most learned knows why.” “I do,” the wizard smiled smugly, everyone in the room inhaling in shock. Alarielle put a hand over her breast, “Then please, speak. We must know.” “Well, it began one night when I was travelling to the east,” Teclis began, only for Tyrion to put a hand on his shoulder. “Teclis, get to the point,” his brother growled. “...Fine,” Tyrion sighed, “milady, I am a younger brother, a rarity. I was born the same year as you, a few months later.” “I do not see the point,” Alarielle said. “At first neither did I, until I met another young wizard who was a second daughter born the same year as you. Intrigued I asked many others who were second born, almost all of them were conceived three months after you were,” the wizard went on, “the Everqueen being fecund made the Asur more populous and when she is not, they are not.” “If you are here to encourage me to couple then you are but hurting your own goal,” Alarielle told him. “Ah...well, I had thought it was fecundity as well,” Teclis said, “but it is not. There was a similar spike when you conceived my dear niece, but the fall off was much less dramatic. Radiant one, you are how should I say, quite healthy.” The room was quiet a moment. “I...try? What is the point of this,” the Everqueen demanded. “Simply that you are ...a little rounder than is the norm. By about fifteen percent I would wager,” Teclis said, “although perhaps more. Have you been eating well?” Her handmaiden almost drew steel, and Tyrion wasnt far behind. Alarielle raised a hand, the winds of magic gathering to calm them. “Explain yourself, you have but a chance,” Alarielle demanded. Teclis pulled out a scroll, “Birth records from across the kingdoms for the last century, when you first took the crown and were...thinner they were normal. Barely one child per Asur woman. The year you were pregnant it was 1.4. It fell to 1.2 the year after you gained birth and this last year it rose back up to 1.3.” “What is this insolence?” Cisena snarled, “Milady let me feed him to the treekin!” Alarielle looked at the numbers and slowly put a hand on her belly under her dress, “I was greatly afraid when your brother was on campaign and that...influenced my diet unduly. I’ve grown laxer and plumper of late, losing a bit of my maiden’s figure. Are you saying that...when I gain weight that the Asur have more babies?” “Mathematics appears to say yes,” Teclis grinned, “and history supports me. During our golden age, when Caledor dragon-tamer first bound the vortex the average elf maid would bare seven children in their lives.” “My word, ten?” Alarielle blinked. “And in those days, the Everqueens were fat,” Teclis said, “Our ancestor Aenarion’s wife, your distant ancestor as well, was apparently not able to actually walk, which led to her sad death when the daemons raided Averlorn.” “She...couldn’t walk? So, fat...she couldn’t walk,” Alarielle said, crossing her legs very tightly, “is that truly possible? Shouldn’t this be known?” “It is. For some reason though, this information was hidden away. Her child had to be raised in secret and was only a bit fat, being widely mocked for it,” Teclis said, “and her daughter was just a bit plump and hers was statistically thin. The birth rate declined with their estimated weights.” “Then this information was hidden away,” Alarielle realized, “someone sabotaged our people!” “I agree, it may have been the Cult of Pleasure. They were active in the royal court at the time,” the wizard said. “Then it is time their influence ended,” Alarielle told him, “this pains me greatly but I must...sacrifice my figure for the greater good and begin to grow heavier. We will see if this truly influences the Asur…” “Milady, that would take years for a child to be conceived and born,” Cisena reminded. “Then years I will bear this burden. Horrible as it will be to gr

Overseer Borek Fal’s personal journal, entry one hundred sixty one. Been a while since I had a chance to ease my mind on these pages. That last promotion made free time far too scarce. Privacy became a luxury I could no longer afford. It was a rough ride, to say the least. Managing Inquisitor’s affairs is not something you’d call an easy or cushy job, especially with the kind of Inquisitor I ended up working with. There is indeed much more to say, but I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to do so. Not even here. Fortunately, as I was sorting things out for her, The Hand That Guides All sorted things out for me. Kinda. Some might say that being sent away to oversee some remote black site counts as sharp demotion, if not outright discharge. I say, it’s a damn well earned vacation. Even with all the faux cover-up paperwork. Why am I writing this, knowing full well that base personnel are prohibited from collecting any evidence? Personal experience, for I’m no rookie acolyte who simply does as told. Unfortunately, things at Inquisitorial black sites tend to go bad. Real bad. With all our data banks set to self-wipe on any major emergency, good old paper records like this may prove invaluable to any cleanup crews that will show up eventually. What exactly is the deal with this place? Basically, we’re trying to invent a new power source for a new form of covert ops augmetics. The prime idea behind the latter is to make performance enhancer prostethics indistinguishable from regular human limbs and organs, both for the naked eye and for the commonly encountered scanning equipment. To make “performance enhancer” part work, one would require a powerful enough power source – else it won’t be any better than their regular vat-grown body parts. Said power source, in terms of Imperial Standard tech, inevitably means metallic parts, which in turn means that even the shoddiest of auspexes would be able to detect it. There are tomes upon tomes of records recapping prior attempts at circumventing this issue, yet all of the efforts described yielded little results. That’s where our esteemed Magos Biologis Ynessa Prax proposed a rather unorthodox way of solving said conundrum. Hardly surprising, considering that even the quasi-legal Xenarite coven she used to work for deemed her insights and practices borderline heretical. I wouldn’t bother trying to recap the torrent of techno-babble I had to withstand, so I’ll try keep this mercifully short. Every living creature has to store energy in some way. Among those creatures, sentient ones are believed to possess the highest storage efficiency, as complex neural structures that make sentience possible consume (i.e. brains) consume upwards to half of total energy output provided by their bodies. Humans are not very efficient in said regard, since adipose tissue that our bodies generate when excess amount of nutrients is provided takes up quite a lot of volume and has a fairly low energy density... that one I can wholeheartedly agree with, for I have witnessed my fair share of Imperial nobles who glutted themselves to a state where they had to rely on heavy duty machinery to maintain their mobility and vehicle cover sized clothing to maintain their decency. Among sexually dimorphic sentients, females are believed to possess higher energy storage efficiency than males as their bodies are required to endure the stress of child bearing and other related energy expenses. The the proposed solution? Collect female sentient xenos. Introduce excess amount of nutrients. Record results. Basically, feed them until their bodies falter and pray that their demise can provide Magos with some way to store energy for the accursed implants. Does all that setup reek of heresy? Oh yes, it does. But I don’t mind. As long as it’s xenos who are on the receiving end, I don’t mind. I may even take pleasure in watching their suffering, for it serves our salvation. First batch of test subjects is arriving within two to three standard weeks. May the Omnissiah grant Magos what we seek.

Like the start of that. Gonna see if I can get my next piece shorter and sweeter: A change had come over Averlorn from the moment Alarielle had publicly announced she was going to gain weight. Teclis and Tyrion had been shocked that the Everqueen would announce her plan publicly, but through every corner of Ulthuan the plan was announced: Alarialle the Radiant was going to grow fat. And the people of Averlorn had reacted...extremly well. The Asur of Averlorn loved their Everqueen and if she said she needed to gain weight, then by the Gods they would do anything they could to help! Gifts of food poured into Alarielle's coffers as she returned to the Phoenix King's city of Lothern. Rather than catty comments at her thickening waist and softening face there had been nothing but curious compliments as the universally svelte Asur watched the trim queen expand in unforeseen ways... Alarielle strode into the women's bath, followed by her giggling handmaidens. These girls were less warriors and more friends, like her they fairly young Asur more prone to laugh and flirt than fight.. And they were giggling now. "Your hips sway most wonderfully!" Lala, a black haired beauty cooed, "they hypnotize me!" "And the...what are they called, the flappy bulges on the side of your waist! They bounce like balls!" Rella, a bubbly blonde laughed, "How did we ever look at you without them?" "And your thighs, the way they rub together when you walk," a brown haired maiden called Jelna giggled, "its most magnificent!" Alarielle smiled at the compliments stopping at the large fountain of hot water and held up her arms for the attendants to undress her. Once she would have undressed herself but the Everqueen was finding it more enjoyable to let others do it. Their nimble fingers worked at the overtight golden buttons of her white gown, using it as an excuse to pinch and fondle her soft fat. "I love how your fat is poking through the gaps between your buttons!" Jelna smiled. "And the little rips on the seams!" Rella said, "you can't be contained, your majesty!" "No, I suppose not. I've really been getting soft since we came back to Lothern, I think I've lost most of my muscles. I don't think I've danced in three months," Alarialle admitted with a blush. "Yes, you're so soft, like butter!" Lala laughed, patting the semi-full ball of Alarialle's stomach when it was exposed, "I can barely recognize you!" The naked Queen took in her reflection in the water, marveling at how big she had gotten. She should not be surprised after several months of over eating but this was...she was far fatter than any Asur she'd ever seen. Her weight had been carefully monitored, every new pound and inch recorded and reported for the effects it would have on the Asur's fertility, but that she'd gained over a hundred pounds... Her breasts had doubled in size. Soft and warm, they overflowed her hands whens he cupped them, marveling at the weight of the largest breasts any Asur had boasted in thousands of years. Beneath them her belly had a significant crease where the flop of her side fat met her drooping gut, red marks on her fair skin further exciting her. One of the maids touched her belly, fingers sinking deep into the fat. Her stomach was now bigger than when she'd been pregnant and it sagged, resting almost to her sex. "Sit though my queen, let us get some more food while you rest!" one maid, also naked and looking slim in comparison, insisted, leading Alarielle into the hot water. "Oh, girls we have just eaten dinner," the everqueen smiled, "I couldn't eat another bite..." "Of course you can, you're the Everqueen, you always eat!" the rehaired maid teased, pinching her waddling thighs, "and we love watching you do it!" Alarielle shrugged, waddling into the water and taking a load off of her sore feet. Rella and Lala began to massage her thighs and stomach, while Jelna hurried to the kitchens, returning with a heavy platter of the strange human food called cookies. One of them was already in her mouth. That made Alarielle start, it was strange to see someone else eating extra, especially as her maids had eaten heartily at dinner despite not exercising in recent memory. In fact looking at them, she was that each of the maidens was near as well fed as Alarielle had been. Their warrior muscles had gone slack, each bearing a decent pair of breasts and rounding hips They had dimples when they smiled and their little tummies shook when they laughed. Jelna's ass had a droop to it and the first signs of what Alarielle now knew were cellulite. Lala's puffy tummy went out as far as her breasts and folded when she bent down to hand feed Alarielle. And Relna's boobs were so large they were flopping as she worked on the lower slope of the Queen's stomach. "Does Lord Tyrion enjoy the new you?" Relna asked coyly, "You were only a little puffy when he had to sail off and raid the horrid druchi, did he like seeing all of Alarielle?" "If he's sane he would!" Jella said, "my queen you drive me wild just to see you, if you weren't straight..." "And what am I, chopped liver?" Jelna's girlfriend Lala said, patting her budding gut. "You are beautiful and the queen of my heart," th big hipped Jelna reassured, "but if the Queen asked you for a roll in the grass..." "Girls, I am right here," Alarielle laughed, "and you know that he did. I think Nagarythe heard the moans I made, in fact...." "Are we having fun, ladies?" the voice of the Queen's advisor and chief handmaiden cut through the steamy bathing chamber, "because it looks like things have gotten quite out of hand while I've been gone."

>>78 Overseer Borek Fal’s personal journal, entry one hundred sixty two dash one. Magos Prax is not the most pleasant person to work with. Arrogant, self-absorbed, always treating people like tools, never even pretending to make any distinction for rank and file. Just like every other coghead I had a misfortune to be accompanied with. Still, I can’t help but commend her devotion to this entire affair, as well as the sheer amount of skill, thought and effort she puts into her work. Containment procedures, holding cells, lab sets, data archives, supply chains, fail-safes, cover-up projects and other things great and small, all methodically calculated, ruthlessly implemented and permanently optimized for maximum efficiency. Fortunately enough, Magos is as straightforward as it gets for their kin. For now. First batch of test subjects has arrived safely. Four Tau females of reproductive age, each one corresponding to a single sub-species xenologists generally refer to as “Castes”. All transported to the testing area with minimal trouble. Emperor be praised, the Rogue Trader I hired for this job decided not to push our sheer luck with obtaining a member of Ethereal Caste – Tau Navy, as much of a laughing stock it may be, would have certainly went above and beyond the call of duty in bringing one of their “ruling elite” back to the fold. Quite predictably, Ynessa was quite displeased… she’d have to deal with it. We can’t afford stationing a fleet in this system or building a full-blown anti-ship defense grid on the surface, for it would certainly drag too much unwanted attention to this place. After considering our options, we have decided to begin this project with a member of Water Caste. Sufficiently studied. Proven to be docile enough. Easy pick. What happened next was fairly surprising – the blue-skinned xeno requested to parley. Naturally, I’d laugh at the prospect of parleying with the foul xeno before turning it down… if it wasn’t for the fact that her demands were voiced in nigh-perfect High Gothic. We agreed do play along, see what happens – after all, what was there to lose? Even more surprising, however, was that upon realization of our intentions... the xeno decided to cooperate. “If it is a sacrifice required for the betterment of your understanding of our species, the Greater Good commands that it is a sacrifice I must make.” For a time being, I have naturally suspected that there must be some kind of ploy, some kind of hidden intent. Her actions, however, proved my suspicions utterly inaccurate. With all the things I had to witness in the service to the Throne, it is still well beyond my understanding how brainwashed and how naive one must be to willingly partake in their own inevitable demise. A mind truly alien indeed. In the months that followed, the xeno gorged herself on every item of nourishment provided with enthusiasm I had a misfortune to observe only in reports describing activities of the most debauched cults of a certain Ruinous Power. For all my life, I have been attracted to larger women, and as shameful as it is admit, I found observing the gradual changes in xeno’s physique oddly alluring, if not more. Watching Magos poke, prod, grope and otherwise physically interact with the yielding, soft, feminine blue rolls during bi-weekly check-ups almost made my body betray my desires – more than once at that. I even saved some of the recordings on my private data-slate – sinful intents aside, there is a market for obscenities like this in the Imperium, so it may either earn us a decent sum of money or prove invaluable in honey-potting certain people of higher standing later on. One thing that I have noted during observations was that excess flesh spread across xeno’s body almost evenly – or, dare I say it, almost perfectly. It was a pattern rarely observed with humans – yet here, it somewhat persisted even after the xeno was reduced to a helpless immobile blob barely capable of wriggling her toes. Xeno’s skin also retained a surprising amount of tension and smoothness – where human form would stretch, droop and sag under the unbearable load, her swelling rolls successfully kept their bubbly perkiness, as well as more or less defined round shape until the xeno’s demise. Same could be said about xeno’s breasts – even as the blue orbs surpassed her head in size, they sternly refused to deflate and drop down by her sides, taut skin maintaining their strange oversized appeal. It didn’t take much for her to become “conventionally” obese – that is, to blow past three hundred pounds. In a way, it could be considered a feat – a feat of reckless gluttony, since it took her less than half a year to achieve, with minimal assistance on our behalf. Then, at about five hundred, she began having trouble moving her bulk by her own power – hardly surprising, considering that “average” Tau has less muscle than average human, and Water Caste members are considered somewhat weak even by Tau standards. Due to xeno’s sheer zeal and dedication to literally eating herself to death, Ynessa didn’t introduce the feeding devices she constructed until much later – at that point, at about seven hundred and fifty pounds of opulent blue flesh, the xeno herself was way beyond immobility, and was beginning to have serious issues with moving her bloated arms around. With Magos’ machine assistance, the xeno managed to reach eight hundred and forty three pounds before her heart began to show obvious signs of imminent failure. There was a debate whether we should put her on life support just to see how far her body can go in terms of accumulating adipose, but Magos ultimately decided against. Thus, at eight hundred and fifty one pound, in just under a year since delivery, the xeno met her demise, her last words being “for the Greater Good”. Did we get anything out of this? Hardly. As far as I could decipher Ynessa’s techno-babble, Tau accumulate adipose approximately in the same ways we humans do, with approximately same health complications and at otherwise approximately same parameters. She did, however, state that the way this particular specimen distributed adipose was not random, and that she had begun to sequence the xeno’s genes to find the parts that make the biochemistry of said distribution possible. With that in mind, she hopes to synthesize the chemicals that will allow the living batteries to maintain more or less stable shape during recharge. As for me? Wear the damned respirator when interacting with xenos. Took me more than a couple of shots of de-tox to get rid of all the pheromones I accidentally breathed in. Not to mention the shameful displays of deranged xenophilia in my office restroom. I pray the Emperor forgives me one day.

>>81 Some things to consider here. First, I feel like I've made myself a hostage of a chosen format, i.e. a diary of an Inquisitorial R&D overseer. Making colorful descriptions is not going to be easy unless I find a way to cope with a certain canon bending. Second, this whole spectacle regarding feeding them to death, health issues, immobility... not my kind of kinks. Anyway... any feedback? Recommendations? Ideas? Should I continue?

Feeding to death isn't exactly my bag either. The journal style is fine and your pride is good though. Maybe make testing a way to create "bio batteries" be two fold. One is a way to make massive gains quickly and safely, the other to harvest the energy. The first part is a success, the later less so

>>82 Came expecting Slaanesh. Got Nurgle instead. All jokes aside, I personally have no problems with health issues, immobility, or slobbiness in fiction. Death at the end fits the tone of 40k, but it takes some of the fun out of reading the story. From a narrative standpoint, captured xenos, such as Tau and Eldar, can be hard to come by even for an organization like the Inquisition. It would be wasteful to just let them expire rather than use them to their fullest capacity. Plus, it reduces the opportunities for different subjects to interact with one another in the future. As for the format, if you feel the diary format is too restrictive, you could alternate between that and experiment and observation reports which could be more descriptive. Other than that, I think you have a very nice grasp over the setting and lore, although I'm not sure if Tau other than the Ethereal caste have pheromone glands. Either way, I still think this storyline has potential but you may want to go back and tweek some things. Ultimately, it's your vision and your choice.

>>75 >>76 >>80 I think this is a good start, although you may want to take the extra time to reread the chapters before you post, I noticed a few inconsistencies such as how the number of children the elves used to produce switches from seven to ten when Teclis and Alarielle are talking. That said, I love the way you characterize Teclis as a sarcastic ass and a perv who still has to deal with health problems caused by the curse of Aenarion, even after acquiring the Moon Staff of Lileath. As of right now, Tyrion is a bit flat, although this may change in the future, and should be nicer to his brother. Alarielle seems pretty spot on between her devotion to her people and her hidden kinky side. All that aside, I am really looking forward to seeing how Alarielle and her handmaiden's gains progress. The fact that Aenarion's first wife, Everqueen Astarielle, was immensely obese raises certain questions about the first Pheonix King's taste in women and his relationship to Morathi. Was Morathi a lot plumper back in the day or did Aenarion chose a skinny Morathi because having a second fat wife would have reminded him too much about Astarielle? Was the Cult of Pleasure's conspiracy to slim down the Elven race the result of Morathi developing an inferiority complex about never being fat enough to truly satisfy her husband or was she just vindictive at an Elven society that looked down on thin girls like her? Was Aenarion's fat fetish inherited by his children other than Teclis? Is Malekith such a grouch because he just wants a nice, warm waterbed of a wife to lie down with rather than the cold, edgy bitches of Naggarond?

>>86 >>87 Thanks for the feedback. It's always nice to know there are people willing to help, even among the extreme niche audience I keep making my senile scribbles for. As for the grasp on setting and lore, I've been playing various forms of 40k for over a decade now, both in tabletop and roleplaying varieties. I hold deepest regard for the 40k canon and I bend it only when it's absolutely logical, at least from my viewpoint. Regarding Water Caste and pheromones, as far as my knowledge goes, pheromone exchange played an intrinsic part in Tau society even before the Ethereals came to be. Since Water Caste is described as people who keep peace and balance between the Castes, as well as being masterful negotiators and manipulators, I'd say it's fairly reasonable to assume that they actively use pheromones to give themselves an edge in social affairs too - it's just that Ethereals are way more adept and efficent in that regard. If I'm wrong, I'll just edit that out. As for those who came for Slaanesh... I'll probably make a next part with Magos as POV. If it wasn't foreshadowed propelry enough, she is a closet heretic, so spicier stuff may be added without breaking already established plot.

Yeah, I need to pause and edit some more when I write. I'll probably put this on DA with the rest of my stuff. I do plan on having some more Tyrion in it, then once the wholesome stuff is over cut to Naggaroth where Morathi's worst nightmare is coming to life

>>90 I'm glad lad to see you're taking criticism into account. I've been a fan of your previous work both here and on DA. Death by weight gain seems to be the divisive element here and I can see why. Personally, I find it a turn-off even in a story set in Warhammer 40,000. Maybe, you could give the aliens a more ambiguous fate at the end or leave the death part implied.

Not a continuation per se, but a different POV. Feedback on this one is appreciated too. >>81 ++ ADDENDUM I ++ + excerpt from unknown source + The Inquisition. What a wonderful bunch of single-minded fanatics, paranoid lunatics and power-obsessed megalomaniacs. The crème de la crème of Mankind. Or, rather, that’s what they want to believe. For all their self-aggrandizing flair, they still need someone who is capable of thinking outside the rigid, primitivistic thought patterns they ever so desperately push everyone else into. Idealists are almost criminally easy to manipulate. Still, the opportunities they offer are indeed a blessing I was craving for as long as I can remember. No more senile stuck-ups screeching “flesh is weak” every nanosecond of their pitiful existence. No more arbitrary restrictions on resource allocation because the Manufactorum has “different priorities” right now. No more cybernetic eyes peering over my shoulders at most inappropriate of times. No more threats to put me under investigation for my “possibly heretical” research inquiries. So I’ll just play along. See what happens. Find the limits of their benevolence. Abuse the living hell out of my new position. We’ll all die eventually. But I digress. Xeno autopsies ceased to be of any interest for me long ago. You may study the burnt-out wreck of a machine for as long as you desire, yet past a certain point you’ll never gain any relevant insights on how it used to work. So you either try to reverse-engineer it, which is almost always considered a heresy of the highest order, or you obtain one in working condition, which is a nigh-impossible affair both for a backwater Manufactorum and a small Xenarite cabal. Same goes for live sentient xeno study. What my kindred tend to forget is that life itself is a machine. A machine of unfathomable scale and complexity. A machine that deserves at least as much study as their vaunted “Quest for Knowledge”, if not more. “The Flesh is Weak”. When the last part of living flesh within your shiny metal shell is a quarter of your increasingly deteriorating brain, it should be easy enough to deduce what exact part of you is now weak. Oh, the irony. Now, personal gripes mostly out of the system, I can finally begin recapping the rather peculiar project I ended up working on. Tau. I like Tau. So young. So vigorous. So idealistic. So naive. And yet, so resourceful, so crafty, so ingenuous. Will they replace us as rightful masters of the stars? Considering the breakneck speed of their technological advancement, I’d say they will, eventually – that is, unless some kind of disaster engulfs the tiny portion of the Galaxy they call their home. We have so much to learn from them – and yet, the only trade we give them so far is nothing but total, unrelenting, genocidal war. All the more surprising is that even after all the atrocities we have inflicted upon their kin, they are still willing to greet us with gentle smiles and open arms. Even as one of them is captured like an unwitting beast, then smuggled to the other side of the Galaxy, and then put into ethically questionable experiment. Still… a priceless opportunity to observe a live sentient xeno. No matter what our senile ideologies tell us to believe, you can’t cheat your brain. Not unless copious amounts of brain-altering substances or extensive neurosurgical intervention is involved. Beneath the thin veil of our brain cortexes, which hold everything we have ever achieved as civilization, each and every single one of us is still an animal, hard-coded to fulfill the Prime Directive of Life through aeons upon aeons of trial and error commonly known as evolution. No matter what our senile ideologies tell us to believe, deep down we all still consider any distinctly humanoid species to be possible mates. It’s just that our cortexes are told time and again to suppress any thoughts about it. Unfortunately, deeper layers of our brains hold little to no regard for words. Overseer still thinks I didn’t notice. Best don’t let him know. But again, I digress. Our Water Caste guest’s descent into rampant gluttony and morbid obesity was quite a spectacular sight to behold. Her sudden drive to fulfill the sadistic will of her captors to the fullest extent at the expense of every other regard was truly astonishing – so much so that during the initial stages of the experiment I even had to hard-limit her nourishment supply, as she did grossly overestimate her stomach capacity and its’ ability to digest excessive amounts of foodstuffs more than once. Fortunately, the reason behind this behavior was quite easy to deduce – somehow, the xeno quickly taught herself to derive immense pleasure from the mere acts of consuming a meal, her brains swimming in endorphin and serotonin equivalents every time she passed out in another food coma. Oddly enough, there were no surveillance feeds indicating that the xeno would manually stimulate her reproductive organs to create a connection between being agonizingly full and fulfilling the Prime Directive of Life – like some certain deranged human individuals would do. Was it her... fetish? Do Tau even have sexual fetishes? Or was it a part of Water Caste’s innate social mimicry? Most likely the latter, but we could never know for certain. Not unless that pesky Overseer stops watching and re-watching every accursed security feeds. “Safety concerns”, he would say. Oh, the blessed ignorance. In either case, the word that I would use to describe xeno’s physique until the experiment reached later stages would be “blossomed”, and I would bear no shame in doing so. Rapidly forming adipose tissue was spreading across test subject’s body extremely evenly, except for xeno’s face and nether regions. At every bi-weekly check-up I found her expanding form more and more alluring, radiating more and more primal fertility, every growing curve subtly ticking checkboxes in the “desirable mate” counter somewhere down the less refined parts of our brains. Furthermore, despite the speed at which the xeno was accumulating excess weight, I never observed any stretch marks forming on her seemingly flawless, soft, yet surprisingly strong and tensile skin. Can’t help but wonder what effect would that visage have on a regular male, especially combined with full pheromone exposure. I could even think of a certain willing test subject… but that would have to wait. At about two hundred and fifty pounds, her previously bell-shaped belly began dividing into distinct, puffy rolls, though that process would not be complete until much later into the experiment. As the gravity made it sag further down, obscuring xeno’s nether regions, a subtle fold that went from her belly button to the hem of her belly began to deepen, serving as a sort of a pre-programmed contingency plan to maintain the appeal of aforementioned fertility. At about three hundred and twenty pounds, I began observing a rather peculiar change in xeno’s growth dynamic – seemingly having exhausted the reserves for simple linear outward expansion, her body began to rapidly widen, with a plethora of new rolls forming at her sides and on her back. Xeno’s face, previously spared from any excess flesh, had finally began to yield, gradually rounding out, showing beginnings of a second chin, with some peculiar fat deposits on her elongated neck.

>>95 From what I can conclude, four hundred pounds can be set as more or less accurate threshold beyond which Water Caste bodies begin to give up. As if suddenly realizing that positive sexual appeal as a desirable mate cannot be maintained any further, as if intuitively concluding that other sentients would most likely view further increases in body mass as a sign of growing sickness rather than a sign of additional fertility, her body gradually began to lose many of the previously observed perks. The aforementioned process, however, proved to be far slower and far less severe than with humans. Even as xeno’s contours began to gradually distort beyond the more or less defined and collected shape it managed to retain so far, even as her burgeoning rolls began to yield to the forces of gravity, her skin retained most of its’ properties, as well as oddly pneumatic feeling to the touch. Same can be said about xeno’s breasts – despite having grown far beyond any reasonable size, they didn’t sag or droop until much later into the experiment. At the same time, xeno’s digestive tract too began to somewhat falter, we began to observe the first bouts of uncontrollable flatulence. This, however, is hardly surprising – the xeno had stretched her stomach beyond any reasonable capacity her guts could handle. What is surprising, however, is the fact that said bouts began to show up only now, much farther into the reckless gluttonous spree than if it were a human being. The rest, however, is hardly interesting, as the patterns I have observed hardly differed from those observed with humans. The xeno began having mobility issues at just over five hundred pounds, though if anything, it only strengthened her dedication and resolve. True immobility, however, was recorded only at about six hundred and twenty pounds, roughly matching that parameter for a human with somewhat under-developed or slightly degraded muscle skeleton. Seven hundred and fifty pounds marked a threshold at which the xeno could no longer move her arms efficiently enough to feed herself, as hauling the bloated sacks of adipose caused too much muscle strain for her. The experiment proceeded with the machine feeding, allowing the xeno to reach just over eight hundred and forty pounds before I began registering imminent signs of heart failure, though without the oxygen tube I stuck in her breathing slit, as well as permanently attached IV unit with mild doses of stimulants, it would have happened much, much sooner. Truth be told, the xeno herself, having been reduced to a mostly formless pile of sweaty, wheezing, immovable, and persistently flatulent pile flesh, was a sight both pitiful and quite revulsing. I even considered ending the spectacle through administering Omnissiah’s Mercy... but the voice of reason dictated otherwise. Because the spirits of medical machinery are so easy to misguide. Growing eight hundred pounds of cloned xeno flesh is not an arduous task either. I will not allow her to perish. Not like that. Not until she had exhausted all of her usefulness. Because there are still plenty of ways to exploit you for the benefit of Mankind. So that the Golden Age may dawn upon us again.

"I would ask, girls, what was happening here," Cisena said, striding into the baths and taking in the four Asur, the three thinner ones either massaging or hand feeding the larger Queen, "but I can very much tell what hasn't been happening." The senior Handmaiden's sharp eyes cut across arms going soft with lack of archery practice, thighs filling in from lack of running, hips widening from a lack of weight lifting, bellies puffing out from lack of sit ups and breasts bulging from a clear lack of self control. And that was just on the Handmaidens, three of the most elite warriors in Ulthuan! Cisena sneared, for before this farce the three would be among the plumpest Asur she'd ever seen, yet the EverQueen dwarfed them in size, being fatter than any elf she'd ever known of. Alarielle's tiny waist was a waist filling paunch, head sized breasts drooped onto the sphere and her delicate face was soft and round. "Cisena, you have returned from the mission I sent you on to Caledor!" Alarielle smiled, showing a set of dimples, "Please sit and tell us of it." "My Queen, we must speak," Cisena said, staring at the unbelievable bulge, "alone I think you would prefer." "No, I think my handmaidens should stay," Alarielle said, "my stomach is easily upset these days without a massage. A little lower please, ease the food down. Unless you wish to rub me..." Cisena mouth fell open as she saw the other maid's hands plunge deep into the roll of fat. Her mouth went dry and although she had not gotten into the bath yet, the towel clad warrior felt her vagina moisten. What was this strange sensation for ...for... "I ...think that would be unwise my queen," Cisena said, making sure her towel was wrapped tight around her. "Good, now these three girls are most attentive to my needs," the Everqueen said, gesturing at the soft blonde, robust redhead and voluptuous brunette, "they shall wait on me hand and foot, night and day, attending to my every need. They are to be excused all exercise and other duties, to be clad only in my own fashions." Cisena saw Rella, with breasts large enough they'd interfere with her archery, take a messy bite of honey scone, a drop of honey falling onto one nipple. The blonde slyly lifted up her breast, just able to suck the drop off the nipple, and giggled in pleasure. Brown haired Jelna, once so mousy, put a cookie in her mouth and rose on tip toe, wide hips and sagging ass rising out of the water, to kiss black haired Lala. Lala leaned in to kiss her lover/bite the cookie, building pot belly flattening against Jelna's somewhat firmer waist. Each of the three needed a desperate diet, training drill and chewing out but Cisena couldn't do much but drool looking at the three. "I see," she blinked. "Good," Alarielle said, patting her heavy gut, "they will be boon companions during this delicate time." "Delicate?" Cisena asked, looking at the gravid sphere that had been a paper flat waist. "Oh yes, my consort returned only a short while ago but I can already feel myself quickening," the fat Asur said breathily, "my breasts are engorged, my appetite is rising and my libido is becoming most...demanding." "I see, that you are with child again so quickly," Cisena said, mouth growing every drier, "that would mean that Lord Teclis is correct then?" "Oh yes, I barely had to look at Tyrion and conceive," the Queen said, moaning as another cookie was placed into her mouth, "and I fear it will grow much, much easier for everyone soon...go fetch Lord Tyrion for me. I feel that I have needs only he can meet." Cisena stumbled away from the bath, dropping her towel and shoving herself into her armor. Alarielle's green eyes ran over the Handmaiden's back, taking in the trim muscular thighs, narrow waist and hard shoulders with a shudder. Why should a maiden ever be any thing but soft and spoiled... .... "I swear, its as if Aalrielle is growing more bewitching to me by the day," Tyrion muttered in a different corner of Lothern's palace, "I had thought the delicate curve of her hip the most beauitful thing I had ever seen, but now the sight of her pale flab, the dots of cellulite stretching wider and wider across her buttocks. She grows more beautiful with every bite it seems...and her appetites, she is unsatiable..." "Yes, yes, go ahead and brag," Teclis muttered, looking over the figures in his book, both on the Queen's figure and the birth rate. "It used to be she loved to stay on top and would buck and bounce atop me like a mad dragon," his stronger brother went on, "it was all I could do to hold onto her. Now she demands to be on the bottom and she bounces and ripples with every motion, her body softer than butter and warmer than a fresh pie. Her rolls bounce and clap as she comes, her breasts shaking..." "I suppose I should say, "no stop bragging of your beautiful consort"," Teclis sighed, going to write down some anecdotal evidence of seeing many more obviously pregnant Asur. A knock on the brother's apartments sounded and Cisena stepped in. The redheaded body guard seemed shaken, the roots of her world pulled up. Her skin was paler than normal and her muscles stood up like cords. "Lord Tyrion, the Queen needs you most urgently," she said, a quiver in her voice, "and Lord Teclis, she has a message for you in private." "I see, I will be there post haste. Please make sure my brother isn't disturbed while I am gone, he is most involved in his studies," the muscular Asur teased lightly, walking out with a panther's strut. Teclis took in the bullying body guard, who pushed the door shut and locked it. "What is this?" the wizard asked with some alarm, looking at her aura for some sign of bewitchment. "You've done something to the Queen, released something primal," Cisena accused, looming over the shorter Asur, "turned her from this dancing vision of martial beauty into this soft pillow of a woman good only for breeding and eating, Ruined her discipline and turned her into a pig for your brother and your own perversion." "That is, an exaggeration to some degree," Teclis said, feeling a mix of indignity, anger and lust at the looming warrior, "Now take yourself off and-" Cisena kissed him, hard. In a second she had him pinned to the wall, one hand tight across his cock and the other easily sliding off her body armor. She pressed her hard muscles against him, writhing against him and tearing away his robes of office. "Do the same to me," she begged, "fill me up with seed, stuff me with food, turn me into a fat, useless lump..." "This is not what I had expected," the scholarly wizard said but in a heartbeat he was inside her, her hips slamming his back against the wall hard enough to pop his vertebrae. A half dozen pumps and she started moaning, loud enough to hurt his ears. Small nipples pressed against him, his hands thoughtlessly gliding over them. Cisena fell back first onto her table, ink smearing across her back. "Food, feed me, feed me you scrawny bastard!" she demanded, "I'm the best archer and spearmaid in two thousand years, ruin me like you want to, make me your soft useless bride, you sick fuck!" Teclis recklessly summoned the winds, the entirety of what the halfling's called a lemon meringue pie appearing next to Cisena's head. He kept driving into her, while stuffing sugary sweetness into her mouth by the handful. Soon the pie was out but she kept begging for me, sucking cream off his fingers and he had to summon another pie, this one randomly chocolate cream. "More, gods damnit make me as much of a useless slut as the Queen," she demanded, picking up the pie and rising to her feet, slamming him onto his back, face creamy and mad above him, "feed me, go on. Its taken two hundred years to get my abs just so tight, go on and ruin them!" Gasping, black spots in her vision, the wizard stuffed more pie into her mouth, her passion rising higher and higher. Muscular thighs pushed tighter and tighter against his sides, hips and ribs groaning. "Feed me!" she demanded as he shoved the last slice of pie into her mouth, "Asuryan damn it feed me you fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, OH FUCK!" She came atop him like a cask of dwarven black powder, exploding and screaming, hips slamming up and down, up and down so hard onto him, Teclis' hips popped and his ribs cracked.Teclis screamed in pain and pleasure, firing his load into her womb. For a moment she hovered over him, then slumped to the side as he shrank. Cisena landed face first in the pie, grunting as she licked its creamy remnants. The tall muscular Asur rose up, stomach bulging and Teclis' seed running down her thighs. She stumbled in front of a mirror while he gasped for breath, cleaning off her self off and running her hands over her stomach. Cesina slid her body armor on, having to loosen the straps to get the hard leather over her bulging stomach. "Tell anyone of this and I'll kill you," Cisena promised angrily, stomping over and kissing him hard, driving her tongue down his throat for long enough he almost choked, "fucking pervert. For your sake, I hope I quicken soon because we'll be doing this every day until I bear your child, you die or I can't fit through the door." She dropped him hard on the table and stalked away, making her hips shake wide. The nude wizard watched her go, growing inexplicably hard again.It took hours, but the weak mage managed to at last pick up his staff and carefully put his clothes back together, wincing at the bruises that covered him. "What the fuck was that?" he finally gasped.

>>98 Damn, son. That's some good shit.

HERESY!!!!!!!!!!! THIS ENTIRE THREAD IS HERESY!!!!!!!!!!! BY THE EMPEROR'S SACRIFICE I WILL STRIKE YOU ALL DOWN!!!!!!!

>>144 Thanks, I just remembered a story idea based on an old meme. After her most recent failed attempt to lose her virginity, Farseer Macha decides to do some more research on ancient human art to see what the Emprah is into. Records from before the Old Aldari Empire's collapse are spotty at best but she does find a handful of images depicting ancient Terran fertility idols, such as the Venus of Willendorf. Knowing that the old E-Money has been guiding humanity’s development since before the first caveman traded up his cave for a mud hut and that these idols were some of the first works of human art, she concludes that the Big Daddy Emps has a big fat fetish. Resolving to become a big beautiful goddess of fertility worthy of the Manly-Manperor 's love and more importantly his nova-cannon like dick, Macha then sets on her quest to eat her way through the galaxy, pack on the pounds, and, maybe, finally get laid.

>>14 Good story bro. Please continue.

not weightgain, but got a bunch of warhammer stories I've done lately https://www.hentai-foundry.com/stories/user/luffy316/37247/Warhammer-40K-Only-Lust

There is a Writing.com choose your own adventure for 40K weight gain. https://www.writing.com/main/interact/item_id/2201615-Warhammer-40000-Weight-Gain-Interactive

>>17 This is some really good stuff. I hope it gets a continuation. Corruption and weight gain are two of my favorite fetishes to pair together, plus the mystery behind it is surprisingly compelling. On a related note, I've been reading through the Witch Hunter's Handbook pdf and found this little gem. I can easily imagine that a particularly persistent, or horny, Sigmarite Witch Hunter might add a few zeros to the number of slices of cake the accused needs to eat to prove their innocence.

Yeah I should finish that. It has about two updates left, maybe tomorrow?

>>194 I am not the original author but a second part of the Ordo Sabine story was posted before the old thread died. Ordo Sabine Weight Gain: https://pastebin.com/T8Dw2FUN Here are also the pastebins for two other stories that were posted from the old thread Circus Obeseus: https://pastebin.com/rnpUAMcS Order of the Emperor's Bounty: https://pastebin.com/7ZFqXugB

A third part of the witch hunter storyline. The purist in me is hurt by some of the decisions I made: "Witch Hunter Captain, While I always bow to your authority and expertise, I do so only under protest. A noble lady of the Empire I may be, but I am a trained witch hunter of the Silver Hammer. I was trained by the best swords men in the Empire and have fought Orcs, Norscans and Beastmen before, living off the land in the hard conditions of the Drakwald. Traveling to the Moot disguised as a noble woman in a luxurious wain was not necessary. It should have taken only two weeks of hard riding to reach my target but the slow wagon made it take nearly two months! Further, providing me with so many scandalous dresses in the latest fashions was not necessary. Pride in my slender waist, long legs and high breasts has always been a sin for me. A gown cut to my navel and slit to my hip does nothing but make me feel prideful. Just as so many servants indulged nothing but sloth, the private Halfling chef was very skilled and the maids who dressed me every morning were a joy to gossip with but were vain, silly girls much prone to giggling whenever they dressed me. The laundress and seamstress were simply a waste, although I did enjoy their skills given how badly that the laundresses of the Lady Von Bov shrank and broke my older clothes during my stay there. But, I do not write this as a list of complaints. We did at long last reach the Moot, that happy, over protected land of the Halflings. Fields of wheat thicker than the hair on a maiden's head stretch on forever and every tree seems to almost groan with fruit. The halflings are short, silly folk, much given to excitement and over eating. Some of them are wider than they are tall! And after attending a few of their dinners I can see why, course follows course follows course. But again I digress. Being told that I would interview a Vampire, one of the aristocracy of the Night, was quite alarming to me. Such creatures should be staked and burned immediately, as the Holy Cult of Sigmar teaches. How the halflings had captured such a creature baffled me, for the Vampires are dangerous beyond anything but the greatest champions of the Dark Gods. I was especially shocked to find the creature's prison was located in a large, comfortable looking home set in the main square of Eicheschatten, with the doors hanging wide open and a constant stream of happily chatting halfling wives entering with full stew pots and leaving with empty ones. My servants had misplaced my weapons at some point, making me depend on the rather excellent if silent guards you'd sent along with me. Just as they had lost my official witch hunter uniform, making me conduct the interrogation a trailing green gown fitted with a corset that took all three of my maids to lace up it was so complicated. But when I saw my prisoner I immediately lost all sense of fear. Indeed, as I saw the great bulk of pale flesh stretched out on a flattened bedspread in front of me, a giant bed of a wobbling belly stretching out well past almost vestigial legs I laughed so hard the laces of my corset began to fray! The vampire, this undead monster, turned its swollen head, jowls dragging along its flabby chest, and began to cry at its humiliation! It took long minutes of the monstrosity being fed puddings and tarts for it to cease its weeping and begin to tell how it had come to such a pathetic state. By her own words, Adela of Couronne was a grand beauty of the Brettonian Court some four hundred years ago. Daughter of a powerful noble, she was a svelte and delicate thing: with pale features and long black hair. Her waist was waspish, her arms slim and her legs tiny. Even when she reached the age of her majority she was extremely lean, her beauty a thing of hard angles and a teasing manner backed by a sharp wit. She was a hit in the knightly court, flirting endlessly and becoming something of a socialite, well read and clever. But alas, she was a Brettonian noble woman. Even in the Empire, save for those few noble women who have the discipline to take up a life of arms and dedication such as myself, the role of a noble girl is to be a noble wife and Adela was married off to a cruel knight who quickly got her with child. Unfortunately the child was a girl, meaning Adela was made pregnant again and again, delivering over fifteen children, all of them girls. At eighteen she had been slim and cocquettish, at thirty three she was bloated and fat, made weak and older than her years by so many children. Once small breasts had become drooping pillow cases, her svelte waist had become a great bag of dough hanging to her knees and her girlish hips had widened until they knocked tapestries from the walls of her husband's castle. Having become a fat sow of a woman, relegated to the dining tables at feast where the other over weight matrons gorged, the greying Adela's dark eyes alighted on her husband leaving the ball with a much younger, slimmer woman. Furious and without recourse, Adela easily listened to the whispers of another woman at court. This was Mahaut, an exotic woman rumored to be the Duke of Giscard's mistress who whispered to Adela of a way to both avenge herself on her husband and reclaim her spent youth and beauty. Mahaut was of course a Lamian Vampire, those cruel and catty manipulators, who gave Adela the Vampire's kiss upon the fat mother agreeing to serve her. I will not bore you with the details of Adela's long unlife ever since, moving through courts from Estalia to Kislev as an eternally young, eternally beautiful seductress serving her mistress' will. It was a horrible story told by a sinner but it becomes important to my theory. Adela was bid to infiltrate a cult of the dark gods, a cult called the Silver Mirror, surely in parody of our own august order. The vampire's squeaky, pathetic voice lisped that the Silver Mirror was known to court the finest and most promising beauties, corrupting them into sloth, decadence and obesity. Their finest features and talents are destroyed and they never realize that they are being swollen into humiliating parodies of themselves! It took me long several days to learn this, having to spend it alongside the vampire as the constant train of food was brought to her. The Halflings were burning their sweet smelling weed as an incense to keep the vampire fully sedated, as if a ton of lard didn't pin her down, and it often made me feel light headed and dizzy, time often passing without me realizing it. The weakness stays with me still, my thoughts drag and my stomach often complains of hunger even right after a meal. My maids insist I rest most of the day and try and distract me by buying me new dresses all the time, dears that they are. Adela told me that the cult was led by a wedded pair of Imperial nobles who were staying here in the Moot. She soon found herself in their bed, the cultists kind and complimentary, insisting that the woman paint her. That painting hung directly in front of Adela, showing a girlish beauty with knowing dark eyes and almost painfully slim features, posing nude and wearing only a sheet. Adela was chained with silver and fed, fed gallons and gallons of sweet blood. Vampires need feed only every few weeks and only a few sips she confessed, but the cultists were feeding her gallons of blood every day. And not human blood either, but the blood of fattened pigs taken directly from the great slaughter yards of the Moot. Layer after layer of fat padded over the slim vampire: her ribs and hip bones disappeared as she grew soft and cuddly, her face disappearing into what was at first a cherubically soft face. Dazed and confused, she was bid to take the same pose while the female cultist, a dashingly pretty woman, painted Adela again. The vampire ranted and hissed, promising revenge that the cultists merely mocked. The process repeated again and again, the Vampire becoming fatter and weaker. Every drooping, sagging pound she'd gained centuries ago returned. Blood was replaced with real food and Adela found herself eating actual sustenance for the first time in centuries. Her appetite was uncontrollable and she began eating on her own in a horrible feast of mad gluttony, that her host mockingly recorded for history. Fully a score of these paintings were stored with the Vampire and they were hauntingly perfect. They catch the eye, her expression going from haughty and confident to angry to pure humiliation. After nearly a year of this behavior, Adela was alive again. Her heart beat and blood flowed through her veins, her long life of immortal beauty swapped for a short existence of immobile obesity. The noble paid a great deal of money to the owner of the house he had rented and to a dozen bakeries, chop houses, inns and restaurants to constantly feed the now living woman until nature takes its course. She cannot stand under her own power and tormented as she was by the painting before her, I thought leaving her here was the best punishment. I will stay here in the moot and investigate this noble man and his wife. This may take some time, I have only my maids as assistants and they are of little use beyond tending to me during my frequent tired spells. They are indeed kindly girls but their fear of the undead makes them insist on burning halfling weed incense day and night. Whenever I promise them that I will defend them they break into giggling fits, the silly things. Yours, Witch Hunter Caronell." Witch Hunter Captain Von Voltmartz smiled, remembering his wife's skillful painting of the arrogant vampire as the Lamian was fattened into humiliating uselessness, her perfection offered up to Slaanesh as a willing sacrifice. He longed to see the new Caronell but that would wait. Let her stew in the Moot a bit before he went her to his wife in Marienberg...

>>208 I can see what you mean about going against purist canon. I don't exactly know how eating oneself into immobility reverses vampirism but I can say that that has some interesting story potential. For example, say, Felix Jaeger finds out about this and tries to use this phenomenon to fatten Uirika Magdova back from undeath. Who knows, maybe years of hanging around Gotrek and the dwarven preference for plumper women have planted the seeds of a fat fetish in him and he finds the process much more pleasant than anticipated? Alternatively, Queen Khalida chose to eat herself into morbid obesity as a way to halt the vampiric corruption caused by her battle against her cousin Neferata, the first Vampiress, instead of flooding her body with divine venom. As a result, Khalida became the largest Nehekharan woman ever to undergo the mummification process and upon her resurrection needs an entire team of Ushabti to move her bandaged butt around. Her goal in unlife is still eliminating the Vampiric race except, instead of killing them, she wants to turn them back into humans one pastry at a time. In short, when the queen says “Let them eat cake,” it’s a declaration of war. Still, it's a fun read and I am looking forward to the next part.

Given Papa Nurgle's recent blessings upon us all, does anybody have any ideas for a Nurgle themed weight gain story? Slob is recommended but not required.

>>296 Nurgle feeds Isha.

>>298 I can see morbid obesity as bring a disease Nurgle could try out on Isha. For all her skill with destroying Nurgle's plagues, you can't "cure" obesity by killing it like bacteria or viruses.

>>356 >Rogue Trader's ship gets buttfucked by Slaaneshi daemons during Warp travel >a rubenesque Keeper of Secrets isolates the Rogue Trader and offers him a deal >for the sake of selfish self-preservation, he accepts >the ship exits the Warp completely undamaged >this particular Keeper of Secrets represents the epicurean side of excess >it tasks him with wooing one of each type of waifu that can be found in the grim, dark future and bringing them back to the ship >from there, daemonic servants will feed and pleasure the waifus while the Keeper of Secrets feeds on the excessive actions >it gets fatter and more powerful with each new waifu inside the ship

What, no love for the Great Devourer and legions of fatty, horny and hungry Tyranid ladies?

I've always wondered how Tyranids store biomass while traveling in between planets. Thinking about it, it is conceivable that they would have certain members of the hive glut themselves on biomass and store it for later consumption, like honeypot ants. These can either be specially designed organisms or regular bioforms that get retrofitted to accommodate vast amounts of fat. That said, the Tyranid hives may have also tried converting some of the species they have come across into fat sacks just for this purpose.

>>373 Genestealers have a lot of potential, such as a secret genestealer cult which disguises itself as a combination fertility cult/ high society social club whose members abduct rich, skinny women and feed and fuck them into breeding stock for the cult.

Idea for a one shot: Inquisitorial retinue is investigating a cult on a paradise, pleasure world. Inquisitor believes an under cover investigation of a party is needed to bust open cult, but he's a wiry nerdy investigator type and no weapons are allowed at the party. What are allowed are two "companions" and it just so happens the retinue includes an ultra buff Sister of Battle and a super svelte gun slinger. But on this world female courtesans and noble women are expected to be ridiculously, stupidly, ludicrously fat. The retinue's tech priest uses archaeo tech to swell the sororitas and gun slinger into enormous obesity, which is promised to be temporary provided they get a reversal injection in time. They don't get it in time.

What special rules should I use to represent fattened Sisters of Battle in 8th edition?

An extra wound and extra strength as basic sisters, but decreased movement to represent strong fat devotees of the God Emperor. Officers get vastly decreased movement and a huge increase in wounds to represent devotees of the Emperor's designated perfect human female. Cannonness can't make attacks and can't move save in vehicles, but give a massive bonus to leadership, weapon skill and faith dice to every army within 24 inches. Enemies suffer a minus to hit across the board due to being distracted by their glorious sprawl.

I was recently reading the Imperial Guard Uplifting Primer and was reminded that the Tau are supposedly decedent from some form of alien bovine. This got me thinking. Perhaps, an enterprising, radical Ordo Xeno inquisitor decides to exploit this and begins looking into ways to "domesticate" the Tau and turn the upstart xenos into the Imperium's newest source of milk.

>>96 Man m00nliner, I gotta say I REALLY enjoyed this little 2 part story. I understand where the other commenters are coming from in that death of the feedee is rather a niche angle but for this story I personally think it works very well. Not that I would be opposed to seeing how big the blue xeno can get with say a mechanical heart lol. I like the way you write, it is very easy to get into the story and the attention to detail is really something I love! I would love to see it all again from the water cast's perspective or any form of continuation or expansion to the story really! Not sure Ive really got any useful tips for you but just wanted to say this was a great read to stumble upon!

>>501 Now that Ive had some time to think about it, an element that I really liked was the observational element especially in terms of the almost anti slob like thought behind the weight gain. The elements are there but the fact the characters are observing that she isnt nearly as slobby as she should be is compelling (though that could be because I'm not particularly interested in slob stories) --- Regardless of my feelings on that matter the idea that she took to the weight well due to biological differences was a great element, it had a "Not too far from human but different in an intriguing way" type vibe which served to solidify the fantasy/pornographic element of the story for me; it was a nice touch to bring it together with the idea that as a water cast she could potentially be biologically adapted to be able to look pleasing to humanoids even when she starts to really blow up (And Im a sucker for a little sci-fi explanation) --- No idea if you are gonna look at these comments but if you do hopefully something jumps out at you, if not; hope you like the compliments!

>>502 Appreciate the feedback. Oh, I had big plans for this one. Shame that my drive to write didn't last. Unfortunately, I no longer have time for that sort of thing, since, in a highly unlikely twist of fate, I got my daytime job back. It sucks the life and soul out of me, but money is money, and I honestly don't want to delve back into the pit of pure suffering and misery that makes me write like a maniac I am. Still... nice to know my senile scribbles made someone's day a little brighter.

>>506 Ah thats a shame man, got this part of the story to enjoy (for free no less!) so can't complain! Good luck to you :) (I tried loading lines from it into ai dungeon to branch the story a little, got at least one or two coherant results lol)

>>506 Shame that we won't be getting more but I'm glad you are taking care of yourself.

>>470 I was thinking about giving them +1 wound and +1 toughness for basic sisters instead of +1 strength to represent the extra armor their added bulk would have. Oddly enough, the extra toughness would put SoB infantry closer to space marines in terms of stats. I like the idea of elites and HQs trading movement range for wounds. >Battle Sisters, Dominion squads, and Retributor squads receive +1 wounds but have 5” base movement and -1 to advance or charge >Celestians receive +2 wounds but 4” base movement and -2” to advance or charge >Canonesses receive +4 wounds but only 2” base movement and -3” to advance or charge. The Canonesses can move, but at a glacial pace. If a SoB unit receives a 0” or a negative result for advancing or charging, roll a d6 for the unit. >On a 4-6, the unit rights itself and can move during the next movement phase as normal. >On 2-3, the unit is immobilized until the player’s next turn. >On a 1, the unit is immobilized until the player’s next turn and each model must roll a d6. On a 1, the model suffers 1 mortal wound. This represents the sisters’ bulk getting caught on terrain If a SoB unit does successfully charge an enemy, each enemy model in base contact must roll a d6. >On a 5-6, the enemy model successfully dodge the incoming sister. >On a 4-2, the enemy model is stunned for the rest of the combat and takes 1 mortal wound. >On a 1, the enemy model is stunned for the rest of the combat and takes 1+1d3 mortal wounds >If the unit is being charged by Celestians, subtract 1 from the result. >If the unit is being charged by a Cannonness, subtract 3 from the result. This represents the enemy models being hit/crushed by more than a ton of metal, ceramite, and woman. All SoB infantry take up 2 transport slots in Rhinos, Repressors, and Immolators to represent the double-wide seats needed for these ladies. All dedicated transports get a substantial point reduction to keep the army somewhat mobile. A Cannonness can either take a modified Rhino as an upgrade which gives a massive bonus to leadership, weapon skill and faith dice to every army within 24 inches or a mobility walker/modified dreadnought a la Lord Inquisitor Fyodor Karamazov which not only gives the Cannonness the same bonuses to leadership, weapon skill, and faith but also a stat line similar to a venerable dreadnought. I’ve been stumped by what special rules could be implemented for Repentia squads or Penitent Engines. I’ve thought about leaving them untouched to represent the Repentia being undeserving of taking part in the Emperor’s holy bounty and are thus only ones not obese, but that seemed like a cop-out at the time. I also don’t really have any ideas for unique equipment, acts of faith, or characters at this time. Suggestions and critiques are very welcomed.

I have an ideas on Penitent Engines: Sisters willingly strap themselves into them, the engines 'fueling' themselves by stuffing the sisters inside to death. As the sister within grows fatter and fatter, adopting more and more of the perfect human female physique, the engine gets increased/stronger attacks, faster movement and more wounds. However, each round the model must roll a dice at the start of its turn. On a 3- the sister advances to the next stage of obesity, the latter being: plump->fat->super sized->immobile. Hitting stage four causes the sister to be purified of her sins and ejected.

>>518 I like the force feeding angle. It really hardens back to the Penitent Engines origins as a iron maiden/BDSM rack turned war machine. That said, it seems a little paradoxical to have the machine move faster when the pilot gets heavier, unless it there is purposely a limiter placed on the machine. I also really like the idea of redemption through weight gain, even if it ends in death. Mechanically speaking, having a weapons platform that completely self destructs at the end of a turn seems strange outside of an ork army because... orks. Maybe after the penitent engine's pilot becomes immobile, roll a d6 at the beginning of each turn and on a 1 the unit suffers d3 mortal wounds to represent the machine beginning to give out under the strain of the its operator's girth.

>>470 >>516 I knew that modern 40k players are brainlets, but come on, you guys somehow missed >sin eaters >feasting on psychic energy >Immobile character with 0 movement >feeder cherubs for morale bonuses >assistant servitors to get fallen sisters up and negate penalties for failed advance/charges >Tracked Mobility Chair heavy support units, kataphron bases >starving repentia and sinner retinue feeders >Feeding tubes for HQs, reduce aura range, but give bonuses >Supply fortifications for sisters to heal/snack at >Seraphim that can deep strike on enemy units, but can't when they hit the table

Not necessarily warhammer but this comic is basically the origin story of Grom the Paunch applied to an elf >eat a piece of troll meat on accident >spend the next few weeks trying to digest more of the meat before it can regenerate >manage to not explode but end up weighing more than a troll

>>552 A WIP fat sisters codex, but with rona keeping me home, I'll probably end up finishing it and filling out the fluff section more. https://pastebin.com/q6t9Uyeb

Awesome mini codex, love the rules, units and fluff. I'm picturing the first sisters to find the planet, letting themselves just completely go after a life of restraint, nervously saying they're just worshiping the God Emperor by over eating eight times a day. On the day an inquisitor lord/ecclesiarch comes by for an inspection they can't fit into their power armor, can barely lift a bolter and can't draw their chainswords past their guts...but the higher up approves.

>>602 This is some really great work. If you are taking suggestions, I think that the rest of the Order of His Endless Bounty sororitas units should get a weaker version of the Saint Essinta's faithful gorging ability so the Nourishment Cherub Swarms can get more utility outside of one unique HQ. Maybe 6+ to get extra faith dice when a unit with feeder is near basic infantry and a 4+ for the Cannoness

Found a short fic with a thicc Tau lady. Based on pic https://www.furaffinity.net/view/36685216/

>>670 Here is the full text Cadre commander Na’Mer opened her personal locker and began removing her armor, slightly annoyed at the current campaign. The integration of Xiollon into the Tau empire was coming along slowly but surely, already more than half of the planet’s hive cities seceding from the imperium and pledging themselves to the Greater Good. What was a bit problematic was whatever the nutritional content was in their foodstuffs had caused her to gain quite a bit of weight after attending a few victory celebrations and sampling the local cuisines, her already heavyset figure growing from a bit of chub to full on muffin top. It was to the point she had to ask an earth caste engineer to alter her main warplate from a single piece to two customized interlocking parts. She let out a long sigh of relief as she popped the seals on her chest, letting the armor plates clatter to the floor before sitting down to rest a bit and allow her E-cup breasts and gut to breathe through the sheer fabric of her undersuit. ‘At least I’m getting enough exercise to keep it from going to my hips.’ she thought as she freed her shapely thighs from the leg guards, the polythene prisons could barely contain them as is and were likely to explode apart if hit by a stray projectile. Na’Mer placed the orange plates in the locker and removed one of her armorsleeves before she caught a glimpse of herself in a nearby mirror and stopped. Her leggings being just below her buttocks with kneepads still attached, her bosom and belly straining at her leotard, the singular gauntlet, battle helm and gorget combined together to give her the look of a overweight strumpet pretending to be a sexy fire warrior for a Cervidae party. The thought of it sent a thrill down her spine and to her moistening nethers, the sensation making her crave some protein but not the kind you get from groxsteak. It wasn’t hard for her to get to the hangar bays without attracting attention, simply ducking behind corners or on the off chance a menial saw her she simply told them to “forget you saw this” while glaring at them from behind her helmet’s optics. Once she got there it wasn’t hard to spot who she was looking for, only two manta destroyers were requisitioned to her cadre and one was kept in orbit along with most of the orca dropships. The air caste pilot prefered to spend most of his time in his ship, it’s interior reminding him of the orbital cities his type lived in. Na’Mer didn’t know his name since cross-caste relations were forbidden by the Ethereals, instead simply referring to each other as “Pilot” and “Warrior”. Anonymity kept them from letting details slip, though considering they were more fuckbuddies than lovers and the contraceptives in their military rations that was basically the only thing to worry about. Pilot was sitting in his cockpit doing a service check, barely aware of the hanger and definitely not expecting her to pop the escape hatch under and squeeze in. Before he could react and instinctively go for his pulse pistol she had used her strength to pin him to the chair, her rotund torso pinning his hollow boned legs while she snatched a hold of his lanky arms with her strong arms. “W-warrior?! What are you doing, did anyone see you enter?!” He stammered, quickly lowering his voice to a whisper. “Calm yourself Pilot, the hanger’s empty. I was feeling a bit thirsty and you just happened to be nearby so I decided to ‘wet my whistle’ as the Gue’vesa say.” She purred from her vox-emitter before releasing one of his hands to unfasten part of her helm and reveal the emergency fluid induction port. Before he could object she was already fishing his dick out of his jumpsuit, giving it a few quick pumps before shoving it through the O-shaped ring and into her waiting mouth. The air caste out a hiss of air as his member was enveloped in her wet mouth, gripping her helmet’s antenna and thrusting forward as best he could before composing himself and doing his best to act normal in case anyone entered the hanger and looked up into the miniscule windows of the cockpit. She prided herself on technique, using her tongue to stimulate the glans and fondling his nuts to cause Pilot to quickly offer up a serving of sperm with a grunt of satisfaction. Na’Mer gulped it all down like the glutton she was, squeezing his balls to make sure all of it was released before slowly withdrawing it from her helm’s induction port. She let the tip linger a few seconds inside so a few stray dollops of jizz stained the fabric near her mouth ‘That’ll make for a salty treat to suck on later’ she thought with a smile. “Well…” the air caste panted, his cock still fully erect. “You’ve had your treat, now how about I get mine?” he asked before sliding the chair back and to the side so he could stand and started to walk towards the troop transport area of the ship. She nodded before re-affixing her port cover and moving to follow him, taking care to stay on all fours until she was past the ship windows. Once on her hooves Pilot let her lead their walk into the transport bay, taking the opportunity to grab a meaty handful of ass. Na’Mer chuckled at the playful grope before laying back in one of the transport seats, splaying her legs wide and pulling her combat leotard to the side to reveal her glistening pussy. Pilot wasted no time taking the lead, immediately thrusting his penis to the hilt in her velvet tunnel and taking one mammoth breast in his mouth to suckle on. She let out a hearty laugh as the stick thin man jackhammered away at her cunt, her paunch jiggling with each thrust. “It really… UNF, is too bad the Tau’va forbids us from having kids Warrior… air caste girls could use a little more meat on their bones back in my obit station.” he said in between panting and teasing her teat with his tongue. “Heh! and the men where I’m from could use a couple more inches on them, both in height and below the belt. OOO yes right there, harder! You’re hitting my g-spot!” she replied before letting out a long moan as his dick mashed against her pleasure button. They wanted to rut like base animals for hours but due to their duties had become quite good at making things short, Pilot blowing his second load in her lower mouth within 10 minutes. They stayed connected like that for a few minutes, him using her tits and chub as a warm bed to nestle against and her laying back and using her legs crossed behind him to shove his spurting member ever deeper so she could savor the feeling of goo coating her inner walls. As soon as exactly 5 minutes passed they broke from their coital embrace with all the tact and intimacy of a person returning a lost wallet. The air caste quickly pulled a simple kit nearby and began cleaning the seat they had just made love in while Na’Mer took some tissues and dabbed away the excess cum before putting her leotard back in place, checking herself over in a hand mirror. Once all evidence of their tryst was gone they went back to the cockpit, Pilot checking the windows and exterior cameras for anyone who might see her exit. She already had her bubble but hanging out the emergency when he stopped her. “Umm, Warrior?” “Yes Pilot?” She replied, a bit annoyed he waited till her ample rump was hanging out for any to see. “When should I expect you again?” He asked, a hint of excitement in his voice. “If we’re both still alive, around next week. We need to work on your cunnilingus skill so you know how to please a woman without using your drive stick.” And with that she slid the rest of her girthy torso through the hatch and quickly began making her way back to her quarters, the feeling of cum sloshing around inside her keeping her warm the whole way.

I have an idea for a story. After a brutal warp storm an Imperial Guardsman finds himself on a tropical planet far from the Milky Way galaxy with several hundred Tau women. Realizing that no rescue is coming, the human and Xeno’s work together to survive. Over time it is discovered that the fruits, vegetables and other food stuffs on the planet cause the Tau to gain weight, becoming hungrier and hornier as time goes by. Eventually the topic of repopulation comes up and all of the women begin vying for the Guardsman’s attention. Although he try’s to resist he eventually succumbs, and soon enough the girls get pregnant and start popping out baby’s. Within a generation the continent they initially landed on has dozens of settlements of fat waddling half human half Tau hybrids, with the Guardsman remembered as a godlike being.

>>696 On the one hand, creating a civilization of xeno-human hybrids is exceedingly heretical. On the other, xenos worshipping a human (other than the Emperor) as a god is also hertical but less so. I like it.

Does anybody have the fullsized version of this caption with a stuffed Cultist-chan?

Here’s an idea similar to Panem-ex-machina. In the depths of a Hiveworld covering the planets surface, one of the hives many gangs discover a machine that can reproduce any kind of food or drink from the 21st century. Ecstatic at the prospect of unlimited food the gang falls into the habit of hold ever bigger and grander feasts every day and every night. After a period of studying the device they figure how to reproduce weapons and ammo as wells as foodstuffs, trading these valuable commodities and quickly becoming the strongest gang in the area. As there influence grows however so does there greed, at first they gang was eating enough to build muscle and become stronger but now they are consuming more calories than they are burning and growing fatter as a result. Other gangs get wind of a group with supposedly unlimited food and are swayed to join. Another breakthrough in studying the machine allows them to create precious metals and gems, growing ever wealthier and opulent. Eventually word reaches the upper hive and the ruling nobility order the Arbites to wipe out this new gang, calling itself ‘The Gluttonites’ and to retrieve this machine of abundance. The Arbites are never heard from again. By now the Gluttonites have all grown too fat to move, now relying on either mobility devices like belly-wheels, machine implants, or cosmetic mutations which are quickly becoming all the rage. Such resources being provided buy not just the original machine but by the copies they’ve built from the STC. Deciding they’ve become powerful enough they plan an attack on the upper hive, plowing through any that dare stand in there way. By the time the Inquisitor shows up it is two late...

Found a rare Warhammer Fantasy story. https://www.deviantart.com/sirmaddenham/art/A-Sweet-Tradition-614217418 WARNING: CONTAINS BURSTING AT THE END!

Any ideas for a regiment of fatass Imperial guardswomen?

>>839 >World deep in the eastern fringes is under attack by tyranid menace. >It's an agri-world. >Deploythecannonfodder.chaff >Taken from a world similar to house Escher, where the candidates are entirely female, due to a genetic error causing males to die before birth. >Tyranid presence is actually pushed off, turns out the environment was too barren for them as the planet is an ocean covered in ice. >They never got a foothold and starved mostly to death. >Planet is listed as an agri world, but shows no population or structures present. >Wellfuck.administratum >Promote the regiment to own the new world, tell them to figure out the deal with it, find the source of biomass and harvast it. >After they land a bunch of their ships to serve as living stations, they find out that the ice is frozen about two hundred meters thick over a massive sea, positively saturated with a chain of small, krill sized sea creatures that are so populated, they practically cover the world in a single giant swarm, despite the efforts of seemingly abandoned harvesters that travel the ocean, catching anything they can grab and just killing and dumping them. >They're readily converted and repurposed by the techpriests present to drop off their catch at each ship, until it is hauled into space and sent as tithe, or as product to be sold. >Even sending generous tithes, and great sums to nearby systems, they're barely able to make a dent in the observable populations of the creatures, which when ground up as is, form an entirely balanced diet. >However, despite their wealth, the system is quite materialistically poor, particularly the world, being ice, water, and a volcanic core deep down. >With the lack of proper thermal wear and abundance of foodstuffs, compiled by the fact that they were no longer actually a military organisation, ration allocation was lifted, and people were encouraged to bulk up. >Originally, the ex-commissars kept people in mostly good shape, although even they relaxed in their strict physical discipline in later years. >Over generations however, with relatively little to do on the material poor planet or in the barren system aside from travel to space and back, socialize, eat food, and raise the occasional regiment every few decades, with only a rare few having to do actual work at a time, this bulk became greater and greater until the population of the world became divided into two. >The first, exceptionally thick and heavyset strongfat giants of women ala above post pic related, believed to be half ogryn, who have the strength and durability of their hypothesized ancestors, and can survive outside in the harsh icy wastes of their homeworld naked, but for shoes due to a high Pyrexion rate (Body heat generation), massive muscle usage creating energy, and a thick layer of fat over it all. >The second, standard human women, but so exceptionally obese as to prove nearly immobile under the best of circumstances, who range from unfit, 500-800 lb youths who waddle and wobble places, to full on suspended in their own fat officials that struggle to wiggle the tips of their own fingers, who are kept under constant care and often cooled by taking in water from the oceans, and allowing the life in it to feast on any excretions or dead skin. >When they field a regiment, it mostly consists of the strongfat women acting as heavy infantry, with token vehicular assistance and a rear field officer cadre consisting of several young and more critically still mobile and able to fit most structures, and a matured officer. The vehicles are crewed by specialists, who have their own equipment and facilities built into their vehicle to aid in comfort and assistance. Rough idea at least.

>>839 Found new fatty sororitas art. Face was a little off, so I tired to do it up a bit.

>>298 Isha as Nurgle's semi-willing slob feedee is pretty hot.

https://www.deviantart.com/westmetal/art/The-Ever-Growing-Queens-Chapter-One-849186367 Fully writing out my "Alarielle gets super fat for the good of Ulthuan (and because she's a pervert)" idea

>>869 Cool to see you are revisiting the fat elf story. Can't wait to see more.

>>839 Per your image (and mine), the easiest path to a large and in charge regiment is a regiment of female abhumans, a la Ogryns. The Imperial Gaurd are actually a little picky about their recruitment and there are lower tiers, such as penal legions or planetary defence forces that take what the IG rejects. Beyond that, it's rather hard to see BBW-sized Guard (rather than overweight or low-end obese) mesh with the setting without making some rather... large hand-waives of lore. However, >>850 does make some good suggestions; Agri-Worlds make a lot of sense. Also consider a mechanised regiment, since that negates the importance of physical exertion substantially. I can easily whip up one for the Only War RPG if you're interested in messing around with that.

>>872 Never considered using the Only War RPG regiment maker. My first response was using 1d4chan's Imperial Guard Regiment Creation Table. https://1d4chan.org/wiki/Imperial_Guard_Regiment_Creation_Tables The Order of the Emperor's Bounty was created using 1d4chan's Sisters of Battle Order creation table. https://pastebin.com/7ZFqXugB

>>874 Idea for regiment using 1d4chan. >PDF. >Lottery. It's technically supposed to be volunteer, but people are lazy. >Standard conscription methods. Unfortunately, that 'average' is not exactly that high next to other systems. >Imperial world. Closest to Agri-world. If not, then pleasure world. >Ice world. Why do you think they have so much...padding, in the first place? >Core units. Mechanised infantry, because as expensive as they are, good luck getting anyone from here to walk anywhere that's not food, bathroom, or bed. >Specialization. Ranged combat. Because when they get close, is when people start needing to get more active, and no one wants that to happen. >Unorthodox. The regiment has...unique forms of worship and reverence to the Emperor. >Special wargear. Special vehicle. Adapted to carry a figure of such...impressive stature, along with a...respectable food supply for their relief during action. They tend to be slightly larger and more simple, to give the driver, crew and any passengers as much space as possible, along with their food supply. Some vehicles are similar to land raiders or are practically hollowed out ceramite and adamantium boxes on tracks. >Esoteric beliefs. Some unusual worship for size and physical bulk, even to the point of major encumbrance. The specifics, including if the belief has sexual undertones, is unknown. >Friends (actually rolled for this one, a 26) a certain chapter of Astartes. Specific chapter unknown. (other ideas I had were Fatty Sororitas, A minor forge world that gives them their stuff, or a rogue trader dynasty with particular tastes.) >Enemies, (also rolled, a 79) dark eldar predations. Considering their close in combat, blinding speed and ability to just not be hit, they're a hated foe.

Given that callidus assassins have to shift their mass around to do things like looking like a tau fire warrior in moment to an ork warboss the next, the polymorphine they use probably makes their bodies elastic like plastic. Perhaps a particularly quirky assassin gets addicted to stuffing herself with food to test her own body's elasticity and hides the evidence of her binges from her handlers by compressing all the fat inside her body, like sucking in your gut. Naturally, it's only a matter of time before she can't hold it back anymore and her true flabby form explodes out of her body glove.

Story idea for Total War Warhammer: Upon completing her crusade, Repanse de Lyonesse is made duke of Bretonnia's newly acquired lands in Araby. Forced to hand off most of the day-to-day operations of her lands to her advisors (because blessed by the Lady or not Repanse is still an ex-Bretonnian peasant girl), Repanse is left with very little to do but attend social gatherings and feasts. Repanse, unused to being able to eat all she wants because she was always either starving as a peasant or too busy fighting the Chaos and the Undead as a knight, happily indulges in all the bounty her lands can offer her. After a timeskip of a few decades and Repanse, despite being healthy and youthful thanks to the power of the Lady of the Lake, is now massively obese from decades of feasting off of the wealth of fantasy North Africa. At the end, Repanse attempts to answer the call for a new errantry war but finds that not only can she not fit into her old armor but no horse, pegasus, hippogryph, or griffon in all the Old World can carry her massive girth. Repanse does eventually make it to the battlefield atop a Grail Reliquae-type contraption carried by six super strong Grail Knights. Bonus points if Henri le Massif is there and makes a comment about how he doesn't feel so "massif" compared to her.

That's a pretty great idea,I should try it at some point.

Forgot that the Rogue Trader RPG has some pretty good fetish potential.

Considering how the pre-Fall Eldar were depraved enough to create Slaanesh from their hornyness. What are the odds that some Eldar chose gluttony to be their vice of choice and ate until they became Craftworld sized masses of fat.

>>1169 It is pretty well supported by canon, what with the whole circle of gluttony in Slaanesh's realm where wanderers compulsively gorge themselves, and the actual daemon planet that's just this one fat dude.

Has the Inquisition ever considered force feeding as a means of interrogation?

Found a female version of Grom on 4chan.

Just had an idea for a story involving an Ordo Xenos inquisitor on a mission to sabotage a Tau invasion by targeting their kroot auxiliaries. The plan is to let the kroot unwittingly consume meat tainted with a gene virus which give them a hyper efficient metabolism. The kroot shapers will naturally want to incorporate this gene into future generations due to the advantages being able to absorb nearly 100% of the energy in food would give to extended field operations. The catch is that the gene is primed to mutate in a few generations so in addition to ensuring that all food is quickly and efficiently converted into calories it also increases their hunger hundredfold. The end result, an entire generation of kroot warriors who literally can't stop eating and turn everything they shove into their beaked mouths into pure fat.

.>>1415 Following the failure of the Third Sphere of Expansion, Tau military doctrine shifted increasingly towards automated and mechanized warfare in the hopes of reducing casualties. Drones became increasingly prominent in front line engagements as more firewarriors became drone operators. Battlesuit production was upped in the hopes of competing with physically stronger races, such as Orks and Space Marines. Tau tactical doctrine have double down on ranged tactics, taking a page out of the Imperial Guard's play book, and invest heavily in stationary artillery. It is mainly female fire caste who are affected by these changes in roles. As an unintended side-effect, their waistlines have begun to reflect their less strenuous lifestyle

>Be me. >Wizardress of the Empire. >Get captured by Orge raiding party. >Everyone dies, but manage to convince them all with magic that I'm some super big, scary Ogre. >Not sure how, but fuck it, it works. >Mfw I discover just how much Ogre's eat. >Have to eat stupidly large amount of food to keep up. >Have to play it off as sickness. Why I was captured by humans. >Thank Sigmar that Ogre's are so dumb, but it probably won't hold for long. Need to get acclimatized to eating like this. >Feel like I'm going to die after each meal though. >Wonder how long I'm going to have to keep this up. >Wonder how long I can keep this up. >Be me. >Six whole months of this kind of stuff going on has taken a sad toll on my body. >I'm fat. Like, stupidly fat. >I don't just jiggle, I shake and shudder and roll as I lumber and waddle. I don't remember the last time I wasn't breathing heavily, or sweaty, or felt like I could do something nimble. My everything is coated in a thick layer of flab, from ankles that don't fit my boots anymore, up to my neck that's lost all it's gentle curve with my fatty shoulders. >My robes have long since grown too small for me, and I've had to retailor them all to preserve modesty. As of current, I've a rather tight skirt around my distressingly large hips (thank goodness ogres don't have doorways), and a very distressed and overstressed undershirt, the only thing that still fits, over my frankly obscene bust. >My belly has simply grown far too huge to even consider covering up. It is huge and round and immense. If I were to stand and extend my arms out before me, it would reach my wrists with it's size, and I have long since lost the ability to reach its ends. >The Ogres have seemingly accepted me as one of their own now. Too few are left to consider turning against another, and food is plentiful. I can spend less magic on deceiving them, and more to aiding my body with it's girth and food burden. I am growing more used to eating to their standard. >However, this treating me equally aspect also involves competition, which is straightforward and physical. I spent half an hour in a confrontation with one, over my height and lack of a 'belly plate', to protect myself, with only a liberal coting of magic persuading it to listen long enough for me to tell it I did not need height, or a plate to protect my belly, for I was just that tough. >I am considering just stealing one of these aforementioned belly plates for my own use when moment provides, simply for the support and to stop the damn thing swaying. My belly alone weighs more then I did before this. Arguably double. >Overall, despite my earlier fears, I am less worried. This lifestyle is oddly liberating, in its simplicity and bluntness, next to petty politicking and academia. Though I am primarily concerned with the imminent failure of my undershirt. I have no other clothes to spare, nor anything else that might fit them. I know that they all seem perfectly content with bared chests and displays of semi-nudity, but I don't know if I can bring myself to. >It's been nearly two months now since I've gone entirely topless, and since the shame has faded, I'm left with another curious sense of liberation in my daring. Each one is large, and hangs like a sack of grain from my chest, resting on my gut, held up now by a bellyplate I procured. >It's hard to lift even one teat, and a genuine struggle to do so with one arm. >It feels nice. Not just this immensity of size and mass, but also bearing it so openly, even erotically. >In my continued growth, I'm gaining some measure of genuine influence over many of the party, since of course, size and profile is everything to these people, even if I have no muscle to speak of bar that for carrying this bulk. >I may not have the size of a literal ogre, but by profile, I am more immense, and so inspire a significant measure of authority. >The chief of this roving tribe seems concerned at this split in authority, as now more people come to me for instruction and advice, but he's slow in the skull and I am mostly unconcerned. >I've also been getting some more attention of the more physical kind. It seems, with my body and my looks, I inspire some notable degree of carnal hunger in these brutes, as each one seems intent on impressing me, again, with displays of their size and strength. >I'm apprehensive about actually attempting to engage in such behaviors with them. Their size and their 'size', for neither is small, and the genuine fear that I may be crushed or suffocated under such massive weight. >I imagine the experience to be something like a contest almost. Mass against mass, and all that. >It sounds like an exciting experience, to be sure. >It's been three years since I've been with this tribe. I've successfully deposed their previous chief, and put myself in his place. >Under my instruction, with my knowledge and tuition, and with my magic, we've enjoyed a long streak of bountiful raids. >I am now almost entirely nude now, bar the chieftain's ornate bellyplate, jewelry, and any silks I care for, and immense to the point of near formlessness. I estimate my weight to be well over half an imperial tonne, if not three quarters of one, and it is only with the aid of magic reshaping my body, making it stronger and larger, that I can continue to walk unaided. Though I have taken to being borne on a litter. That way I may feast readily, not exert myself, and my feet don't get dirty. >We set out for a major raid upon the dwarven kingdoms tomorrow. Tonight, we shall feast, and I shall gorge. >For I am the maw, and my hunger, while not as insatiable and mind controlling as the average ogre, is immense, and will be sated.

>>1637 I can't wait for total war warhammer III and the ogre kingdoms to become a playable race. It's race whose entire shtick is being as fat and gluttonous as possible, including voring your way into a promotion.

>>506 Do you plan on every releasing these parts on your deviantart?

>>1659 If there were anything to release, I'd release it already. Unfortunately, it didn't go past part one. If you wonder what I had in store for further parts, well... - Air Caste barely gaining weight extremely disproportionately (kind of a gross but very 40k-esque filler); - Fire Caste turning most incoming calories into muscle until Tech-Priestess discovers that the subject is a virgin and has to be, ahem, inseminated to be able to gain (guess who was going to do the, ahem, job on a buff blue amazon); - Earth Caste being a cynical nerdy shortstack whose tech aptitude and salty remarks about ordinary Human tech makes Tech-Priestess take matters into, ahem, her own hands and other extremities; - 4th generation Genestealer... vore, end of story.

Women fattened by skaven... that is all.

With the impending release of Total War Warhammer III who else thinks everyone's favorite Ice Queen would look much nicer with some nice, insulating blubber.

Alright, you filthy degenerates, after sitting on this for what, two years, I've finally decided to give this >>57 another run, albeit under different angle and different premise. Apparently, getting wasted right after getting a corona shot wasn't a bright idea, but hey, misery is my writing fuel. The story is pretty much done, just need to give chapters appropriate names. Plot-heavy start, 'fun'-heavy finish, you know how I roll. Expect goodies very soon.

>>1813 Azure Express By Moonliner PROLOGUE +++ THOUGHT FOR THE DAY +++ ++ “The traitorʹs hand lies closer than you think.” ++ Somewhere amidst the endless Void, a sole warship was making a desperate fighting retreat, her battered hull leaking out thick trails of acrid smoke, her few remaining guns erratically painting the space all around with lines of blinding beams and streaks of flaring tracers. “Turrets six through eight are gone! Down to just three!” “Keep at ‘em! Warp drive’s charged! We’re almost in the clear!” “Ah, hell! Mantas, seven o’clock, closing fast!” “Full port, sharp! Starboard battery, load cluster shells! All shields to port!” “Shields won’t hold! They’ll rip us in half!” “They won’t! Just do it!” “Hit, effective, shields holding… hit, effective, holding… hit, effective, shields gone… hit, effective, over-pen, deck three! Hit, effective, over-pen, deck seven! Bogeys going for a low pass!” “Steady… steady… Full retros, starboard sharp! Gunners, on my mark… wait for it… wait… Mark!” “One down… two down… one crippled… two retreating!” “All power to engines! Navigator, get us out of here, stat!” And as the subtle whirring of the Gellar Field turned into a strained howl, an aging, bearded man clad in flamboyant attire befitting of a cutthroat corsair captain let out a mighty sigh and slumped back in his throne. “Captain! We did it!” a voice rang up from behind him, “We’re set for life now!” “Vargas…” the captain lowered his weary head into his hands, “is this my curse, I wonder? To keep following your harebrained get-rich-quick schemes just to make it out on a thoroughly wrecked ship within the inches of my life, over and over again?” “Easy there, Captain. We got the goods. We made it out. Just a couple of jumps and we’re rolling in that sweet, sweet Imperial dough.” “Unless those Imps of yours decide to screw us over… since we’re not exactly disposed for hostile negotiations now.” “Not a chance. The place we’re headed to drop off the goods? One huge skeleton in their collective closet. Wouldn’t bet on them to sic any third-party assets on us there. Too much unwanted attention to that precious little operation those degenerates run.” “Right. You go check on the cargo – and while you’re at it, make damn well sure it’s not getting rotten during transit. This deal goes sideways, it’s on you. Now scram, I need me some alone time.” … Por’vre Lhas’vash’run, or ‘diplomatic representative Jade Bridge’ in High Gothic, was not feeling all too well as her migraine-ridden brain was slowly returning to more or less functioning state. Everything that transpired past the cluster of blind grenades going off almost underneath her hooves was a blur – and in those rare moments Jade regained a bit of lucidity, a bag put over her head prevented the Tau woman from gaining any meaningful insights on her surroundings. This time, however, the bag was absent – and instead of feeling cold metal against her skin, she was seated on something far more soft and far more accommodating. Her hands and hooves were still bound together, though. Opening her eyes, the Tau diplomat almost immediately had to shut them back – unused to the bright light, it genuinely hurt, burning vividly-colored splatters onto the backs of her retinas. “Sir, I think our ‘guest’ is waking up,” a processed voice said in High Gothic. “Good,” a different processed voice replied. Blinking a couple of times, Jade finally got a glimpse of three humanoid figures in front of her – one seated, two standing behind it. “Can you hear me?” the natural voice. “I can,” the Tau woman replied in distinctly accented High Gothic. “Who… are you? Where…” “You may call me ‘Butler’. Before you ask, I must assure you that neither I nor my superiors wish to inflict you any harm, for you have clearly had suffered enough by this point. Thusly, I implore you to remain calm and let me walk you through this… rather nuanced and complicated situation we all find ourselves in.” “I am a diplomatic representative of the Tau Empire”, Lhas’vash’run informed her most recent acquaintance, still trying to get her eyes used to the onslaught of light. “Thus, I demand you unhand me and let me go at once. Else, your actions shall be considered an act of war against the Tau Empire.” “You will be unhanded, I assure you,” Butler calmly replied, “but letting you go, I’m afraid, is not possible considering the circumstances at hand. First, your diplomatic immunity and legal status must be reviewed and officially recognized by the Inquisition, of which no representatives are currently present upon this world. Second, although my superiors would indeed recognize your standing, I regretfully inform you that the unwashed masses would always abide by one of the core tenets of our religion, and even someone as powerful as my master won’t be able to stop them from enacting lethal violence upon seeing you roam freely around this world. And third, due to recent disturbances in the Aetheric Realm, I’m afraid no interstellar travel to and from this world is currently possible.” “So… you’re not complicit in… any of this?” the Tau woman frowned in disbelief. “Lady Ambassador, we have recovered you from the wreck of a known pirate and slaver vessel after it had a brief and fiery encounter with our system defense force. The person behind such a heinous act, as well as his surviving associates, had already been served proper justice. And I assure you, you shall be lavishly compensated for any inconveniences your prolonged stay at this residence might incur.” “How prolonged?” “I’m afraid understanding the happenings of Aetheric Ream is way beyond my grasp, Lady Ambassador. The Warp, as they say, is fickle. For all I know, it could be weeks, months, years… decades, even. Fortunately, we are a self-sufficient community, so we’ll fare without off-world trade just fine. And it’s not the first time such an inconvenience happens here, either.” “Assuming what you say is true,” Jade replied, finally getting a more or less proper picture of the gaunt, middle-aged, impeccably dressed man whose face was mostly hidden by a gilded respirator, “and assuming that I am going to accept the ‘offer’ to stay… what would the limitations of my statute be?” “You must understand that your very presence here is a great and grave risk for all of us,” Butler replied, his voice carrying what seemed like a tinge of genuine fright, “thus, regretfully, I must inform you that it is absolutely crucial you stay on the premises at all times. Your contacts with the world are also to be severed completely… or, at least, until our team of legalists solves the conundrum of your current legal status.” “You’re putting me under house arrest. Noted. Anything else?” “Aside from some areas you probably wouldn’t be interested in visiting anyway, you’re free to explore the premises both inside and outside the mansion and to interact with the staff under your own volition. You will be provided personal lodgings as befitting of your status, and the staff will be always ready to cater to your every need, should you call upon their services. We also will not restrict you from carrying a personal firearm – you, or any of your confidants…” “Confidants? Do you mean… there are others?” “Regretfully, only three. Now, if we have achieved a sufficient degree of mutual understanding, I shall remove your restraints, and lead you to where they are being kept at the moment...” … “Whatever you’re paying him, you’re not paying enough,” a distinctly female synthesized voice stated. “He’s certainly getting a bonus,” an equally distinctly male voice, deep and hoarse, replied. “That is, assuming this endeavor doesn’t blow up in our faces.” “As long as our mutual benefactor is content. Though, if I may inquire… why not put them at the Blue Café with the others?” “This one is for some… very special clients. With very… specific requests. Now… how soon can you start your ‘pheromone’ operation going?” “Some additional research and controlled-environment testing are still required. Shouldn’t be a problem now, though.” “Take your time. This must be done right.”

>>1814 CHAPTER I +++ THOUGHT FOR THE DAY +++ ++ “Accept your lot!” ++ A dozen of orbital revelations later, Jade and her ‘confidants’ were gathered at the table inside the exorbitantly luxurious suite she was settled into as her ‘personal lodgings’. None of the Tau present were from her original entourage – it was a sinister turn of fate that brought the young women together, and together they would work to get out of this mess. Alas, truth be told, neither the cynical Shas’la Fejel’Ksi, or ‘corporal Silver Chance’, nor the bubbly shortstack Fio’ui En’kai, or ‘forelady Grand Lake’, nor the distraught and apathetic Kor’saal Ka’sa, or ‘pilot trainee Spring’ could make a lot out of the situation they found themselves in, and pooling their collective insights didn’t help their cause by a whole lot. Though the weapons they were allowed to keep were the real deal, all live and loaded, and while the security detail guarding the mansion did seem rather lax, the chances of four women making a successful escape were slim at best. For starters, actual security workings of this strange place seemed to mostly rely on quite uncharacteristically advanced automated systems, and though the Earth Caste techie tried, she couldn’t locate neither the mainframe nor any access point for it. Jade’s own subtle efforts at uncovering any weaker links in the chain through mingling with the mansion’s staff produced precious little in a way of results, too – she couldn’t really use her pheromones, since all of them, almost on que, hastily reached for their breathing protections as soon as they spotted the blue-skinned xeno, and they all seemed to be so thoroughly indoctrinated on things they can and can’t disclose that even the Water Caste envoy’s formidable skills at the game of minds and words couldn’t break through their programming. Sneaking their way aboard one of the utility VTOLs staff used regularly and taking control of it in mid-air could have been a viable way out – after all, they had a pilot on the team – but there was no certainty to the next step, as all they could see from the roof of the mansion were miles upon miles of rolling hills covered with dense and undisturbed jungle foliage. Where would they go? Straight for the local spaceport? What if it was well beyond craft’s range? Hide in the jungle until humans gave up their search, and just go there on foot? But how would they enter an obviously guarded site like that? And above all, how would they even get off-world? Their gilded cage wasn’t locked, but there was no real way out. Still, there was more than enough amenities and distractions within it to keep them from growing bored – or restless. The sheer amount of excess the four found themselves surrounded with was utterly perplexing, even for the member of generally more well-off Water Caste. After all, Tau society was largely egalitarian, focusing on making its wealth available to many instead of reserving it for the few, and largely ascetic, making a waste of resources being a notion generally frowned upon. Even the palaces inhabited by the highest-ranking members of Ethereal Caste came nowhere near close what this place had to offer – all the more mind-boggling for the company of blue-skinned ladies, seeing that its human owner seemingly wasn’t even a member of planetary ruling elite. Still, though an experience utterly alien, they quickly found it quite endearing – to be waited on hand and foot by a small legion of servants, to be catered to their every whim, to be provided with whatever they asked for, as if they themselves were now each a mighty and wise Ethereal, their presence alone making everyone around bend and bow to their wills. And so, as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the four Tau girls gradually settled into the lap of luxury, each finding their own preferences when it came to pleasurably passing their time – be that a library filled with expansive works on human history and culture, or an astonishingly complex flight simulator with near-full sensory feedback, or a shooting range combined with variable geometry obstacle course, or state-of-the-art machine shop with limitless supply of material, or the plethora of simpler things like full spa menu with exotic substance baths and massages, table games and games of chance, alcohol and other recreational substances, and many, many other bits and pieces that combined into a truly special ride for each of them. There was, however, one constant between the four members of different Castes – one gift they all shared equally, one part to their new lives that was gradually beginning taking over. Quite surprisingly, it was the simplest of amenities they were surrounded with, they first one they got introduced to – the food. Originally never giving alien nourishment any regard past it being edible, in time Jade, Chance, Lake and Spring found themselves more and more enraptured in marvelous tastes and exquisite textures of every morsel they consumed. And while such developments were indeed concerning at first, they quickly wrote it off – in their collective opinion, it was just the staff learning their tastes and getting good at properly cooking for the Tau. In part, it was true - the kitchen staff did undergo extensive training before this new development began to present itself. In other part, vastly more important and equally as insidious, said training was less about making food and more about handling hazardous substances. The food itself remained mostly the same, spare for some minor process tweaks and menu changes – but now it was being laced with artificial Tau pheromones, turning every portion into dose of addictive substance for the certain four pampered ‘guests’. And since it was constantly and abundantly available, the four’s dietary habits, previously measured and reserved, began to deteriorate, as their meals gradually grew in size and scope, and before long, everywhere they went, they went with some morsel in hand. With such sharp increase in their caloric intake, other changes inevitably followed – yet, in case of a Fire Caste representative Chance, who was still quite physically active, it were not the changes their mysterious host had expected. … “Probably should close down that range for good. Might as well set up some kind of ‘accident’ to make it real. Emperor’s guts… if this keeps up, that girl will bulk up into an Ogryn at some point.” “My research strongly suggests it won’t be enough. The increase in muscle mass will cease. But the adipose tissue won’t collect.” “What do we do, then?” “Fire Caste females have a certain quirk to their physiology. Before they give their first birth, their hormonal balance is more akin to Fire Caste males. Some of them even choose not to bear any offspring in their lifetimes just to retain that edge, becoming ‘warrior maidens’ of sorts.” “So we need to flip her switch. Got it. Can be arranged. Got plenty of males at Blue Cafe.” “Might not be necessary. Might lead to pregnancy, also an undesirable outcome. From what I gathered so far, human seed inside her womb should do the trick. Will likely cause a mild anaphylactic shock, so I’d like to be around, help deal with it.” “Guess I’m going to make some calls.”

>>1815 … The morning at the suite was filled with quiet awkward grunts and general embarrassment. Even without the snarky remarks from their Fire Caste ‘warden’, who was already out on her morning exercise, the experience wasn’t all that easier on the trio of blue-skinned ladies. Be that Spring struggling to zip up her jumpsuit, or Lake having to let out her overalls’ straps another bit, or Jade struggling to push the creaking fabric of her dress past the curvature of her hips, they were all becoming painfully awake to the consequence of their newfound habits. Unable to admit the issue in front of others, having to keep the pretense and to maintain their respective Castes’ dignity, the three remained silent, comforted by the fact that such shameful developments were just barely noticeable. Conquering the almost uncomfortably snug clothing and trying her best not to make eye contact with her ‘retainers’, Jade, habitually set her path towards the mansion’s library. The eerie feeling she still got from being inside its empty and silent halls only added to its utterly alien appeal for the Tau – in stark contrast with information repositories of her own species, ever busy and always lively centers of collective learning, where every morsel of worthy read had to be booked and scheduled for use days in advance. Humans, however, didn’t seem to be bothered neither with the trouble of hauling all this wealth of knowledge to a secluded spot amidst the endless jungle, nor with understanding that it was just going to collect dust, never to be shared among their kin. Combined with certain recent developments, this set the diplomat’s research on course towards one very specific subject – that being the one of excess in human culture. And as of this exact morning, Jade decided she had covered enough of a background in her studies to give it another try. Laying her nimble fingers on a certain data-slate she had to abandon reading months ago, she was just about to settle comfortably upon the lush velvety cushions of a lounge chair, to once again delve her mind into the intricacies of human civilization while delving her tongue into a stack of exquisite morning refreshments so kindly brought by her side. Suddenly, Water Caste envoy’s usually blank and emotionless face was struck with expression of utter mortification, turning pale shade of blue, as with an audible tear, the fabric of her dress parted ways in the middle of her buxom backside. “Something wrong, m’lady?” a masked maid quietly inquired. “Nothing… just… can you get Butler on the vox, please?” Tau diplomat sheepishly asked. “Ah, miss Jade, it’s a pleasure to hear from you,” a familiar suave voice spoke from the receiver of a gilded, antique-looking communication contraption, “How can I be of service today?” “I recall you saying there was a team of tailors and seamstress available on call,” trying to keep her voice calm and nonchalant, Jade replied, “Me… and my ‘confidants’, so to speak… may be in need of their services.” “Made up your mind for something more befitting of your status, miss Jade?” “Just for something more… ‘befitting’, if you will.” “Ah, I see,” for whatever reasons, there was a hint of genuine joy in Butler’s voice, “Now, I assure you, lady Jade, there is no need to be worried about. The cultural norm may vary from world to world, yet overall, it is generally expected – almost required, even – for persons of your standing to wear some of their good fortune on their physiques. I shall order the tailor to be present at your lodgings at once.”

>>1816 CHAPTER II +++ THOUGHT FOR THE DAY +++ ++ “There is no salvation without suffering.” ++ “LZ in sight, T minus ten minutes.” “Roger. Going silent.” With a mere flick of a well-hidden switch, the all-consuming roar of turbofans dulled and died down. Running his glance over the passengers, an unremarkable middle-aged man wearing simplistic flawlessly styled vest-and-trousers suit rose from his seat at the front of the passenger compartment. “My fellow connoisseurs of things exotic and forbidden,” clearing his throat, he spoke in his trademark deep and hoarse voice, “since we are about to arrive at the site of tonight’s festivities, let me run you through some things of crucial importance. Since you’ve all proven yourselves as the more reliable, fairly reserved and properly behaved patrons at the Blue Café, this one is on the house - but there will be rules. And you will abide by those rules. Is that clear?” “Good,” seeing the reluctant nods from the passengers, the man continued, “first, do take a note that the meat you’re going to feast upon tonight is already sold, and the buyer is someone of power and wealth even you fine gentlemen can’t really compare.” “…what, some Inquisitor?” someone jokingly replied. “You’re lucky we’re under privacy field,” the man frowned. “Still, it’s hell breaking loose if the meat gets ruined. Rule one – no extreme or unique interest stuff, else the security will show you out. Rule two – no getting handsy before the ladies insist first. This event starts up as plain old gala and ends in plain old orgy.” “What kind of gala?” “The kind that happens at embassies - except the ambassador is Tau. Water Caste, fairly high-rank, real deal. So gentlemen, you get your act up, mingle with the ladies, appeal to their egos, and do your best to pretend you care about whatever ‘common ground’ and ‘cultural exchanger’ bullshit they’ll come up with.” “But how do we know… you know… that it’s time?” “This brings us to Rule Four – do not eat the food served on white plates or drink the drinks from glasses with white bases. If you do, by accident or intent, show yourself out immediately and get to the nurse. Whatever is in there, it’s not safe for human consumption – but it also ensures the fun times will roll. Oh, and Rule Five – whoever dumps their load inside the buff chick, gets a special treat from me.” … Jade was anxious. In fact, all four of them were more or less anxious about the arrangement – except maybe their Air Caste compatriot, who didn’t really care all that much. After what felt like a small eternity of seclusion, they were getting a visit from the outside – and a visit from the high and mighty of this world no less, directly prompted as ‘cultural exchange’ event by the Butler. Were they getting official recognition at last? Did it mean their house arrest would soon be over? Could their return home finally be arranged? At least they could try and get some new information out of this encounter, get some real insights regarding the situation at hand. Reasoning that members of planetary nobility would likely not be as indoctrinated as servants at the mansion, the four Tau women decided to go with the plan their crafty Water Caste ‘ambassador’ quickly constructed. They were to capitalize on the more ‘raw’ and ‘primal’ aspects of human culture, to try and utilize their feminine charms to coax the valuable information out of unwitting the primates – charms alien indeed, yet still recognizable enough to trigger the proper response. Subtly, if possible, all the way, if needs be – for Tau bodies were but tools of the Greater Good, and with seemingly endless wealth their mysterious host was willing to write off as ‘adequate compensation’ for their collective ‘inconveniences’, they would take their time and hone their ‘tools’ to perfection. The gala itself began rather underwhelmingly – despite all the preparations and the four’s best efforts, the overbearing sense of awkwardness proved to be quite an obstacle to meaningful interaction. Still, as the flow of drinks and artificial pheromones slowly began to melt the ice and loosen the restraints, the idle mingling turned into meaningful conversations, and the Tau ladies quickly found themselves enraptured with their most recent acquaintances’. Be that a retired Astra Militarum colonel recapping his glorious deeds on the field of battle to Chance, be that a young scion to a famous and wealthy line of gunsmiths discussing ins and outs of weapon design with Lake, be that a slightly unhinged ex-Voidmaster sharing his experiences at Rogue Trader’s side to Spring, or be that a well-connected agent of Spatium Commertia going into great detail on what trade between Imperium of Man and Tau Empire could be mutually favorable with Jade. And so, compliments followed, brief glances caught crimson and dark blue blush, touches happened, followed by eloquent dance invitations. And dance they did – though the music was alien to the Tau ladies, their bodies were quickly catching to the tempo of the beat, their moves gathering more and more risqué... Seeing a Water Caste member leaning against the bar alone, her legs shuffling together as if trying to scratch an unseen itch, one certain unremarkable man clad in vest-and-trousers attire approached her. “Not feeling well, lady Jade?”, he inquired, his trademark voice deep and hoarse. “It’s just…”, she replied, trying her best not to let her eyes slip down towards his crotch, she stuttered, biting her lip. “No need to be ashamed,” he softly ran his hand against her cheek, “I know what you desire… and I see no obstacle in providing it to you here and now.” “Can we… at least find… a place more secluded?”, Jade panted, her breath short and raspy. “Au contraire,” the man smiled, “Think of it as a rite, though ancient and obscure, yet still venerated among humanity’s high society. To consummate the dealings through collective consummation of flesh… almost poetic, isn’t it? Besides… I don’t think anyone here would mind.” Looking through the dining hall only to see her ‘warden’ twerking her backside in front of three humans, her ‘tech expert’ passionately making out with another guest and her ‘pilot’ already getting rid of her attire, the Water Caste envoy finally made up her mind. And the last thing Jade truly remembered before giving into her lust was her body pinned against the wall, being felt up from behind, her lips locked in a passionate kiss, her one hand wrapped around the human’s neck as the other reached for the bulge below his waistline.

>>1817 CHAPTER III +++ THOUGHT FOR THE DAY +++ ++ “Faith without deeds is worthless.” ++ “Oh divine heavenly spirits,” Jade groaned, trying to wash the hangover away with big gulps of sour fizzy drink, “This is such a disaster…” “Well, it was your idea to go full geishas on them,” Lake groggily replied, stacking rich snacks on her plate, “Who could have thought they’d play us like Dark Fox Spirit. But hey, intercourse is intercourse, even with humans… right?” “Totally worth it”, Spring chimed in from the couch, still too intoxicated to get up. “Anyone seen Chance?” the Water Caste lady inquired. “Um…” her Earth Caste ‘retainer’ scratched her head, “I think they had to take her to the doctor. One of the humans, ahem, went a little too far on her.” “The wild-eyed one, one who snorted that pink powder from… oh, divine spirits, this is just so wrong.” “Still totally worth it,” the inebriated Air Caste girl repeated. “Hey, dorks!”, a familiar snarky voice rang from the doorway. “Who do I have to kill for some decent breakfast?” “Shas’la! Thank the spirits you’re all right!” “I’ll live,” the Fire Caste woman replied, quickly settling at the food-laden table, “now you girls tell me you got something out of this mess - because I can’t really remember a thing.” “That makes the four of us, then” Jade sighed, “So much for our Kauyon scheming…” “I wonder, though,” Chance spoke in-between huge bites, barely bothering to chew, “were these humans… munch… really here… gulp… for ‘cultural exchange’ all that… nomf… political nonsense… ulp.” “You think they… expected us to pull the geisha trick… and beat us at our own game? How… uncharacteristically cunning of their kind.” “Yeah, maybe… nom… or maybe you flatter yourself… ulp… too much, water flower.” [*] [*] Por’yi, lit. ‘water flower’, a Tau euphemism for ‘private entertainer’ (i.e. ‘geisha’) or ‘sex worker’. “First, rude. Second, humans don’t take xeno prisoners…” “They do… scronf… they just don’t keep them… urf… after they outlived their usefulness. All that ‘lavish compensation’ stuff? Maybe being used like this… nomf… is what we’re actually… ulp… being ‘compensated’ for… burp… ‘scuse me.” “So you’re telling me we all are…” “Actual ‘water flowers’ for wealthy and perverted humans,” Lake stated nonchalantly. “Well… could be worse, right?” “I was… under strong impression humans had a much lower standard of living for an… occupation like this,” Water Caste diplomat stuttered, shocked with the sudden discovery. “To ‘compensate’ just the four of us with such degree of wealth… why? If that’s all they want from us, they could have just… I don’t know… thrown us into dungeon and proceeded with… violating us day in and day out?” “Well, you’re the expert,” her Fire Caste ‘warden’ absentmindedly replied, still far too engrossed in filling the black hole that suddenly appeared within her stomach, “go figure something out.” She never really did. Sure, there were antique tales of lowly courtesans conquering the hearts of high and mighty, propelling themselves into the lap of luxury. Sure, there were artistic recaps of the more recent gold-digger conquests of the same kind. But their overarching narratives never seemed to fit the situation at hand – whereas the archetypical hero of such a story had to struggle at least in some capacity to achieve this kind of reception, and was usually required to show a great deal of cunning and deftness, the blue-skinned xenos here were simply given whatever perks and amenities they could ever dream of and beyond, with seemingly no strings attached. In fact, for almost half a year since the ‘gala’ event, the four Tau girls were simply left to their own devices, sinking into indolence deeper and deeper. While the ingenious Earth Caste techie did master human CNC machinery enough to produce a series of rather crude and simplistic versions of the ‘Little Helper’ drone and while her Air Caste compatriot did repeatedly put her piloting skill to the test at the improvised control rig during nightly attempts at finding any weakness in the automated defense perimeter, their efforts were ultimately for naught – the only real fruit of their labor before they more or less gave up being a couple dozen machine companions to augment the mansion’s staff. As for the other two, the Water Caste bureaucrat’s routine remained more or less the same, spare for the gradually increasing amount of ‘refreshments’ brought by the ever-diligent servants to the library - it was their collective ‘warden’ Silver Chance whose lifestyle went completely off the rails. Her system struggling to adapt to the onslaught of hormones, the Fire Caste girl took the concept of ‘eating for two’ several notches too far – feeling absolutely famished at every waking moment until her engorged stomach was just a hair short of rupture and she herself was about to slip into another agonizing food coma, she feasted almost ceaselessly, only taking a break when she wasn’t able to push a single bite past her lips. The results, quite inevitably, followed suit – Chance’s chiseled, slightly buff physique was melting away at the onslaught of empty calories, being rapidly enveloped by the growing layer of adipose. “Come on… hnng…” Shas’la Fejel’Ksi grunted, giving her belt another hard yank, trying to get the buckle to click, the difficulty of the task only exacerbated by her puffed-up chest and her bulging potbelly partially obstructing the view. “Cooperate, that’s an order!” “Just admit it already,” Jade sighed, giving her own pudgy midsection a ginger prod. “I, Silver Chance, a corporal of the Fire Caste, AM NOT getting out of shape!” she barked, finally hearing a click she so desperately fought for. “See, ‘esteemed ambassador’? Still fits like a glove!” “Yes, I see,” the Water Caste noble smiled slyly, “Hands up in the air, corporal!” “Why would I…” she shot back, only to realize she already lost. Having relinquished control of her abs, she let her potbelly pooch outward, its blue hem now poking from beneath her ill-fitting shirt. “I’m calling a tailor. We’re all in dire need of wardrobe upgrades.” “I’m afraid that would have to wait,” a suave voice replied from the doorway. “Pardon the untimely intrusion onto your personal grounds, but I must inform you that you’ll be getting a very special visit at diner today, so I’m afraid the seamstresses won’t be able to fulfill your request in time.” “How many?” the stocky Earth Caste techie inquired, crossing her hands below her breasts, causing her overalls to pinch the slight bulges of cyan flesh on her widened hips. “Just one. And I must assure you, he is not interested in the… rather vulgar activities that unfortunately transpired eight months ago.”

>>1818 CHAPTER IV +++ THOUGHT FOR THE DAY +++ ++ “Happiness is a delusion of the weak.” ++ Jade did recognize the unremarkable middle-aged man – not for his looks, far too average and far too common for his kind to catch inside any memory, but for his trademark voice. Introducing himself as ‘Inquisitorial representative’ under the alias of ‘Broker’, he proceeded with a detailed apology in fairly well-spoken Tau, addressing both their confinement and the events of the ‘gala’, as well as many other lingering issues that the four were trying to wrap their collective mind around for so long. At the end of the speech, he even presented the Water Caste envoy with proper diplomatic credentials. Her status, however, would remain largely uncertain, as no official diplomatic relations between Imperium of Man and Tau Empire were established past Damocles Gulf ceasefire - and since their respective governments were still technically in the state of war, Jade’s ‘indefinite house arrest’ would only change to ‘indefinite internment’. They would, however, be allowed to get their diplomatic mail sent and received – the only major concern being overall irregularity in communication between the empires. Even someone as connected as ‘Inquisitorial representative’ couldn’t guarantee their messages would get across, for relaying on Rogue Traders, as he pointed out, was a dubious affair at best. From now on, ‘Broker’ would also pay the impromptu ‘consulate’ regular visits – if not to relay any important information, then to check up on the Tau ‘representatives’ and to ensure the continued well-being of the ‘xeno diplomatic cadre’. Highly skeptical of these new developments, and not quite unreasonably so, the four Tau women would show a great deal of reluctance, restraint and reserve in their contacts with their not-so-recent acquaintance – after all, the memory of the ‘gala’ was still somewhat fresh, and he too participated in the occasion. However, the man never displayed any sort of vulgar aspirations – going as far as politely yet sternly declining any advances on the blue-skinned girls’ behalf, always claiming that such ‘unfortunate turn of events’ was a result of ‘a momentary weakness and a significant lapse of judgement’ of his. Still, as the time went on, as his visits became a part of their regular lives, the four Tau women sooner or later found themselves not minding, liking, and even enjoying Broker’s company. Confident, polite, eloquently spoken, exceptionally well-informed and well-versed in seemingly every worldly matter, the man radiated intellectual and charismatic presence vastly exceeding his humble, modest exterior, subtly yet masterfully dismantling whatever barriers his xeno collocutors attempted to pull up during their conversations. Quite soon, the four women found themselves deep in the unspoken competition for Broker’s attention – and so, quickly discovering that his focus had a strong tendency to drift towards the largest of them, they would adjust accordingly. Over the course of the following year, their lives would undergo rather radical changes. Fueled by the ever-elusive compliments and the ever-subtle suggestions on Broker’s behalf, their appetites would go into overdrive, with each of the blue-skinned ladies soon habitually consuming nearly triple the amount of their already quite generous caloric intake. None of them, however, was truly able to take the lead – whenever this would happen to one of them, the other three would drive their sheer gluttonous efforts to an even greater lengths, inevitably catching up and surpassing the former ‘center of attention’. Inevitably, their physiques ballooned outwards at exponential rates, the sight only being exacerbated by their gradually more provoking and revealing choice of attire. Their bodies would dispatch the rapidly collecting adipose tissue in distinctly different shapes of obesity – whereas Air Caste cadet’s and Water Caste envoy’s frames would distribute the pounds more or less equally, the latter would remain tight, plump and curvy, while the former would become increasingly flabby and doughy. While on par with the others in terms of overall girth, Spring was also the lightest of the four – both due to certain quirks to Air Caste physiology and because her thin, pale shade of cyan skin was doing little in the way of giving her gelatinous, water-balloon loose poundage any pronounced shape. On the opposite, Jade’s form was now made a collection of pronounced shapes – from her significantly rounded face with subtle beginnings of a second chin, to her increasingly orb-like yet still shapely and perky breasts, to her plump and curvy belly with a distinct fold splitting its lower roll vertically in half, to her flaring hips, round and pneumatic ass and her thick yet shapely thighs. Their gluttonous Fire Caste ‘warden’ was befittingly center-heavy, her singular, sack-like dangling mountain of a vivid blue gut being the dominant feature of her physique, augmented with her engorged, somewhat saggy mammaries sitting on top while being supported by wide, wobbly, child-bearing hips. In hindquarters department however, they all were soundly dominated by the Earth Caste shortstack – a hourglass turning into distinct pear, with a pair of blue moons upside rivaling Jade’s own ample chest and twin quivering shelves of adipose sticking far out from behind her colossal, dimpled, meaty thighs, and with her halves connecting through a relatively tiny pudge of a bell-shaped belly, she was the widest of the four, her hips regularly catching onto the narrower doorframes of the mansion. … “Uugh…” Spring groaned, her elongated fingers running across her engorged stomach, sinking into the yielding expanse of her gut. “I can’t… oof… I’m done… nngh… no more…” “A valiant effort,” the Broker smiled, gently placing his arm on Air Caste girl’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, “It’s all right. Don’t strain yourself. It’s just a friendly wager, after all.” The dining table was strewn with piles upon piles of emptied plates, remnants of a ludicrous smorgasbord of a ‘lunch’ the staff had prepared for this occasion. At it, the members of a ‘diplomatic cadre’ were seated, their bulk accommodated by the recently introduced widened chairs. The ‘friendly wager’ their ‘special friend’ had proposed was, in essence, an eating contest, and with the prize being an undisclosed ‘special treat’ from the Broker himself, the four blue-skinned xenos delved into the feast – somewhat reserved at first, but, as it now regularly happened, soon they were glutting themselves like prize hogs, pretense of civility out the window. Lake was the first one to throw the towel – originally holding a solid lead, the Earth Caste techie made a grave mistake of eating too fast, not letting her stomach enough time to properly stretch and accommodate, slipping into food coma right there at the table. Now, it was Spring’s time to submit – she did put the valiant effort indeed, but she was lagging behind from the start, and her capacity was just not up to the task of going any further. Thus, the battle had switched to Jade and Chance – the two were still going head to head, cramming the remaining sweet delights into their already overfilled gullets one by one. Their pace, however, was already sluggish, their resolve dwindling, and their stomachs reaching their absolute limits. Eventually, they both kicked back in their chairs, writhing and groaning in discomfort, cradling their bellies to alleviate the pain. There was, however, one issue – there was still a plate with partially eaten peace of cake in front of Water Caste’s diplomat, whilst the plate in front of her opponent was empty. “I won’t be beaten… oogh… on a technicality… urf,” she groaned, trying to reach for the cutlery – only to be thrown back against the rest by the painful cramp. “Just admit it…”, Fire Caste warrior groaned back, “You lost… hic-brap… ugh, ‘scuse me.” “Ladies,” the Broker approached the two, giving both playful glances, “I adore your resolve, I truly do. But the least I’d want of you is to get hurt over a mere friendly wager. Still…” he picked the piece of cake and gently brought it to Jade’s lips, “Miss Jade has a fair point about not letting it end on such a frustrating technicality…” “Hey, that’s… hic-urf… cheating!” Chance panted. “Worry not, dear corporal,” he replied, watching the Water Caste woman laboriously devour what’s left of her fill, “With such show of resolve, I have decided both of you deserve the prize.” “What is… huff… ough… the prize… hah… then?” Jade gasped, having finally sent that painful last bite down. “Knowing how… competitive you ladies can get at times,” the Broker smiled wickedly, “I figured I’d offer you my humble services to help you through with the consequence. And since I have two hands…” They didn’t object. In fact, having their fat, distended, painfully stuffed bellies both skillfully massaged at the same time sent them Jade and Chance to such a state of bliss all they really could do was let out subtle moans of pleasure or pass soft, stifled belches. Although the experience was pleasurable for the both parties involved, the Broker knew his game far too well to let slip – the time wasn’t right just yet, and once the voices of his ‘guests’ began to betray their excitement, he once again cut them almost criminally short, instead helping them up and guiding them back to their rooms. Just before he was ready to call it a day, he caught a longing stare from the Air Caste girl still seated at the table, writhing and groaning in discomfort. “Better luck next time,” the Broker winked, leaving the suite.

>>1819 … “So when were you going to tell me?” a synthetic voice inquired. “Tell you what?” the Broker asked back, feign shock in his voice. “Tell me that there are no ‘special clients’. That this whole affair was for you alone.” “I wasn’t. Thought you’d figure it out anyway. Decided I could use your ‘more professional’ approach for a while.” “Fair observations. Would have been way more fun to let you in without all those calibrations - and without fail-safes. But I have to ask… feeding Tau females, watching them get morbidly obese, and getting your rocks off to it? Seriously?” “Professionals have standards. You really thought someone running an operation like this for decades wouldn’t be just as perverted as all the rich degenerates he supplies with the goods? Besides, it’s a stressful line of work… need to unwind somehow.” “Professionals also don’t eat into their own supply. And if our mutual benefactor finds out?” “And slay the golden goose? Fat chance. And if they decide to put an end to our operation, this’d be but a drop in a sea of evidence. Then again, once we present them that contraption of yours… hell, might even get promoted to a legal status.” “Or be disposed of like any deniable assets that outlived their use. You didn’t make the call yet, I hope?” “Could wait. Besides, this is almost too much fun…” One of the screens flashed with imagery of a scantily-clad, obese Air Caste girl grinding her crotch against the corner of a table, playing with a miniscule breast with one hand while shoving the cake into her mouth with the other, her soft, gelatinous bulk wobbling back and forth…

>>1820 CHAPTER V +++ THOUGHT FOR THE DAY +++ ++ “The rewards of tolerance are treachery and betrayal.” ++ Stretching her tubby appendages, Jade yawned, awakening to the bright light of another day. Propping herself up on the pile of pillows, she idly scratched the back of her head, pondering if she wanted to leave the warmth of her bed today. Not that she wasn’t up to the increasingly arduous task of getting back on her hooves – the Water Caste diplomat simply didn’t feel like going through the chore anymore. The queen-sized bed was becoming more and more of a permanent residence of hers – since everything she could ever want was just brought by her side on a whim, there wasn’t any real reason for Jade to deprive herself of the comforts. Still, as the Tau woman grew more awake, so did her senses, and with them, the all too familiar nagging sensation in her stomach. Placing her hand on the upper roll of a cyan expanse and giving it a little squeeze, Jade wondered what should she order for her breakfast in bed – or, rather, the ludicrous feast that passed for one these days – only to suddenly remember that it was ‘Broker Day’ again. Sighing, she called her maids – the chore of getting ready for such an occasion was becoming almost too much to bear both for her and her ‘retainers’ as of late. Looking at the wide full-body mirror that could just barely accommodate the full reflection of her, Jade couldn’t help but marvel at how massive she was these days. Puffy cheeks that connected in a meaty double chin, swollen arms that dangled and wobbled like sacks of melted butter attached to a stick, massive orb-like boobs that were beginning to noticeably sag, colossal two-tiered belly that obscured significant portion of her thighs, trunk-like wobbly legs easily the size of her torso from the days long gone, still somewhat shapely and tight to the eye, but also exceedingly soft and yielding to the touch – a living monument to indolence and wastefulness, a picture of everything the Greater Good deemed wrong, yet she wore it with all with ardent sense of accomplishment and pride. Her wardrobe at this point was effectively reduced to a bare minimum that kept her decent – an oversized bra, an equally oversized panties, and a piece of semi-transparent cloth to wrap around her frame and keep the pretense, for everything else was too difficult to get into and quickly became too tight to comfortably contain her billowing body. But even such shoddy attire still required constant upgrades – as one of the maids struggled to lock the clasps of Jade’s bra, the Water Caste girl felt the straps dig deep into her sides while the ample cyan flesh bulged out from the cups. The others, frankly, didn’t fare all that much better. As Jade waddled and wobbled her way to the dining hall, she passed a pair of maids carrying semi-unconscious Spring back to her room. It was one of those nights for the insatiable Air Caste girl – a night when she, though already heavily dependent on gravity cancellation devices to retain her mobility, made her way to the suite’s pantry and proceeded to forcefully shove whatever was in there into her eager maw, only to be discovered in the morning passed out on the floor bare-chested with her hand inside her panties. Chance’s gluttonous tendencies remained more or less the same, her overblown apron of a gut that now slapped against her sunken knees remaining the main victim, but the glaring issue with Fire Caste ‘warden’ was just how much her manners were beginning to deteriorate as of late. It was as if she was taking pride in her unabashed indulgence, willingly letting her face get smeared in sauces and juices, eating with her bare hands and passing bouts of gas freely from both ends. And then, there was Lake – a girl whose posterior got blown so out of proportion the staff had to widen the door in her room, and she was already starting to brush the frame again, a girl whose legs accumulated so much undulating flab she had to wear special-made slimming leggings just to keep the amount of wobble in check, a girl almost as wide as she was tall, if not wider already. The mood inside the dining hall wasn’t all that bright either. “What it… huff… the meaning of this?” Jade inquired, looking at her breakfast – or, rather, lack thereof. The table, usually filled to the brim with rich delicacies, was almost empty, spare for the portion in front of here. It was, in essence, a regular meal – a regular meal for someone who didn’t habitually consume a week’s worth of nourishment in one go and went for snacks afterwards. “Broker,” Lake meekly replied. “They said he was going to come with something special, so it’s all were getting until lunch.” “And since Miss Airhead cleared the pantry again,” Chance chimed in, “we’re going to have to run empty. Sucks, I know.” “But this is just…” the Water Caste diplomat bit her lip, suddenly realizing what she was about to call ‘a meager snack’ was in fact a full meal, “I mean it’s…” “Oh, please,” the obese Fire Caste woman rolled her eyes. “You’re just as much of a hogbrain as any of us these days. Just stop pretending you’re any better than us already.” “I am not…” “Yes, you are,” her Earth Caste ‘confidant’ cut Jade mid-phrase. “Or what, you’re gonna tell us you blimped up four times your prior size on accident? Or that it’s just bloating?” The bickering went on for a while – with their Air Caste companion getting her share upon rejoining the team. The only thing they could really agree on is that such turn of events was indeed highly uncharacteristic of their mutual ‘special friend’ – to a point where the four began genuinely worrying while trying to come up with some sort of likely scenario.

>>1821 “Ladies!” Broker suddenly stepped into the room, wicked grin splayed across his face. “Please, I’m here!” “WHERE’S OUR FOOD?” Chance barked at him, as if on cue. “Oh, worry not, it’s on the way. I see you’re all hungry?” “YES!” the obese Tau women shouted in unison. “Good! I have to warn you, though… the cooks have really outdone themselves today, and I expect all of you not to leave this room before the table is completely empty… or until I say you had enough.” “DON’T CARE!” Jade screamed, “BRING IT ON!” “Be careful what you wish for,” clapping his hands, Broker winked and stepped aside, letting in a small army of servants, each carrying several platters filled to the brim with freshly cooked delights. Delving into the feast with almost unnatural vigor, the four Tau ‘guests’ let their honed gluttonous impulses run wild, gorging as if possessed by the spirit of Great Devourer itself, shoving endless streams of food inside their mouths as if their very lives depended on it. It went like this for hours – but for every plate they emptied, another took its place, and by the time the four kicked back on their dining couches, the sheer amount of delicacies on the table was mostly the same. “BHRUUURP!” the Fire Caste ‘warden’ smacked her lips, giving her belly a good slap. “Hooh… haah… whew… man, that really… BURAAAP! That really hit the spot!” “Ungh… so… good…” the Air Caste girl moaned. “Yeah… stick a fork in me, I’m done… just don’t do that ‘bait-and-switch’ thing again, eh Broker?” the Earth Caste techie groaned. “I must… hic-urph… ‘scuse me, I must agree, it was truly special,” the Water Caste lady continued. “Bait and switch?” Broker smirked, “Oh, I’m long past such simple schemes, dear. And speaking of ‘was’… Dearies, is the table empty already? Or did I say you’re done?” “N…no?” Jade muttered, suddenly realizing that neither her nor her ‘entourage’ managed to even make a dent in the mountain of food in front of them. “Then I see no reason why you all should stop. Now please, do enjoy your meal.” “But we’re… oogh… so full…” Spring mumbled. “After all what I have witnessed in the years of your stay,” Broker tilted his head slightly, “I believe I am at every right to conclude that you all were never the type to stop eating when full. But if you so insist… servants, please, do help our ‘esteemed guests’ here properly appreciate the labors of our cooks.” Before they could express any form of protest, the four found their hands tied behind their backs, their nose-slits sealed by patches of industrial-grade duct tape, and their lips being pressed on with chunks of food. Having to choose between breathing in-between bytes and not to breathe at all, the overfed blue-skinned xenos submitted, and for what felt like an agonizing eternity, they would be filled to their absolute brim. The Broker himself was all over them – touching, massaging, slapping, squeezing, prodding, licking, kissing, snaking his hand into their panties, teasing them, mocking them, but most of all – feeding them. And when they all felt it was to be their end, to burst in fountains of gore and semi-digested goop, it all suddenly stopped – now, reduced to little more than panting, gasping, moaning and burping piles of sweaty excess flesh of different shades of blue, they were unhanded, immediately reaching their vastly overstuffed flabby guts with their sausage fingers. “Ladies!” Broker loudly exclaimed, turning his back to the four and spreading his arms, “ever since I set this plan in motion, in all the times I spoke with you, or with your other kindred, there was one thing I was so thoroughly amused with about you... for all your bravado about your collectivistic values, about the ‘shared vision of the Greater Good’, I must ask you: why, just why, were all of you so intent and insistent on having me by the side of one and only one of you? Just how much more of my worldly riches did I have to share with you to make you understand… to make you agree… to make you share the gift that is me… between you all?” “But lucky for you,” Broker turned back to the Tau, his face distorted by a maniacal, predatory grimace, “I am the gift that keeps on giving! And today, my esteemed guests of honor… my most adorable courtesans… my tailor-made, plump, succulent, fatty ‘water flowers’… you can all have me together! So… servants! Out and about! It’s time for your master to feast at last!” And the last thing Broker could truly remember was an apron of a gut resting on his back, his tongue masterfully working flabby alien pussy while his throbbing shaft was hungrily sucked upon…

>>1822 Oh, and by the way, Epstein didn't shoot himself. Right, back to the cave for another couple of years, I guess. As usual, feast your eyes and steel your loins!

>>1823 Great work as always! See you again in a few years.

>>1899 Thank you. l may release another 40k thing in a couple of weeks, but I'd rather not get ahead of myself, since it may be just another dud that I'll be sitting on for years. What I'm more interested in is some meaningful feedback. What do I do right? What do I do wrong? How can I improve? Does all the modest praise I get come from the fact that I am just about the only person around who does 40k fats, or is there something else to it?

>>1051 I just realized that a near immobile Repanse on Grail Knight Reliquae would make her a great rival for Grom the Paunch.

I'm looking forwards to that pre fall eldar story Moonliner. I need to finish my whf elf queen ones...

Isha’s Eternal Splendor By Moonliner CENSOR’S NOTE: by Inquisitorial decree, the following text had been proclaimed dismal; its contents deemed heretical. Inquisitorial threat designations: Xenos Maxima, Hereticus Maxima, [REDACTED]. Unauthorized study is a capital offense punishable by excommunication and death. Access level requirement: [REDACTED]. To be provided for research purposes only. To be studied under proper supervision with all necessary precautions. The Emperor Protects. Suffer not the Xeno to live. TRANSLATOR’S NOTE: the following text is a reconstructed excerpt from the pre-Fall Eldar ‘Pleasure Cult’ archives, believed to be originally chronicled at unspecified point of time between M26 and M28, excavated from [REDACTED] by Inquisitor Lord [REDACTED]. Due to severe shortage of meaningful sources on pre-Fall Eldar lexicon and due to overtly profane nature of the text itself, this humble servant was unable to deliver the full scope of depravities described below, opting instead to recount the general events narrated within the text while providing sufficient context for understanding the nature of such events. The Emperor Protects. Suffer not the Xeno to live. It was the twilight age of the Aeldari Empire. For untold eons, the Children of the Stars have ruled the Galaxy. Their powers godlike, their knowledge transcendent, their might unmatched, they quashed any and every nascent challenge to their birthright with ease, any lingering threat kept firmly at bay by legions of arcane machines of war. Their worlds made into tranquil paradises, knowing no hardship to their millennia-long lives, left to pursue nothing but their minute whims, with nothing beyond their reach and with nothing forbidden, the Aeldari grew ever more arrogant, ever more indolent, but most of all - ever more bored. By the time Humanity rose to challenge the decadent Aeldari, their empire was but a ghost of its ancient glory, a patchwork of constantly squabbling pleasure cults in place of venerable hierarchies and old systems of power, every call for moderation long since silenced and every voice of reason exiled to the furthest corners of the Galaxy. Yet, even in such a state, the Aeldari persevered – and the Terran civilization quickly collapsed upon itself, weakened by its sudden psychic awakening and utterly shattered in a rebellion of its own sentient machines, becoming little else but a rich source of slaves for Children of the Stars to prey upon. And thus, once more deprived of challenge from without, the Aeldari went on with their increasingly debauched, lascivious, decadent ways, seeking nothing but to explore the ultimate edge of sensual experience, no matter how debased such experience could be. But as the twisted pursuits of their race plunged further into the depths of wicked depravity, as social structures disintegrated even further, as rivers of blood flooded the streets, a growing number of Aeldari found themselves yearning for something their civilization seemed to toss away on a whim many millennia ago. Lelith was one of them – a relatively young, pale-skinned and raven-haired girl who spent initial centuries of her life in a drug-fueled, sex-crazed, blood-misted whirlwind of dancing blades, be that on gladiatorial arenas, or in the back streets of her city, or within slave chambers. Alas, the whole vibe of ‘living on the edge’ could satiate her increasingly debased urges only so far – and as the edge inevitably grew more and more dull, Lelith was hit with a sudden realization of her own mortality. She knew, of course, that her soul shall eventually return from the Aether to be reborn in a new body, but it offered little comfort – both because there was no telling how soon the rebirth would happen and because having the potential millennia of indulging in every pleasure and every sensation snuffed out of her on a whim by someone just as deranged was something she simply wasn’t going to accept. Fortunately for Lelith, she wasn’t alone to experience similar doubts in regards to her lifestyle – and fortunately, the Aeldari civilization, immoral and corrupt as it was, had a solution just for the individuals like her. The fall of their race into the depths of rampant debauchery didn’t happen overnight – just like all things Aeldari, it had the most humble, cautious and reserved beginnings. It was only natural they tried to alleviate existential boredom at the shrines of their divine mother Isha – goddess of harvest, fertility, life, healing and growth – with ritual festivities taking progressively more prominent and more literal forms. It was only natural that some of the first Pleasure Cults coalesced around sanctuaries of Isha – with small societies of Aeldari dedicating themselves to celebrating their goddess’ bounty and splendor. While many of such early Pleasure Cults either fell to obscurity or plunged to deranged extremes as Aeldari society collectively moved on to explore the more radical forms of sensation, it was only natural that some of such early cults survived for millennia, not only amassing a great deal of wealth and power over time, but also keeping some things that entire Aeldari civilization seemed to happily abandon – a modicum of restraint, a semblance of order, but above all – a degree of peace within. And with whatever vestiges of civilized society rapidly falling apart, it was only natural such cults experienced a kind of rebirth, providing safe harbors to those who just wasn’t ready to embrace the ultimate extremes yet, or providing simpler sensations to a generation that never truly got to experience those. And thus, it was only natural for Lelith to join one of such cults. Situated within enormous pyramid-like structure standing amidst lush wilderness, protected by a small army of wraithbone constructs, from the outside it felt almost like the last vestige of an age long past, a page of Aeldari history torn from the book, crumpled and thrown into the trash bin – it was peaceful and tranquil, in dazzling contrast with the city she used to inhabit. Alas, the moment they passed the gates, they all knew it was a domain of a yet another Pleasure Cult – rich, fragrant aromas of various incenses mixed with sickly sweet whiffs of recreational drugs hitting their nostrils long before their eyes caught outlandishly opulent décor, faint moans of extasy seeping through the walls as they made their way inside. But there was no metallic stench of stale blood, no slimy touch of collective agony on their skin, no psychic residue of death to rustle their hair – only a strange sensation of shared pleasure, of almost forgotten simple joy that didn’t require one to go out of their way in desperate search for ever more debased kicks. Then, there were other members of the cult – calm and cheerful, their skin hues far more natural than those of newcomers, their smiles genuine, their words kind and warm. Most perplexing, however, were their appearances – ranging from moderately chubby to outright obese and beyond, their semi-transparent greenish-white gowns doing precious little to hide the excess of flesh while intricately woven undergarments only accentuated outrageous curves and billowing rolls. The concept of obesity itself wasn’t exactly alien to the Eldar – sure, their lightning-speed metabolic rate made it exceedingly hard to gain as much as a single pound, but it was possible to overpower nonetheless, be that through plain consumption of truly obscene amounts of nourishment, through obscure psychic techniques, through ingestion of specific substances, or through all of the above. Yet, it was the form of excess the Aeldari of this sybaritic age could ill afford, as increasingly cannibalistic nature of their increasingly profligate society made a desired prey out of anyone whose exterior could suggest even a slightest weakness of its bearer. Lelith knew for certain that a most of the kindred she witnessed within the halls wouldn’t make it even ten steps back on the streets – figuratively, spare for those few whose shapeless, stretchmark-ridden guts dangled below their knees, whose flabby arms were pushed apart from their bloated torsos at awkward angles, and whose lard-ringed legs obstructed each other, forbidding any sort of proper movement spare for awkward waddle. And yet, there they were, secluded within impenetrable walls, their comforts protected by a legion of arcane war machines, joyfully basking in the simplest, almost primordial excess, and paying no heed to the grim realities of vicious world outside.

>>1942 Every Pleasure Cult had some rite of initiation – no matter how deranged and unhinged it might have been in its perverted pursuits, a newcomer always had to prove their worth to the common cause before being given access to entirety of cult’s resources, and the Cult of Isha’s Eternal Splendor was no exception. Upon being inducted by a Prime Chosen, a formless pile of a woman who must have weighed well over two tons, a woman whose expansive bulk had all but engulfed her useless appendages, a woman who had to rely on telepathy to convey her words as the only sounds her body could produce were either strained grunts of swallowing calorie-dense goop forced inside her through a tube, or deep guttural rumblings of her overloaded intestines, or occasional bouts of flatulence that sent ripples across her immense buttocks, Lelith was assigned to a Circle of Servants, to tend to the needs and whims of those who had already received further blessings. While the notions of performing any kinds of manual labor and of exercising even the slightest forms of self-denial might have been long since considered deeply heretical among the indolent Aeldari, and while the soundness of a decision to make a servant out of a creature as vicious as former blade-dancer might have been dubious at best, paradoxically, it all seamlessly fed into the bizarre novelty of sensation Lelith and other newcomers so desperately sought, the novelty of sensation that made them all follow the rules of the cult with utmost devotion and pride. Further cementing that dedication to the cause, the cult also offered a great deal of variety to explore. The diverse crafts of the Circle of Artisans, whom tirelessly toiled to outperform each other, be that through scandalous works of every form of art celebrating the eternal bounty of their goddess, be that through outrageous culinary exploits meant to satiate the most exquisite tastes and the most ravenous appetites, or be that through feats of arcane sciences to augment and prolong the extasy of excess. Then, there were intricacies of approaches, methods and tricks utilized by the Circle of Benefactors in their interactions with the Chosen – from subservient or cordial to manipulative, sadistic, or outright cruel, from subtle encouragement to mercilessly forcing the bounty of Isha upon their concubines, from building genuine relationships to treating them like slabs of meat. And then, there were the Chosen of Isha themselves, the very linchpin around whom the entire cult revolved, the living symbols of Isha’s eternal splendor, aspiring to capture but a speck of their Divine Mother’s true unbridled glory through wanton indulgence in Her gifts to the Aeldari, willfully letting their mortal frames to swell and grow with endless joys of excess, with all their whims, desires, attitudes, and with all but infinite manifold to their billowing shapes and ballooning sizes. The Servants, of course, were always in the thick of it – rare as it was for a Benefactor to keep their Chosen only to themselves, there would inevitably come the time for Servants to be called in to cater to the increasingly helpless, needy and dependent idols of excess. Usually, however, the Chosen would enjoy a company of Servants from the very moment of their ‘ascension’, sometimes gathering entire harems around themselves, willfully relinquishing whatever modicum of control they had over their own destinies to pursue the ultimate goal. Lelith found this peculiar dynamic to be oddly satisfying – to realize that she, a lowly handmaiden, possessed more power over the Chosen than they held over themselves played well into her wicked ego, naturally pushing her to partake in progressively more debased activities within the cult. Of those, she had taken the most perverse pleasure in being a ‘proxy’ between a Benefactor and a Chosen who had grown too massive to copulate – having herself rammed from behind while working the flabby lower lips with her tongue, or having her own snatch toyed with while trying her best to tend to a hopelessly buried shaft, all the while struggling to hold the weight of warm, soft, wobbling excess that enveloped her back, the sensation of becoming a living bridge of carnal joy, a conduit for depraved gratification never seemed to fail in sending her over the edge. One of the more memorable moments of Lelith’s servitude came when she was called upon to assist a couple of equally helpless male Benefactor and his female Chosen – and while it was almost natural for Benefactors to have some of the Chosen influence to rub on their physiques, this one clearly didn’t possess enough patience to wait for the final blessing, joining his professed ‘one and only true love’ on the journey before her own could conclude. Alas, as no true worshipper of Isha would stand in the way of such passion, it took a concerted effort of a dozen Servants to maneuver both of them into a suitable position, all the while wiping the sweat off their gargantuan bodies and bringing much needed refreshments to their eager mouths. They were a bizarre sight to behold – a woman so grotesquely obese her own amorphous gut served to prop her off the floor several solid feet, spreading from below her like a loose waterbed of flesh, a woman with breasts so humongous her tubby arms could barely reach past their combined circumference, elbows resting atop the ample mounds of flesh as if they were pillows, a woman whose backside was completely covered by a mammoth lard-sack of a gut of her paramour, its hem reaching past her buried shoulders and enveloping her head, a woman straddled from behind by an androgynous blob of a man whose neck was completely encased in a drooping chin roll, whose ham-hock arms could have rivaled a regular Eldar torso in girth, and whose wobbly tits put many a better-endowed handmaiden to shame. Aided in their labors by gravity negation trinkets, endurance-enhancing drugs, various aphrodisiacs and a modicum of flesh-shaping magics, the two landwhales awkwardly indulged in the passions of flesh, their agonizingly slow lovemaking making their immensely overfed bodies erupt in waves upon waves of hypnotizing undulations as their fat slammed against fat and their rolls rubbed and squished against rolls. For hours on end, the two landwhales would bask in each other’s hot, sweaty, breathless embrace, and for hours on end, they would demand an endless stream of decadent nourishment be brought to their eager, gasping mouths. Even with all the wealth of experience in tending to the many needs of the much larger Chosen, Lelith couldn’t help but be thoroughly amazed with the sheer scale of the feast the pair consumed during the whole ordeal, as well as with the looks of pure extasy that briefly followed every new morsel swallowed – as if the food itself became a third participant in the depraved orgy of excess that unraveled before the handmaiden’s eyes. And when they could go on no more, having exhausted every buried muscle of their blob-like bodies, having spent every last drop of their intimate fluids, stuffed beyond capacity and swollen like ticks, collapsed on the floor like two formless wads of panting, gasping and wheezing dough, their minds swimming in bittersweet mix of unbridled euphoria and equally unbridled agony, they ordered the Servants to torment and violate them in every way the latter could imagine – a notion that didn’t have to be repeated as the dozen of viciously sybaritic Eldar simultaneously unleashed their thoroughly honed skills, almost snuffing out the duo’s lives by the time the enigmatic Haemonculi observers who ran the cult had to intervene. Surprisingly, the Servants who partook in the incident were given only mild disciplining, and Lelith never heard of the pair ever since – whether they were punished for breaking the rules, or moved to a different part of the pyramid to avoid any run-ins with those who had displayed such lapse of judgement, or their bodies had simply failed to carry the weight of excess any further remained unclear. Not that the former blade-dancer truly cared – but the experience itself left a deep mark on her psyche, forever scarring it with lingering yet persistent desire to recreate it, to enjoy it firsthand, to bask in the ecstasy of primordial excess she had to witness them so unabashedly bask in.

>>1943 The first step on Lelith’s path towards making such aspirations a reality would come quite soon – a mere couple of Terran decades later, just as the overall novelty of her life as a handmaiden within the Pleasure Cult began to erode, she was offered a first blessing. Never too particularly interested in arts and crafts, Lelith chose to ascend to the Circle of Benefactors – or, rather, to a position of an apprentice within. The fundamental task of guiding the Chosen on their path towards embracing the ultimate splendor of Isha required one to attain and hone a very specific set of skills – for it was one thing to catch glimpses of others exercising their mastery, but it was another thing entirely to reach such mastery in person. There was, of course, a solution that didn’t put any of the Chosen at risk of becoming training dummies for the unskilled, but a solution that still allowed an aspiring Benefactor to learn the ins and out of their intricate art: human slaves, of which the cult always had a fairly decent supply. Lelith didn’t particularly enjoy the idea – to the former blade-dancer, the mon’keigh were just too sluggish, too awkward, too frail and too uncouth to be of any worth in the arena, their pathetically short lifespans preventing them from attaining even a hint of entertainment value aside from serving as warm-up fodder for the gladiators’ cold steel. Yet, despite their many failings, these savages possessed several somewhat redeeming qualities – their exteriors were fairly similar to those of Children of the Stars, minus the genetic perfection, their physiologies were largely compatible with Aeldari ecosystems, and their psyches, though dull and hidebound, operated on fairly similar principles. Alas, with training dummies like these, Lelith was forced to learn to restrain herself by a great deal – human metabolic rates were orders of magnitude slower than those of the Eldar, and as entertaining as it was to make them swell with endless bounties of Isha until they resembled little else but formless piles of sweating, wheezing, stretchmark-ridden flesh fighting for their dear lives with every strained breath, with most of them flatlining at around half-ton mark, it all happened just so frustratingly fast she couldn’t even begin to properly bask in the fruits of her labor. Still, the whole experience was just about as frustrating as it was enlightening – and most of all, it was novel, with plenty of avenues to explore and plenty of approaches to try. Her masterpiece, however, would be a duo of mon’keigh girls whom she toyed with for half a Terran decade, never revealing herself until their very final moments, relying instead on an asinine plot revolving around ‘ancient Aeldari prophesy’ and feeding them the carefully constructed lie about the two being central figures to it. Left to their own devices, constantly surrounded with every flavor of nourishment and tended to their every need by a legion of silent, brainwashed slaves, their fall into the depths of decadence was a process somewhat slow, yet a process remarkably satisfying for Lelith. Observing them try to wrest control of their fates, only to come to grim resignation. Observing them try to drown their sorrows in liquor, drugs and food, only to suddenly discover the damage caused by such lack of restraint. Observing their meager attempts to undo the consequence fail, their inhibitions gradually erode, and their true passions surface. Observing them abandon the last holdouts of pretense and give in to their primal hedonistic impulses. Watching their urges grow more and more depraved as they ignored every single complication that arose from reckless indulgence – their lungs and hearts failing to keep up with even the slightest forms of exertion, their ballooning frames and underused muscles depriving them of mobility, their stomachs growing so bottomless their hunger couldn’t be sated anymore, their innards so overworked they expunged noxious gases almost constantly. Finally, as they gorged themselves within the very inches of their lives, Lelith swooped in like a demon of old mon’keigh myth, revealing her ploy, taunting the two for their wanton decadence, and delivering them both a final release as chain of mind-breaking orgasms caused their overburdened hearts to fail. Such display of cunning did prompt another blessing for the former blade-dancer – as well as a couple of subtle offers from the enigmatic Haemonculi to consider the possibility of joining them as apprentice instead. Lelith would turn the latter down – flattering as it was to be invited to the table where games of power were played, power was never an experience she truly aspired towards. Thus, accepting the second blessing, she was given the title of Benefactor, and a selection of newly-ascended Chosen to pick from. True to her long-nurtured desires, she picked two – Tahkei, a man who made a name for himself as one of the most vicious Benefactors of the cult, and Dersira, a woman who was known for uncharacteristic kindness and subservience. Claiming a small favor from one of the Haemonculi sorcerers, she would charm Tahkei with thoroughly honed faux servility, flooding his ego with endless flatter, letting him use and abuse her – and when he fell for it, she snapped her fingers, revealing that he was barred from reaching a climax until he could do it with his own flab, no matter how hard he would try without. Dirty as such a trick might have been, it did wonders at turning the callous tormentor of the Chosen into Lelith’s own utterly submissive plaything, the one willing to do anything for the electric sensation of the tips of her elongated and sharpened nails slowly and subtly running along the length of his throbbing shaft while his own hands were busy pushing ‘that one extra bite’ down his agonizingly overfilled stomach. Tahkei’s surrender was so swift and so complete Lelith suddenly discovered there wasn’t all that much she had to do with him, spare for episodic strategic reinforcement – for every time she entered his chambers, he would either recklessly gorge himself on another ostentatious smorgasbord of food, or lay splayed on the bed after finishing one, trying to soothe the pain in his overstuffed stomach, begging her for allowing him sweet release, or sleeping it all off. The former blade-dancer would divert most of her attention to Dersira, but this time, however, there would be no sinister deceit, no nifty ruse, no long-term stratagem – Lelith would simply take the subservient nature of her newly-appointed Chosen to the extreme, letting her own sybaritic impulses run wild. With raptorial fire burning in her eyes and with predatory grin splayed across her face, she would personally force impossible feasts down Dersira’s throat, and when she would fail to consume everything brought to the chambers, Lelith would concoct a bounty of ‘punishments’ for the ‘unworthy’ – her favorite being starving Dersira for days at a time, only to appear at her chambers with yet another gut-busting banquet of food, relishing in the glimpse of animalistic hunger in the eyes of her Chosen, watching with glee as the receiver of her gift shoved the calorie-dense nourishment down her aching gullet with bare hands, only to surrender yet again and for the cruel cycle to begin anew.

>>1944 With such vicious treatment on Lelith’s behalf, it didn’t take all too long for the two Chosen to grow soft and supple – first chubby, then conventionally fat, and then outright obese. By the time Tahkei finally managed to overcome the sinister spell put over his rod, he was more than four times as large as he was during his Benefactor days – and the experience of finally achieving the release pent up within for Terran years by merely having his painfully erect shaft rub against the envelope of his fat pad and the succulent flaps of his navel-bottom gut was almost enough to break his mind. Lelith found him splayed on the floor by the open pantry, tears of pure, unbridled joy rolling down his cherubic cheeks as his trembling, barely reaching hand attempted to coax out more pleasure while the other stuffed his mouth with piece of lavish dessert. Overtaken by a sensation of utmost accomplishment, she mounted him on the spot, her hands adoringly squeezing and groping soft and warm flesh, her tongue locking against his in passionate kiss, her loins tenderly grinding against the padding of his groin. Their lovemaking was fairly brief – instead of giving in and making Tahkei completely expend himself, Lelith gifted him just a single peak, for the main course of the day was already in the making. Helping him get on his feet, she gently guided his wobbling frame towards Dersira’s chambers, reveling in the sight of his jiggly excess, giving him mischievous slaps on the saggy backside and playful gropes on his plentiful back rolls. By the time they got there, Tahkei was glistening with sweat, his breath short and raspy – but the other Chosen fared little better. Surrounded by doting Servants, Dersira was splayed on the bed, stuffed to the gills and fighting for each gulp of air with her overfilled stomach, her billowing features out for the world to see. Though she was about the same weight as Tahkei, teetering on the quarter-ton mark, she wore the fruits of her overindulgence exceedingly well – whereas the male Chosen’s frame has grown saggy and loose, with the brunt of the corpulence collecting around his belly and rear, giving him a distinct ‘melting apple’ shape, his female counterpart distributed the excess adipose in a far more balanced, firm and shapely manner, notable exception being her mostly intact, somewhat skinny face. With her ample yet still perky breasts, with plump rolls of her engorged, lap-filling double belly which folded into fleshy love handles at her hips, with meaty yet firm and flawless saddle-baggy thighs that pushed her legs apart, Dersira’s visage was much closer to properly reflecting the divine splendor bestowed upon her. There was no need for long introductions or intricate preludes. What followed next was a long, passionate and fiery show of carnal delight, with all three main participants enjoying each other’s company in their very own, very unique ways. When the overfed duo expended their fairly limited energy reserves, Lelith and the Servants would take the lead – since the entire Aeldari society was way past the point where the word ‘stop’ would mean one should stop, they wouldn’t relent until everyone involved was utterly and completely spent, and then some more, pushing each other into the sickly state of bittersweet agony. From there, it was a one-way road for Tahkei and Dersira – a road paved in wanton gluttony and unbridled lust. With Lelith serving as their dedicated guide down the path towards the ultimate heights of decadent excess, any notions aside from eating themselves into delirious stupor and having their very souls thoroughly fucked out of them quickly eroded out of the Chosen duo’s minds, plunging them into a state of rampant, uncontained growth. When their swelling guts and billowing fupas made proper sexual contact between the two all but impossible, Lelith would once again take perverted pleasure in ‘bridging’ their passions. When their genitals became all but impossible to reach, completely overgrown with pounds upon pounds of rippling, stretchmark-ridden flab, they wouldn’t relent, as the very act of reaching the absolute limits of their stomachs’ capacity, though progressively arduous and increasingly time-consuming, was becoming enough to drive the two to reach their apogees. If that wouldn’t work, there was also their skin – thin, soft, incredibly sensitive, and the vast sea of loose and yielding underlying adipose, which erupted in a storm of unremitting jiggle from the slightest motions, sending ripples both across the surface and deep below the toneless folds, entering into fantabulous state of resonance with their buried nether regions and enrapturing their psyches with almost maddening arousal. With proper stimulation through combination of skillful massage and a cocktail of sensitivity-enhancing drugs, the sensation reached truly mind-melting heights – as if their very bodies, pumped with hundreds upon hundreds of creamy lard, pathetically weak and egregiously formless, were becoming the living vessels of ultimate extasy a lot of their kin so desperately sought to achieve.

>>1945 As Tahkei and Dersira kept gorging themselves on the endless bounty their goddess provided, as their bodies kept swelling with the onslaught of calories, another discovery was made – the bigger they got, the more intense grew the sheer sensation, and the more intense it got, the more of it they ached for. Already on the verge of immobility, the two dove into the joys of unbridled indulgence with a renewed vigor. Gone were the massive hand-crafted feasts, replaced with bottomless vats of calorie-dense, metabolism-halting sludge. Gone were the long hours of hand-feeding, replaced with tubes showed down their throats and with rhythmic whirring of pumps. Gone were the subtle, intimate moments of feeling a couple of hands running across the vast expanses of their bodies, gently caressing their bulging rolls and exploring their deep folds, replaced with increasingly rancorous exercises in torturous abuse performed by dozens of Servants at a time. Hopelessly caught up in the whirlwind of depraved elation, their brains flooded with pleasures both natural and artificial, the two Chosen barely registered what happened to them or around them anymore – as long as it kept coming, and as long as there was always more to come. Lelith, however, took notice. She did notice how their lard-laden legs became completely useless, overgrown with rings of succulent flab, no longer serving any purpose aside from providing additional padding from below. She did notice how their colossal roll-stacked guts surged way past their swollen toes, taking up space in front of them like humongous sacks of quivering flesh. She did notice how their backsides expanded in the opposite direction at nearly identical pace, growing to resemble colossal shelves of fat, buttock tops reaching their shoulder blades. She noticed their chests ballooning past any classifiable breadth – though Dersira was solidly in the lead in this department, Tahkei’s own substantial man-breasts were already beginning to surpass the size of his head. She did notice how their arms kept swelling with adipose, ham-hocks drooping almost to the level where their hips used to be, limiting their reach a little bit more with every passing week. Lelith did notice a plethora other things the two never paid any heed – how the act of eating alone was enough to drain them of any stamina, how their burgeoning cheeks were beginning to force their eyes into a squint, how just sitting still was leaving them almost breathless, how their bodies were beginning to lose their once perfect symmetricity, and each new development she discovered filled her with pride and accomplishment just as much as the feeding tubes filled the duo’s bottomless stomachs. But as the blimp-like Chosen continued swelling to even more gargantuan sizes, their features sinking further and further into their rapidly ballooning frames, their bodies inevitably began to falter, and even with all the arcane technology to support their deteriorating health, they soon began to encroach on the very limits of excess their mortal forms could possibly bear. When it became painfully evident that they could go on like this no longer, Tahkei and Dersira were given a simple choice. The enigmatic Haemonculi observers offered to use their flesh-shaping sorcery either to undo the damage, to maybe even tactfully fiddle with the duo’s memories, to let the two begin anew, to try a different path, or even to leave the cult and continue with their pursuits elsewhere – or, they could have used their powers to let the immensely overfed Chosen to continue on their current path, to grant them some extra time to revel in the ultimate depths of hedonistic bliss until even the magics of Aether could sustain them no longer. Naturally, it was exceedingly rare for the Chosen to pick the latter – and the two were not an exception, the very thought of having almost eaten themselves to death and being given an opportunity to continue doing so on the borrowed time sending sparks of perverted delight down their deep-buried spines. When their impossibly overburdened vitals failed a couple of Terran years later, they both were just a hair short of reaching three-and-a-half-ton mark, reduced to little more but grotesque piles of formless flesh, writhing in mind-wrecking agony just as much as they were shivering in undiluted ecstasy, sunken in the vast oceans of their own moribund bodies, incapable of anything but inhaling pounds upon pounds of sickly-sweet greasy sludge forced down their throats. The sensation of having finally reached the absolute limits of bodily excess delivered them one final, utterly twisted, completely debased, yet sinfully delightful release just moments before their souls departed to the Boundless Ocean. And thus, having guided her Chosen all the way, their lives dedicated and their souls offered to Isha herself, Lelith’s rite of passage was complete. When the final blessing was bestowed, she thoughtlessly brushed off every other choice – it was her time to ascend as the Chosen, and it was her time to revel in the unbridled excess she watched and helped others properly bask in. However, the Benefactor who picked her was an odd one. She recalled this lanky, bald, somewhat short and quite sharp-faced man – he was among the dozen of newcomers Lelith herself entered the cult compound all the way back then. She recalled seeing him regularly during their time as Servants – and that something went very wrong when he was given the first taste of Benefactor creed. Yet, here he was – clad in ornate robes of a journeyman Haemonculus, his skin ashen grey with unnatural hue of pink, his sunken eyes solid black, his subtle predatory smile revealing some of the needle-like teeth, and his forehead branded with an unknown eldritch symbol, subtly shimmering with Aetheric colors of agony and ecstasy. It was far from uncommon for Haemonculi to take matters into their own hands – but this one just felt strange, out of place, plain wrong, for there was something distinctly hostile and alien surrounding him, something Lelith couldn’t quite put into words, yet something that made her instinctively afraid. Reasonably unnerved with such developments, Lelith kept him at a distance, at least for a while – but he never seemed to be bothered by it, content with watching his Chosen from afar, never making any advances himself. But as she got used to his unpleasant appearances and as her senses dulled to the disturbing aura surrounding him, she inevitably gave in to her pent-up passions. And when he hand-fed her the first spoonful of sinfully rich dessert, her life, as if on que, plunged into a barely lucid blur of purple-tinted carnal euphoria.

>>1946 Lelith vaguely recalled turning back and forth in front of the mirror, admiring her body. From the slightly rounded face with subtle beginnings of a second chin, to puffed-up, flourished chest, to a somewhat protruding and slightly drooping potbelly, to flaring hips, meaty thighs, and slightly jutting ass, everything about her was bigger, rounder, softer, curvier – and she loved every single inch and every single pound of it. Then, she was eating – her Benefactor standing behind the back of her chair, his arms on her shoulders. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to – it was as if Lelith’s very being knew exactly what he wanted her to do, and it was as if him being near was a reward enough to do his unspoken bidding. Then, there was a consummation – a bizarre and quite painful experience, considering that she packed away enough food to make her belly look like it was about to burst, but he was gentle, and the pain only added to pleasure. When he wanted her to wear undersized clothes, Lelith would go out of her way to cram her expanding form into the ill-fitting threads, knowing that he enjoyed how the sight exacerbated her growing features. When he wanted to give her a weigh-in and thorough measurement, Lelith would bite her lip every time he would announce a number, knowing how much it made him happy to know she was making progress. When he made her eat on all fours, forbidding the use of hands, Lelith would put in extra effort to smear herself with juices, sauces and crumbs, willfully degrading herself to an animalistic level to earn his subtle smile. When he would intentionally feed her dishes that were designed to make her gassy, Lelith would not hold back, knowing just how lively her uncouth expulsions made his nethers. She recalled it all happening over, and over, and over again – but, for whatever reason, it never seemed to get old, never seemed to get tired. Was it a sorcery so vile she couldn’t even feel it? Was it a love so true it was worthy of old myth? Lelith didn’t care. The only thing she really cared was getting more, and more was always on the way. She recalled conquering yet another massive feast, dropping utensils back on the table and letting out a sigh of relief. There were some sauce stains on her ample bosom and on the swollen upper roll of her double belly, but she didn’t care – if anything, it served to show how much she appreciated the experience. Slumping back on her chairs – so wide her posterior was these days, she had to use two – Lelith licked her lips and put her pudgy palms atop her engorged gut, feeling her fatty arms brush against the sides of her bare mammaries. Her last weigh-in clocked at just over quarter a ton, and everything about her was becoming so large, so cumbersome, and so fantabulously soft it was as if no hard places remained on her growing body – even the flesh over her solidly packed stomach remained doughy and yielding, letting her fingers sink deep into adipose as she tried to alleviate the discomfort. Unfortunately, the main culprit that supplied added discomfort to her overfilled midsection was the table itself. When Lelith ate, she was leaning forward, letting her gut occupy the space below it, filling the gap between her thick, meaty thighs – but now it was tightly pressed against the edge, right across the most overstretched part of her stomach, preventing the overfed Chosen from properly basking in the afterglow of her rampant gluttony. Moving a bit back was an option, but it wasn’t all that easy to pull with two chairs at a time, and since they were already creaking before, Lelith wasn’t sure if it was really something she would want to try. Instead, she grabbed the hem of her gut, marveling at just how soft it had gotten down there, and tugged it upwards, biting her lip as supple flesh squeezed and brushed against the engraved wood. When her belly finally popped free, she briefly held it in her hands, taking a moment to appreciate the plentiful heft – only to drop it back on the table with a resounding ‘THUD’, sending ripples all across her lard-laden bulk and following it up with a mighty satisfied belch as the vibrations freed up some gas trapped within. With that out of the way, Lelith could finally kick back and enjoy the blissful state of fullness, cradling and caressing her overly-abundant rolls while drifting into the well-deserved food coma. And though her enigmatic Benefactor wasn’t there at the time, she knew that he would enjoy the sight just as much as she enjoyed it all. Not too long after that, there was another event that somewhat stuck in her memory. Lelith remembered waking up sometime before the dawn, splayed on her bed, feeling hungover, tired, sore, sticky, and generally miserable. It was a night after one of the cult-wide orgies, one of the grandiose and debauched displays of gluttony, substance abuse, unbridled lecherousness and unchecked promiscuity that were supposed to show the cult’s overall devotion to the goddess and its thankfulness for all the gifts Isha bestowed upon their kin. Since literally everyone was supposed to participate, Servants and Artisans were nowhere to be found, enjoying their well-deserved rest – which was a problem, since Lelith was awake, and among other things, she was starting to feel the almost forgotten sensation of emptiness, and with it, the all too familiar pangs of hunger. Fortunately, her chambers had an opulent pantry for just a such occasion, and it was supposed to be chock-full of refreshments at all times. First, she had to get out of bed – a task that had become quite burdensome even under best of circumstances. Fortunately, a wraithbone servo-construct gave her a much-needed tug, helping her hopelessly obese form attain standing position. Then, she had to make her way to the pantry – her plodding steps echoing across the chambers, her meaty thighs chafing and rubbing against each other throughout the awkward, ungainly waddle, her lard-laden features swaying in every direction, wobbling wildly with every clumsy motion. Though her goal was just a couple dozen steps away, the trek left her glistening with sweat, her burning lungs aching for air – hardly surprising, considering that she certainly didn’t lose any weight in the past months, while any forms of physical exertion were rapidly waning from her indolent life. Not that it mattered anymore – hardest part of this whole endeavor behind, Lelith threw the pantry doors open, parked her ample hindquarters on the pair of creaking chairs, leaned forward, feeling the warm expanse of her gut swallow the soft surface of her lap, and reached her tubby arms inside, claiming the prize. Her original intent might have been fairly modest, limited in scale and scope, aimed only at satiating her hungry stomach – but as she kept gobbling up the stacks of rich treats, such pretense quickly faded out of her mind, replaced with burning desire for simply consuming more. Completely overcome with this new sensation, Lelith wasn’t just eating anymore – she intently glutted herself like a woman possessed, shoving morsel after morsel into her eager mouth, paying no heed to all the sauces, juices and crumbs smearing her face, falling onto her saggy chest, dripping down her burgeoning gut. As she ventured into the territory of uncomfortable fullness, she didn’t relent, didn’t slow down – hell-bent on cramming everything that was still in the pantry inside her bottomless stomach, Lelith started letting out shameless, throaty belches, freeing up whatever space remained within her, her psyche swimming in perverse joy and her crotch dripping with juices as she let her primal impulses run wild. Yet, even someone as gluttonous, as spoiled and as far gone down that path as the former blade-dancer had their limits – when every shallow, strained breath began resonating with sharp stabs of pain in her midsection, when every strained gulp she sent down forced her to writhe and moan in agony, when the sheer amount of food contained within her obscenely overfilled stomach made itself visible through the profound curtain of flab, painting the skin of her belly a tinge of red, Lelith knew she had to concede. Frustratingly short of both cleaning up the stock and of working herself to completion, she let out a defeated sigh, following it with raspy pants, strained groans and pained whines as she slowly shifted her overfed bulk backwards, attempting to lean against the chairs. Unfortunately, just as she felt her back rolls press against the wooden backrests, the exquisitely crafted furniture would bear her weight no longer, simultaneously cracking under immense load and sending her flabby on a brief flight towards the floor. As her fat crashed upon itself, as a short bout of violent quaking sent ripples deep below her lard-laden folds, as her grotesquely overfilled insides freed up a final bout of gas up her throat, as sharp pain melded into perverse extasy, Lelith could only cry, convulse and wail while her very being melted away in throes of the most colorful and the most debased release she had achieved up to this point. And when she woke up from the ticklish sensation of elongated, impossibly sharp nails running across the vast expanse of her heaving gut, she would see a pair of sunken black eyes gazing into her very soul, a perverse smile letting her know that its bearer was reveling in the sight, and a handful of rich dessert already approaching her lips. Lelith didn’t object. The only thing she really cared was getting more, and more was always on the way.

>>1947 Another vivid memory of Lelith was her last attempt to move around under her own power. By that time, she had almost forgotten the last occasion when she actually got out of bed – by every possible metric, she was already way past the point of immobility, but she wanted to feel the true measure of her immense heft, and her Benefactor was happy to oblige. Easing the load of her obscenely obese frame onto his cold telekinetic embrace, Lelith maneuvered herself to the edge of the bed with relative ease – that being, for someone whose weight had just surpassed the nine-hundred-pound mark and whose muscles didn’t see any semblance of proper use for many Terran years. And though she couldn’t feel that weight just yet, she certainly could feel the sheer girth – how deep she was getting buried inside her own body, how much it obstructed all of her motions, how unresponsive it was against her exertions, how it wedged against itself and dragged against the sheets. With a slight push from behind, Lelith got up on her swollen feet, biting her lip as her immense apron of a gut slapped against her calves and her humongous lard-laden buttocks sagged almost to the backs of her sunken knees. Even with most of her ponderous mass still denied gravity through careful application of Aetheric sorcery, the whole endeavor left her exhausted and breathless, her heart beating kettle drums in her ears and her supple skin dripping with sweat – but she wasn’t done just yet. The only way she could move was through careful, measured, agonizingly slow waddle, and even that sent her gelatinous bulk into a violent storm of wobble, ripples travelling all across her humongous expanse. Smiling at the display, her Benefactor began gradually releasing his grip, making sure Lelith could feel the load subtly increase with every awkward motion – and that she did, taking a perverse joy in realizing just how helpless she got as every ungainful step put more and more load on her aching joints, her straining back, and her burning muscles. When her full mass was finally unleashed, she barely made one pace – putting all of her immense weight on a single joint proved way too much for her body to handle, and with her overburdened knee buckling under the impossible load, she tipped forward, landing belly-first onto the floor into the panting, sweating, spent mass of formless undulating flash. It was at this point a dozen of Servants marched into her chambers, carrying a veritable smorgasbord of food and guiding with them a grav-platform with an equally immense male Chosen. After nearly half a Terran century of wait, her long-since lingering fantasy was made real – and though even with all the flesh-shaping magics and all performance-enhancing drugs coursing through their systems they could just barely achieve proper penetration, the very experience of finally living through the scene she had to witness all the way back was more than enough to send Lelith to the very apex of depraved euphoria, over, and over, and over again, until every fiber her being begged her to stop, and then some more, just to bask in the sheer agony of it. Lelith’s last recollection was that of the final moments of her life. In fact, her departure was already long overdue – her lard-laden heart gave up hours ago, still beating only thanks to the pair of telekinetic hands still dutifully squeezing the faltered flesh. It was a last whim of hers – she wanted to pass away on a full stomach, and while years of unbridled, machine-fed gluttony had transformed her stomach into a nigh-bottomless pit, she was getting there, and her Benefactor was only happy to oblige. She felt someone climb the room-filling expanse of her gut – it’s been a long time since she could open her eyes, but she knew it was him, and she felt a bittersweet mix of joy and sorrow as she knew he came to kiss her goodbyes. At nearly four and a quarter tons of formless, sickly, agonizing flesh, Lelith was one of the largest Chosen to ever grace the cult, and though she knew it was the end of her path, it was a path she wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world, her only regret being that she couldn’t have more. Alas, a couple of hours were enough to conclude her final supper, a wet belch escaping her bloated jowls as the feeding tube was at long last pulled out. He would grant her an experience far from being unfamiliar, yet an experience intimate and unique – swapping her very spirit with one of the Servants, he would let Lelith temporarily inhabit a body still capable of doing things aside from suckling on a pipe while eating itself to death, except it too would feel the full extent of decadent ecstasy and bear the full brunt of mind-shattering agony of the experience. And as they entered their final dance, Lelith could fully bask in the sensation of having every inch and every ounce of her actual body explored, felt, rubbed, poked, pinched and prodded by a legion of invisible hands, of having her hopelessly overgrown, buried mound rammed by an equally humongous otherworldly shaft, and of her life slowly fading away while it all happened. Her passing was impeccably timed – just as she passed the maddeningly brutal summit of the most twisted, deranged and degenerate orgasm of her centuries-long mortal life, her long dead heart finally stopped, and her soul finally departed to the Boundless Ocean, carrying the afterglow with it. It would serve as a source of power to maintain the carefully-nurtured bound between her soul and the soul of her enigmatic Benefactor – the one he would require to witness the impossible. The fickle realm of the Warp welcomed Lelith with a bizarre picture of impossible geometries, vivid tides and colorful streams, shifting, changing and mixing like waves made of every emotion, every sensation, every thought and every word of every living being. As it took her into its warm embrace, she saw glimmering constellations of Aeldari croneworlds, golden-hued patchworks of dying Terran colonies, green tendrils of Krork infestations, dusty metallic glimmer of Necrontyr tombs. She saw hope and betrayal, life and death, war and bloodshed, all fused together yet remaining distinctly separate in the impossible whirlwind of destruction fueled by the worldly suffering and pain. And then, there was a voice – a voice of a billion Aeldari speaking in perfect unison, yet a voice utterly perverted and alien, a voice that crackled and reverberated with a power befitting of a deity, yet not belonging to any deity Lelith knew. It offered her a simple choice. She could await her return to the mortal realm, to once again set on finding the ultimate sensual experience that no mortal being could ever achieve… or she could simply surrender her soul and become a part of that very sensation she and her kin so desperately sought. And the last thing she felt as her very being dissolved into impossible ecstasy was an unquenchable thirst for more.

>Ywn be a Wood elf and isolate and obtain a QT ogress girl in your woodlands. >Ywn use magic to leave immense amounts of food everywhere in her path. >Ywn watch unnoticed from high branches and under bushes as she can't help but devour every single morsel you leave her. >Ywn watch her grow immensely more fat, as gradually her clothes split off her titanic wobbling frame until she's a naked, sweaty, borderline immobile mountain of a girl, desperately wheezing and pushing her way through the forest in a torturously slow and ungainly manner to the next barrel of fruits her nose can pick up. Why even live?

>>1814 Sweeet! More awesome Moonliner fics! Once again this was a great read! Loved seeing the different T'au castes differeing demeanors and gains. Literally the only complaint I have is that it was over too soon lololol. - I'm gonna feast my eyes on the other story you've just posted here, I have no doubt I'll enjoy it just as much!

>>1901 Let's see if I can come up with some actual feedback as opposed to just gushing over your writing eh? The Good: Your descriptions of locations, people and just general things from the warhmmer universe always feel on point, with a little artistic liscence thrown in to make fatties possible. Speaking of said artistic liscence, I really do like the way you describe differeing female forms and changes, not only are you descriptive, your writing feels consistant. The... I hesitate to call it bad: In the case of Azure Express, specifically, one of the stories greatest strengths was also its weakness. The number of characters. It was great seeing the comparison but required a fair amount of time dedicated to varying descriptions. The previous T'au story had the advantage of being more intimate due to focusing on one girl, focusing the descriptions on her changes. In short, it is hard to point out any major flaws in your writing, I think generally it's very good. There is just perhaps an issue with scope over such short stories. Obviously I'm not saying: Hey man c'mon, just write more! --- I'm simply saying it may be a good idea just to trim some of the background lore lines, or use one or two less characters in stories of this length so they remain feeling intimate, that's about the best i've got. Hopefully you'll find at least a little of this useful :)

>>2167 Always a pleasure to see someone derive their joy from my senile scribbles. Meaningful feedback is always appreciated, too. Indeed, 10k to 20k-word one-shot format that I have switched to doesn't lend itself too well to stories with multiple characters. Yes, sometimes it gets a bit too broad-stroked. Yes, it's kinda hard not to tokenize characters when you have to write and develop four of them at once. And yet, it was my conscious choice to restrict myself to shorter-length stories. It was my conscious decision to reduce the amount of filler to the absolute possible minimum, to maintain the density of the content we're all here for. To write what I myself would not only like to read 40k-wise, but also something I myself would want to beat my meat off to. But at the same time I just love 40k too damn much to drain the lore out it completely, to leave it without a cohesive story, even at the cost of diluting it with plot elements that could have been just trimmed out. Duality of man, I suppose. Duality that makes my stories extremely plot-heavy at the beginnings and just as fun-heavy towards the endings. Side note, I find it rather sad that people here fangirl over WfB and give only WfB-related ideas. I'm not against that, to each their own, but I thought 40k fanbase here would be a bit broader. Because I'm still open to 40k-related ideas. As long as it doesn't involve canon characters and is not too unplausible in-universe to happen, I may even give it a shot someday.

>>2176 Happy to give praise where it's deserved! I have an additional thought regarding short stories with many characters needing comparison. An interesting thing that happens in such stories is that you are essentially forced to speak about all the characters equally. This leads to chunking, blocks of text where each character's thoughts/feelings/fatness is explored comparatively. Weirdly enough although it makes sense, especially given that in Azure Express, the comparison is of course part of the point, the comparison chunks feel wierd from a reading perspective. I think this is due to the fact it becomes a noticable pattern within the writing. I will openly admit I have absolutely no idea how it could be written differently but perhaps you can find some use in that analysis. Now to gush about Isha's Eternal Splendor --- It's grimdark and 40K to the max whilst giving maximum fatness, totally awesome! --- In thinking about feedback I can only think of one thing. The story was good from start to end, however I found the last... wish fulfilment/fat fantasy chapters to be sexy but perhaps a little undercooked compared to the fantastic detial of the rest of the story beforehand. I have a personal preference for 40K as it's what I grew up with, keep writing these fics Moonliner and I for one will keep enjoying them!

>>602 This is some really great work. That said, anybody got more ideas for unique characters for the codex? Maybe something like a special Hospitaler who is an expert in maximizing her sisters' gains and provides an It Will Not Die like bonus to a unit to represent the healing effects of her food. Alternatively, what would special rules should a bbw-themed guard regiment have?

>>2176 If you are still open to suggestions I have two ideas. The first idea is about a squad of sisters of battle and or female guard who are assigned to protect a noble on a remote agri world and how she fattens them up out if jealousy. The idea is about an imperial knight noble women who inherits land on a feudal world and succumbs to her inner hedonistic tendencies

>>2291 Suggestions are always welcome. Alas, after writing pretty much non-stop since February, I'm pretty burnt-out at the moment, and I'm working on a bit of a different thing as of now. Still, fret not, I will return to 40k stuff eventually.

GOOD FUCK THIS IS HORRIFINGLY DEPRAVED.

I came for Eldar women getting fattened up to immobility by depraved Dark Eldar dudes. NOT THIS

>>2305 Sounds like you'd enjoy something like this pastebin. >>207 Circus Obeseus: https://pastebin.com/rnpUAMcS Personally, I wouldn't mind someone resurrecting this concept in a more narrative form rather than an infodump. Maybe have it written from the perspective of an Eldar exarch and follows her journey from being the most recent captive of her dark cousins to becoming the "champion" of the Circus Obeseus and prized sow for her stable master.

Moonliner, your stuff is damned perfect. Anything you touch Warhammer and WG wise turns to fucking gold dude.

Point 1. >Monks in medieval times ate well. I remember one story of a couple of monks complaining to a king that they were only getting to eat seven times a day, and only four course dinners. Point 2. >I don't remember Ecclesiarches having any real rule pertaining to eating habits bar the convent's interpretation of the Emperor's will. Point 3. >The dedicated Ecclesiarchy vessels, such as missionary ships, are often more akin to cities in space then dedicated vessels. They travel from system to system at random, and contain who ecosystems, cultures, icons, fanes and features far moreso then the regular found on spacecraft. I mean, it's the perfect way to get really, really fat, in the setting. >You're an ordained priest so fuckall people can touch you under the inquisition, the sororitas, or people of circumstance. >Hell, practically no one can criticize you without being branded a heretic because you're not a military group or working to a plan other then your interpretation of the Emperor's. >You spend months in the warp, traveling between systems, and potentially only a handful of weeks in each, taking on reports on the local Imperial cult and supplies for the titanic shipboard farms in equal measure, exchanged for guest sermons, trinkets you bless, or simply advice. >All you have to do in the warp transit time periods is pray to the Emperor, fuck around with people you know, do the occasional duty that you might be lucky to be on rotation for once a month, and eat. >The Pious might spend enough time in prayer that they are not bored out of their minds. The creative might find ways to entertain themselves or produce works to sell. >The rest however, have nothing to do but sit around, waiting for the next meal. They're not warriors, so they don't exercise all the time, nor are they particularly steely, so after the first month, they might as well just eat to pass the time. Hell, many may come from impoverished backgrounds, and have a particular dislike of feeling hungry. >And shipboard living can be made very easy, for those who've served onboard for decades.

At the risk of reawakening the female space marine shitstorm, what would female versions of the primarchs if they were fat? And how? I'm drunk btw :)

>>2439 the art and concept are cute but sweet lord those names are fucking awful, womanus lmao

Perturiba gets fat pre-heresy from emotionally eating her anger over Dorn getting to fortify terra. Rogara gets fat from depression post emperor's death. They meet in single combat at the Iron cage but are both in such horrible shape they burst their armor and collapse in exhaustion. Cora gets huge post heresy and is still in the Imperium, but a mutation in their genome makes them eternally unable to lose weight. This is covered up unless it spreads. Fulgrima got big into feederism upon falling to Slaanesh, the poison she hit roberta with fattened her up to a point even a primarch couldn't survive, requiring them be put in stasis. The armor Cawl put her in is actually a continuous lipo suction machine. Womanus and her legion turned into a fat, helpless NEETs after Nikea, leading to Sheman Russ easily hauling her back to Terra. The thousand daughters fought for the emperor during the heresy but all become immobilely obese psykers on hover chairs. Sheman russ was a total jock but got a beer belly post heresy when there weren't any good enemies to fight anymore. Attempts to combat it via genetic manipulation created the curse of the Fatten, where a space wolf can become suddenly so fat they can't walk. Russ continues to direct her legion from a massive throne born by multiple dreadnaughts, with Bjorna the Fell Handed constantly giving her grief over getting so big. Konnie had a prophesy of herself and her sisters becoming immensely fat and become anorexic out of depression, joining in Whorus' heresy to avoid it. Unfortunately post heresy, the officio assassanarium nailed her with a rapid weight gain nanite poison causing her to become so fat she broke her torture palace and killed most of her legion. Sanguina held the Eternity Gate for three days and three nights against a tide of Khornate feeder daemons armed with code red mountain dew and deep fried twinkies, although she was too fat to fly afterwards and couldn't join the assault on the vengeful spirit. She fell into a diabetic coma and remains there to this day, her legion honors her memory by force feeding recruits corn syrup until their pancreas shuts down. Alpharia and Omega, taken in by a xenos conspiracy that humanity would be overtaken by obesity, tried to play both sides but failed. Rogara captured one and force fed her into obesity, the other was engorged by Whorus as a punishment. To this day their legionaries eat themselves rotund so they can pretend to be their primarch. Whorus was the fittest and leanest of all the primarchs, making a deal with chaos that they could eat anything they want but not gain weight. At her fight with the Goddess Empress, her mother stripped that protection away, causing her to gain all the calories she'd shunted off into the warp. This destroyed the Vengeful Spirit, badly injured the empress and gave Terra a second moon. It is inhabited to this day as an Imperial battle station, with several agriworlds dedicated to keeping the great heretic satiated with food.

>>2439 >>2441 These are better ideas for names, also primarchs as teenage girls

>>2439 >>2441 Cute tier >Konnie >Mortaria >Roberta >Maggie >Vulkana >Cora Serviceable tier >Lioness >Fulgrima >Perturabia >Jaghatea >Rogara >Angrea >Lorgea >Alpharia/Omegia WTF tier >Sheman Russ >Womanus >Whorus

>>2444 >Before the Heresy, Mortaria was horrified of getting fat leading to severe anorexia/bulimia. During the Heresy, she gave into despair and is now a giant fat slob surrounded by a thick, humid miasma of her own farts and BO, hence the gas mask. She hasn't been able to fit in a bathtub for millennia. > When Vulkana was a child, a bunch of dark eldar laughed at her for being fat. They weren’t laughing when she started crushing them with her multi-ton ass. Since then, Vulkana takes the idea of “the family that eats together, stays together” really seriously. She ensures that her, her legion, and any guests they may have over are completely stuffed 24/7. While the extra padding had reduced the number of spinal injuries and broken bones her hug inflict, rates of asphyxiations have gone way up. >Lorgea grew up in a fertility cult who worshiped venus-figured women. When the Empress found out about her and her legion’s “pet project” which was a rather curvaceous tribute to her, she ordered Roberta to burn it and Lorgea to go on a diet. Lorgea fell into a deep depression and began binge eating in secret thanks to her adopted mother/enabler/feeder Korinne Phaeron, her hatred for the Empress and any “skinny chicks” growing alongside her waistline, sowing the seeds of the Heresy. For Lorgea, her body is a temple and a temple should be big and grand. She, more than any other of her sisters, believes that the future of all women is immensely obesity.

Kerillian meets some halflings and accidentally eats some troll meat. https://pastebin.com/kZmAabX7 I found it off of 4chan. https://boards.4chan.org/trash/thread/39723148#p39727264 Desuarchive for future reference: https://desuarchive.org/trash/thread/39723148/#39727264

>>2439 >>2444 >>2448 >>2451 Here's some better names for femPrimarchs >Leona Johnson >Fulgrine >Petra >Jaghatai Kahn >Lara Russ >Regina Dorn >Connie Curze >Sanguinia >Ferra Manus >Angra >Roberta Guilliman >Mortaria >Magna >Isis Lupercal >Lorga >Vulkana >Cora Corax >Alpharia/Omega

Just had a new story idea after going back and playing some Vampire Coast. Following an unsuccessful mutiny by some of his underlings, Luthor Harkon decides to get creative with some of these traitors’ punishments. Specifically, he decides to turn a particularly vain and beauty obsessed vampiress admiral into the mother of all bloated corpses, ordering his undead crew to force feed her until she becomes immensely obese. The plan works… a bit too well. After a while, another one of Harkon’s personalities takes over and he forgets all about his pet project, leaving a literal skeleton crew to continue feeding her well past the point of immobility even with her vampiric strength. As for an ending, one option involves Harkon’s plan comes back to bite him when he relocates his captain’s quarters underneath the brig (Harkon is weird like that) mere minutes before the bloated vampiress crashes through the ceiling and right on top of him, pinning him under her humongous ass. At this point, she declares herself the new Arch-Grand Commodore, and that her first order is to raid the nearest coastal town for all its food. Alternatively, Harkon eventually remember his bloated corpse project but finds her to be useless on the battlefield because she can’t walk let alone run. Instead, Harkon gets another brilliant idea and has her now rotting leviathan sized girth rolled onto a massive net held aloft by a swarm of terrogheists and fell bats. He then orders the makeshift airforce to fly over the nearest lizardman army and drop its unholy and increasingly airsick cargo right on top of them which explodes with the force of one of Ikit Claw’s doomrockets As for specific details, I’d imagine that the story would have a high degree of slob/gas content since these are bloated corpses we are talking about. Plus, the idea of an image obsessed vampiress being forced to become a constantly burping and farting mountain of blubber is too good to pass up.

>>2483 I"d rather have him marry her tbh

I was recently reminded that dwarves are canon chubby chasers whose tendency to fatten up their daughters to gain a bigger dowery, literally "worth their weight in gold", is held in check by the "gartering of the girth" which requires a the prospective suitor must be able to wrap his beard at least once around her waist, thus proving a certain degree of venerability, wisdom and good behaviour. https://www.deviantart.com/haxcall/art/The-Gartering-of-the-Girth-Patreon-Preview-884284658

If anyone wants, I'd kinda wanna set up a discord for this.

>>2510 Wouldn't mind joining if you do.

Here's the invite code for the discord I made based on the thread. uXvWWnh8bS - Truth, be told I made it earlier but I'll fill it out over the coming days.

How I do work the invite?

Another warhammer idea: Witch hunter's party pursues a slaaneshi cult and accidentally arrests an innocent priestess of Rhya, due to her low cut attire and decadent, near hedonistic figure. She's released, but curses them with weight gain until they apologize, leading to an increasingly wheezing, wadling hunt for her through altdorf. Party would be: Female witch hunter, who starts rail thin and grows a gut down to her ankles. Female Brettonian noble woman who's disguised herself as a questing knight, starts off super tall and ripped and grows enormous bust and hips that pop her armor. Female wood elf ranger who turns into an immense pear with thighs that clap like bells.

Does anyone rp?

>>2570 Yes, my discord is Mister Mann#8940

>>2570 Gay

>>98 I could do without the Yuri shit, dude.

>>2478 Another Kerillian fic https://pastebin.com/iQbY2DZa Warning: Nurgle slob

Been a while, isn't it? Well worry not, my fellow degenerates - neither I have forgotten my roots, nor my homies. Also available here: https://www.deviantart.com/m00nliner/art/My-Body-is-a-Cage-40k-WG-Tau-OC-dark-887610287 My Body Is A Cage by Moonliner PROLOGUE “MMNNF-“ A thick, purple-and-gold armor-clad finger gently pushed against the slice of decadent cake, subtly yet persistently driving it a little further beyond the plump lips’ embrace. Stuffed full beyond any reasonable capacity, vocal cords contracting in silent agony, the shackled woman had no choice but to chew once again, Fleur-de-lis-adorned cheeks visibly bulging with each motion of her overworked jaw, tears of agony running down their chubby flesh. “Getting full already, my dear?” an angelic yet slightly reverberating voice mockingly inquired, other hand softly patting the orb-like protrusion in the silver-haired girl’s ill-fitting attire. “How delectably pitiful. To have such a joyous path ahead of you, to be offered such a magnanimous guide to hold your hand every step of it, yet you refuse my gifts still… I could have broken your mind and shattered your soul with a mere snap of these fingers, yet your resistance is just so delightfully precious, so baroquely vain I can’t help but drink it like finest of wines…” A jolt of pain from swallowing yet another outrageously rich and impossibly thick mouthful almost making her shudder, the captured Sister of Battle tried to respond – but all she could do was desperately gasp for air, her lungs fighting an increasingly uphill battle for every inch of space within her increasingly out-of-shape frame. “Perhaps I shall treat you to a different kind of gift, then?” the sorcerer looked his captive in the eye, ashen-colored, magenta-hued skin of his nigh-featureless face splitting apart, molding into a widely grinning chasm of black needle-like teeth, foot-long purple tongue greedily lashing against the non-existent lips. “I know there is something else I can drink like finest of wines as well…” But just as the traitor marine graciously knelt down, hands gracefully tracing the generous curves of her body, snake-like tongue touching every diamond of supple pale flesh that could no longer be contained within her long-outgrown attire, sharp-pointed fingers carefully peeling her skin-tight leggings and her deep-cutting panties down, just as his pitch-black eyes met the fleshy softness of her nascent fupa, toxic drool nearly pouring from the heretic’s mutated mouth, an image appeared on his retinal display. An image of a certain Warpsmith he’d very much not like to see for at least a couple millennia, yet one of a fellow champion of Chaos he had the misfortune of entering a Compact with. “What is thy bidding now, oh most enlightened one?” he asked sarcastically, hopping back to his feet and gesturing the scantily-clad and varyingly obese members of his harem to take care of their most recent chamber-mate. “We’ve done preliminary scans,” a dull, coarse, semi-artificial voice rang through the sorcerer’s skull. “Giant blue star, three radiation-blasted planets, some asteroids on the far side. No signs of life, no radio traffic, no energy signatures, nothing. Unless you can provide us with new directions…” “Have I ever failed you before, oh most industrious one?” the sorcerer replied annoyedly, his eyes briefly flashing with magenta glow. “We are in the right place. What you – what we seek is hidden somewhere in the outer reaches. We just need to find it now~” “Full sweep may take weeks, if not months. If we don’t find it, I’ll make you’ll pay for every second we wasted on chasing your drug-fueled…” “Have a little faith in our most illustrious Prince, will you? Based on what you yourself said, it’s not like we have any company to contend with or are in any other kind of hurry out there. And please, do come to my chambers sometime. I swear, that tension in you is so dense I can almost…” “Only the dead have seen the end of the war,” cutting him off, the Warpsmith cut the comms as well. “What a pretentious prude,” the sorcerer murmured. “Now, where were we…” “BUUUURPH!” “My, my,” licking his lips, the servant of Slaanesh turned back to the shackled Sister of Battle. “Did my most precious bride just made some room for more? Slaves! Fetch us another platter!...”

>>2696 CHAPTER I SOON MAY THE WELLERMAN COME Millennia of starfaring. Millennia of exploration, of trade, of conflict. A hundred habitable worlds, discovered, settled and tamed. A bustling empire spanning across several clusters of stars. A dozen sentient species met and peacefully integrated. A harmonious society bound through universal virtues of the Greater Good. A military powerhouse that held against the Imperium of Man, driving the genocidal invaders back and forcing their leaders to seek peace. The Tau. A pathetic speck on the galactic map. A sorry bunch of naïve blue-skinned newcomers, trapped in their shared delusions of grandeur, ignorant to their sheer irrelevance, shielded from the horrors of the cold and uncaring Void by tightness of their cradle and shortness of their reach. But sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, a rude awakening would tear them away from this slumber. For Fio’vre Gwial, it was a rude awakening in the most literal sense. Unceremoniously ejected out of her cryo-capsule, her frozen metabolism jump-stared by potentially lethal electrical currents and potentially deadly combination of chemicals, the Earth Caste girl was left to flicker in and out of consciousness, convulsing on the floor as her body desperately raced to warm itself up. Somehow, she lived through this – awakening to a barely-lit engineering bay, her pod mounted on a maintenance bench, powered by a half-exhausted battery, controls hot-wired to shipboard network, bunch of tools collecting dust nearby. A trail of blinking emergency lights soon brought her to a small command station hidden deep within the vessel – a cramped substitute for a bridge reserved for the times most dire. And times most dire it were – disturbing as it was for a lowly Earth Caste member to be nominated ‘acting captain’ by the control system, once the young engineer began scrolling through the logs, every line made her heart sink deeper, her eyes grow wider, and her feet get colder. It was said that starships propelled by the antiquated ZFR Horizon Drives remain the most reliable mode of interstellar transportation ever devised to that day. Ancient propaganda holos aside, statistics gathered over nearly two millennia of Second Sphere Expansion provided more than enough backing to such statements. Same was true about Gal’leath-class starships these drives were originally developed for – the workhorse of the Second Sphere era, the oldest design still in production and in active service across the Tau space, the backbone of both Kor’vattra and Merchant Fleet. Unless the ship in question had last seen proper overhaul decades ago. Unless its original powerplant, long since discontinued in production, was replaced by a trio of smaller, newer fusion reactors haphazardly daisy-chained together. Unless power couplings between said reactors were concocted by the ill-equipped Earth Caste engineers of some backwater colony, and were meant to be replaced on the first visit to proper dock. Unless one of such couplings, having outlived its presumed lifespan multiple times over, turned to molten slag mid-flight, causing the next reactor down the chain to go nova, sending a massive energy spike across entire ship. Even if it took the main computer a mere fraction of a second to redirect the flow and vent the fusion core into the Void, a fraction of a second at near-lightspeed could do a lot of damage to an unshielded vessel. A fraction of a second was more than enough for dust and debris to shred through the outer hull, torrents of superheated plasma vaporizing entire token crew before either of them could blink. A fraction of a second was more than enough for the electric current to fry the control circuits of every cryo-capsule, dooming thousands of souls to asphyxiate in their sleep. And the only reason Gwial lived through it all was a glitchy screen on her pod. A glitchy screen that could have been easily replaced on-site, but the old engineer, having long since fought the various anomalies in the shipboard power grid, insisted on taking it in for a proper diagnostic. The old Fio’el was merely collecting evidence of captain’s gross negligence – while the captain spent years appropriating whatever resources she could to bribe her way into the ranks of Kor’vattra, inane ambition vastly outpacing her actual skill and merit. A grim reminder how fragile the Greater Good could be without proper nurture and meticulous oversight. Still, the situation at hand wasn’t exactly catastrophic. Sure, surviving the emergency cryo-dump only to find herself stranded alone inside the mauled wreck of a ship drifting spirits-know-where among the stars wasn’t exactly the kind of situation the Earth Caste engineer would describe as ‘optimal’, but overall, it wasn’t really that bad. The air wasn’t leaking, courtesy of remaining maintenance drones. The water wasn’t in short supply – and, most importantly, some of the purifiers were still operational. One of the reactors was online – granted, it provided less than a third of what the ship required to properly run, but there wasn’t much ship left to run anyway. Some auto-turrets survived as well – could come in handy in case of intruders. Rationing her meals was not required, too – the inner holds still carried thousands of tons worth of provisions, pre-packaged rations meant for the fledgling colony Gwial herself was headed to. To top things off, the shields, both regular and near-lightspeed, were miraculously intact – as well as most of the engines that comprised the Horizon drive array. But before the Earth Caste girl could bask in the dreams of not just surviving, but actually guiding what was left of the ship to its – and her – destination, she had to admit to a few glaring problems to that plan. Firstly, while she was indeed an Earth Caste engineer, she wasn’t a space engineer – her specialty was agriculture and agricultural machinery. Though it might have been a specialty she pursued exactly to be able to escape the sheltered idyll of her home, to help establish new colonies for Tau Empire, as of now, her education and training had little to offer in terms of repairing a starship, much less one so grievously damaged. Further compounding that issue was her lack of real, hands-on experience. It wasn’t because she was young, having barely reached the age her kin considered properly mature – after all, it wasn’t uncommon for the Earth Caste to accept their gifted youth into service at quite an early age, and Gwial was considered quite gifted among her peers. No, it was mostly due to her birthright – the jade-green world of Bork’an might have had the best education facilities in the whole Empire, yet for those who wished to pursue ‘lowlier’ trades, the actual training tended to get a bit too abrupt, a bit too formal, and a bit too overlooked in favor of ‘more important’ venues of academic study. Still, Gwial was going to give it a shot. Maybe it wasn’t the adventure she sought among the stars, but it was the adventure she got – and to quietly perish aboard the drifting wreck was definitely not how she envisioned it’d end. Not that her hopes were misplaced – she might have not been the exactly right girl for a job, but she had a decent base, a wealth of knowledge stored within surviving databanks, a decent supply of various equipment to strip for parts, and literally all the time in the world at her disposal. If anything, it’d give purpose to the rest of her life, the purpose would help her preserve sanity, and maybe, just maybe, her work would actually get her to some Tau-inhabited place before she’d get too old to take care of herself – a prospect barely comprehensible by someone who had just came of age, but a prospect quite chilling nonetheless. She wasn’t exactly unsuccessful in her exploits, either. Makeshift hydroponics bay, just in case she’d run out of oxygen and food, and to give her skills a decent warm-up before committing to the more important matters. Jury-rigged sensor array concocted from a single intact exploratory probe and a dozen of deployable comm buoys, crudely welded to what’s left of outer hull. Some hastily coded software to make it click with ship’s mainframe. Problems. Ideas. Studies. Trials. Errors. Malfunctions. Analysis. Troubleshooting. New studies. New ideas. New problems. Failures. Successes. Meticulously logged. Frequently revised. If that wasn’t the life of an engineer, Gwial didn’t know what was. It took almost a year, but she managed to restore her ship a degree of vision – maybe a bit low in terms of resolution and a bit finnicky in terms of performance, but decent enough for the navigation software to deduce Gwial’s location. Just over ten light years away from the original destination. But as her initial joy subsided, the Earth Caste engineer crunched some numbers. Ideally, such journey should have taken approximately thirteen years objective time, or just under four years on-board. However, her conditions were far from ideal. The very point of ZFR Horizon Drive was that it was capable of accelerating the vessel to near-lightspeed and safely decelerating it in just under a month each. That is, if it was undamaged and fully-powered. Granted, now it had to accelerate and decelerate significantly lesser mass, but with under a third of required power, Gwial’s ETA estimates averaged sixty years on-board time. Well over a decade above average Tau lifespan.

>>2697 Her first idea to circumvent this issue was to try and put herself in the cryo again. Yet, after a few weeks of intense study, Gwial reasoned it wasn’t worth the risk – with primary medbay and all the proper supply gone for good, even if she could synthetize the necessary chemicals, she didn’t have anyone to test them on, and injecting herself with untested substances just before putting herself in the freezer was probably the last thing she’d wanted to do with her life. Then, the Earth Caste girl entertained the possibility of hooking the other intact reactor back to the grid. Unfortunately, if outfitting her exosuit to withstand the horrendously irradiated environment of the reactor bay was possible, she lacked both resources and facilities to produce anything resembling of a power coupling that’d be up to the task of not liquifying in under five or so minutes of letting the currents through. Gwial’s best shot – her only shot, really – was to program the navigation to perform a series of gravitational slingshot maneuvers, reroute every morsel of power to engines, buckle up, and hope that by the time the ship reached local hydrogen wall, it’d move fast enough for Horizon shields to fire up. She wasn’t going down without a fight, though. Every day, she’d don the exosuit, arm herself with a heavy-duty plasma cutter and as many spare batteries she could strap to the suit, venture outside, and mercilessly cut sheet after sheet of burnt composite… …until one morning, instead of doing just that, Gwial found herself doubled over in the lavatory, puking blood and bile for hours on end. Muting those high radiation alerts was not the smartest of her choices. Ignoring the accumulated dose meter creeping into the red wasn’t exactly smart, either. Fortunately, Tau scientists had long since found a way to reliably treat even the most severe cases of radiation poisoning, and Gwial had plenty of medkits to plunder for necessary medications. Except there were side effects. Lots and lots of side effects, every consecutive injection rekindling the gut-wrenching agony, every consecutive dose making the notion of blowing her brains out just to end it all look less like a momentary weakness and more like a viable solution to her problems. Hours, days, weeks… by the time her biomonitor deemed her condition safe, the young Earth Caste engineer was reduced to a barely animated husk, pale blue skin dotted with darkened patches of radiation burns stretched across distinctly protruding bones, lifeless red eyes flicking aimlessly above sunken cheeks. And once her hazy mind cleared up a bit, Gwial was quick to decide her next step. Buckling up and waiting it out was going to have to do. Limping all the way to airlock was out of question anyway. The ship was making good progress, at least. The amount of thrust she managed to squeeze out of the drives might have been laughable by every conceivable void-faring standard, but it was persistent – and with the final maneuver propelling the wreck towards the edge of the system, the speed it managed to attain was already exceeding even the most optimistic of preliminary assessments. After well over a year of endless, restless tinkering, after all her work finally began to pay off, Gwial reasoned that she earned herself some proper downtime. And a decent meal. Maybe more than one. Well over a month in toxic limbo left her positively famished, and luckily, the solution to that was easily and abundantly available. Colonial rations. Calorie-dense, to accommodate for the demanding nature of life in the frontier. Small-sized, for the ease of stowage and transportation. Quickly-digestible, so the meal won’t hinder the hard-working colonist. Rich and varied in flavor, as every bit of stress relief mattered out there. A mundane marvel of Tau science, a helping hand of the Greater Good stretched out to the furthest reaches of the Empire, to keep the brave souls living on the untamed frontier well-fed until they’d be able to feed themselves. But rations were meant to be rationed. Two per rotaa<1> for healthy adults. Three per rotaa for the children and the sick. Additional portions per kai'rotaa<2> based on the nature of one’s work. <1> Rotaa – Tau equivalent of ‘day’, approx. 15 Terran hours. <2> Kai'rotaa – Tau equivalent of ‘month’, approx. 50 Terran days. For her first meal of that day, Gwial had six. Though such wasteful act was indeed reprimandable, the young engineer was hardly to blame, even if the rationing quotas were printed on the tubs. After all she’d been through, she just wanted to feel nice and full for a change. And for a while, she did – with the ache in her stomach finally soothed, for the first time in what felt like eternity, Gwial felt at peace with the cold and uncaring world. Whipping out her trusty datapad, the Earth Caste girl dipped into surviving shipboard databanks, hoping to find herself a decent read – not another specification catalogue, not another engineering compendium, not another manual or guide, but just some good read to take her mind off things. Surprisingly enough, it took her quite longer than she originally anticipated – and not because the entertainment section was destroyed in the crash. No, it was because the relevant data storages somehow remained almost intact – and since colonial freighters were meant to spread the wealth of Tau culture as well, digging through it all required a fair bit of time. Not that Gwial didn’t have it – for all intents and purposes, she had all the time in the world, so investing a portion of it into having a bit of a plain old entertainment wasn’t exactly a major loss. For her stomach, however, it was – the flavored goop she just filled it with was dissipating rather quickly, giving way to the familiar sensation of emptiness. And though the Earth Caste girl was hardly hungry anymore, she just didn’t want the pleasant fuzziness within her to go away so soon. Pondering on it for a little while, Gwial fished a couple more colored tubs from the box. After all, she was severely malnourished, and she needed to make a hasty recovery. After all, there was no one around to judge her for it. After all, there were hundreds, if not thousands of tons of this stuff, orders of magnitudes more than she could consume in the entirety of her lifetime. Her physical recovery was indeed hasty – hardly surprising, considering that Earth Caste girl’s every meal now contained up to four times recommended daily caloric intake, and that’s not counting a tub or two she habitually snuck in-between while treating herself to another inspiring novel or another uplifting holo-play. Her mental condition, however, was a whole different story. Having lived entirety of her life constantly surrounded by wise mentors and enthusiastic peers, having spent most of her years in diligent preparation to devote her very self to the Empire, having used whatever short breaks she was given to improve upon her mind and body even further, Gwial suddenly found herself facing the challenge none of her kin was ever supposed to face – walking her own path. There was no one to enforce the law or to uphold the tradition. There was no one to give her orders, no one for her to report, and, spare for a couple dozen Little Helper drones, no one to order around, either. There was only her. Fio’vre Bork’an Gwial, a prematurely promoted Earth Caste engineer, a single Tau girl who had barely came of age, yet a girl whose entire life was going to be confined to this barely functioning wreck of an antiquated Gal’leath starship, and a girl who’d probably be long dead before reaching its final destination. Once again, she tried to fight it. With radiation levels outside becoming more or less tolerable, and with most of the groundwork already done, Gwial managed to decouple well over a dozen of now-useless modules and bays. This success, however, was short-lived – winning a few years was still not enough to place the ETA within her lifespan, and dismantling the ship’s superstructure was going to take a lot more than just a pair of hands and a heavy-duty plasma cutter. Accepting that the work her body wasn’t going to get her anywhere else, Gwial turned to the work of mind – if the only thing this wreck was going to bring back to Tau space was her desiccated corpse, her best shot to serve the Greater Good was through dedicating her life to science, so that her legacy would live through her logs, her insights, and, quite possibly, her breakthroughs. Unfortunately, being a stellar student and a now-solid practitioner didn’t exactly stand for being a good researcher – or any kind of researcher, for that matter. Maybe if she had some kind of guidance, someone to suggest at least a general direction, she’d certainly put her efforts to a much better use, but after a few weeks of aimless digging through various treatises on agricultural engineering, a different kind of thought crossed Gwial’s mind. Was there really a point? If nothing else went wrong, her journey was going to take well over a century of objective time. Two entire generations of Tau scientists would have been born, raised, spent their lives unraveling the mysteries of the Universe, and buried with honors while she’d still be in transit. So what chances of outpacing the march of progress did she really have – all alone, lacking even the most basic facilities, founding her work in the base of knowledge that’d be obsolete in less than a decade, all in just sixty years? Ambitious as she was in her intents, Gwial knew it just wasn’t going to happen. And if no one was going to benefit from her selfless sacrifice, was there really a point? Coming to terms with mortality at such an age was troublesome enough for the Earth Caste girl. Realizing her utter insignificance in the grand scheme of things… if it didn’t break her outright, it still hit way too hard to process in the moment.

>>2698 In a way, this was exactly what she wanted when she eagerly signed up for colonial workforce program. To be as far away from the sheltered idyll of her home. To live a life of adventure on the wild frontier. To live a life that would put her skill and resolve to true test. To live a life that would matter. Just like her childhood heroes, she gave it her best. Just like her childhood heroes, she went above and beyond. Just like her childhood heroes, she nearly gave her life the process. Alas, her best was simply not good enough. And her tale wasn’t going to have a happy ending. Granted, there were plenty of ways to quell her despair. Ethanol was in abundant supply. Medkit painkillers. Livestock sedatives. Tranquilizer darts for colonial wildlife researchers. Combat stimulants for the garrison. Restricted pharmaceuticals for the clinics. Granted, certain shipping containers were access-locked, but between being appointed an acting captain of the vessel and being fairly proficient with her trusty plasma cutter, Gwial had a free reign of everything the surviving cargo holds had in store. Alas, after nearly passing into the spirit realm for the third time in a row, her only saving grace being a nearby Little Helper that somehow made sense of her garbled speech and somehow managed to inject her convulsing body with a healthy dose of de-tox, the Earth Caste engineer decided that she probably had enough. If anything, simply blowing her brains out with a pulse pistol was always an option. But as long as she wasn’t ready to do it, adapting to this mode of existence was also worth a shot. Even if it left her with precious little to do except check on the ship’s speed and bearing from time to time, it was going to be a long ride – so once her head had cleared up enough, Gwial reasoned she could as well get comfortable while it lasts. Accepting her grim fate, however tough it might have been, was an experience undeniably liberating. Why keep the pretense, if, for all intents and purposes, she was already dead? Why sleep on a cramped bunk, if she had keys to late chief engineer’s personal quarters, roomy and fitted with all the rank-appropriate amenities? Why bother rationing, if there was enough food to last her ten lifetimes, if not more? Why bother working out, if she wasn’t going to leave the ship alive anyway? Why bother learning, if all her knowledge wasn’t going to do anyone any good? Loneliness? Boredom? She had more digitized entertainment than her mind could ever hope to process to fend these off. If things got boring, there was alcohol. If things got extra boring, there were other ways of breaking the monotony. No plan, no schedule, no regimen – and nothing else to worry about, ever. Easy life. Easy, but not without certain consequences. Truth be told, Gwial’s intentions of getting her diet back to normal post-recovery never really went anywhere beyond just being good intentions. Although there was at least a dozen of occasions when the Earth Caste girl attempted to force herself to cut back on the flavor-dense goop, or, at the very least, try to substitute some of it with her own hydroponic produce, between her steadily deteriorating discipline and the utterly bland taste of hydroponically-grown vegetables, it rarely lasted for more than a couple of days. For a while, Gwial justified with all the hard work she’s been performing out on ship’s exterior – but if her consciousness could have been placated, her body wasn’t so easily swayed. Hard work or not, she was expending much less calories than she was habitually ingesting, and by the time the young engineer had to abandon her ship-dismantling endeavor for good, her physique, uncharacteristically lean and well-trained, was there no more. Though her muscles were still in place, courtesy of Gwial’s frequent exercise, the chiseled outlines were gone, sunken in the nascent layer of plushy softness, supple blue skin melting Gwial’s rigid relief into thick feminine curvature. Characteristically short and characteristically wide-boned, she was quickly growing characteristically wide in general as well – with the small exception that such wideness was appropriate for Earth Caste members past their mid-life, not for a barely-adult, fresh-from-academy types like Gwial. For her, however, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Her parents were thick and stout. Her mentors were thick and stout. A lot of her peers back on Bork’an weren’t nearly as interested in cultivating their physiques, habitually relying on tech and wits – and if it wasn’t for her dream of frontier life, she probably wouldn’t have invested into athletic disciplines so heavily, either. Thus, there wasn’t much reason to grieve over the fact that she had gotten a little chunky – here, on the ship, it didn’t matter much anyway. That, and Gwial couldn’t deny there was something vaguely alluring to her new visage – chubbier cheeks making her face look more jovial, fuller breasts giving her more form appealing to look at, curvier flanks giving that appeal a more feminine vibe, thicker hips invitingly flaring at her sides, meatier ass being comfier to sit on when digging through the books… …except it didn’t stop there. But very soon, the Tau girl just couldn’t care less. So what if she was beginning to feel a little heavy? Gravity was artificial – and widely adjustable at that. Not that Gwial actually needed to venture anywhere – all maintenance work done by the drones, and spare for checking up on her hydroponics bay, there was little reason to leave the comforts of her self-assigned quarters. In fact, there was little reason to even get off her increasingly plushy hindquarters – everything the increasingly indulgent Earth Caste engineer needed, the drones could usually just fly straight in. So what if her jumpsuit was reaching the limits of its stretch, sturdy fabric growing increasingly constricting around her blossoming bulk? With no one else around, maintaining modesty was not really required – thus making clothing completely optional. Letting it all just hang out felt weird at first, but it also felt oddly nice. And besides, her drooping midsection was not that far off from concealing her privates up front. So what if each passing day added a bit more meat to her face, a bit more heft to her boobs, a bit more girth to her gut, a bit more wobble to her legs, and a bit more flab to her ass? Maybe once it’d start to hinder her uneventful existence, she’d figure something out. Probably. Eventually. Until then, if this was the price to pay for spending her days in peace of mind and comfort of body, so be it. Then again, the way Gwial’s ballooning form looked in the mirror and felt between her stubby fingers, the way it jiggled and wobbled seemingly under its own volition, the way it stretched her supple blue skin from underneath, making it way more sensitive than she ever recalled it being – tapping into forbidden well of wasteful decadence certainly didn’t feel as despicable as her kin used to portray… …spare for a few times she did go way overboard with snacks, reducing herself to a puffing mound of overfilled blue flesh splayed helplessly on the bed, wallowing and wincing in pain as her body struggled to process the immense load of empty calories. But even that wasn’t so bad. After all, colonial rations were meant to dissipate swiftly. And so did the agony – and less than an hour later, the increasingly chunky Tau girl was already eagerly suckling on yet another tub of richly-flavored goop. Either way, she could get used to this.

>>2699 … “See?” exhaling a decent lungful of thick, noxious, slightly colored fumes, the Sorcerer pointed his slightly twitching finger at the towering pile of blackened debris the tech-thralls were slowly wheeling into the shipboard manufactorum, smiling giddily. “Told you there’d be shiny bits!” “Maybe in your addled mind,” the hulking figure clad in heavily-modified, grey-and-yellow suit of marine armor replied in grim tone, a dozen of varyingly thick mechatendrils immediately thrusting into the burnt parts. “If I, for whatever reasons, needed myself a bunch of useless Tau junk, I’d be better off pillaging Damocles Gulf graveyards.” “One xeno’s junk is another Warpsmith’s treasure, I guess,” the Slaaneshi marine shrugged. “I see a big frakking gun ri-i-ight there. But then again, I’m not an expert… and I may or may not be hallucinating right now.” “Voidship burst cannon. Flak or point defense. Let’s see… no, gun’s scrap. Mounting’s good, though. Decent targeting servos. Gyro-stabilizer assembly looks fine as well. Hmpf… can probably upgrade one of the Forgefiends… or make a better weapon mount for my Helstalker…” “Told you~” “My point stands. If this is your ‘bountiful plunder’, may as well call some mortal rabble jacking off in a closet a sixfold champion of Slaanesh performing a grandiose ritual…” “Blasphemer!” in a sudden, impossibly graceful motion, the Sorcerer drew his ornate force sword. “The Prince demand satisfaction! Take it back this instant, or…” Alas, the very moment its magenta-glowing, Warp-infused tip touched the thick gorget of Warpsmith’s armor, two bright-green marks of death appeared on Sorcerer’s back, immediately followed by a deafening roar of a certain rudely awakened Demon Engine and by the loud clicking of its rotary autocannons. “Or what?” the Warpsmith replied, affirming his grip on a defaced Omnissian axe. “Gentlemen!” appearing seemingly out of thin air, a crisp holographic image of a rather modest-looking tech-priest desperately gestured the heretics to stop. “A fleeting moment of your attention before you begin tearing new holes in one another! Please?” “Speak.” “I found it. Faint energy signature, just past the outer cometary cloud. It’s fast, it’s accelerating, but I believe we can catch up still. Permission to reroute all available power to engines and give chase?” “Granted.” A brief flicker of light. A deep groan rattling the decks below. For a moment, both traitor marines stood perfectly still, dead-set on settling their most recent dispute the only way they both knew all too well. Next moment, a bout of unseen force hit them like a thousand trainwrecks, yanking the floor from underneath their feet. Despite this, the nimble champion of Slaanesh kept his footing. But his hulking opponent wasn’t so graceful. “KAPPA-A-A-A-A!!!” the fallen heretic roared, metallic tendrils flailing in impotent rage as the Sorcerer planted his boot on Warpsmith’s grey chestplate. “Told you~” toothy grin splayed across his mutated face, the depraved arcanist swiftly vacated the premises. “Apologies, Lord Verdoff,” the hologram added as it slowly faded away, “Unfortunately, I find it rather difficult to engage inertia dampeners when they are physically removed from the grid. But then again, it wasn’t me who dismantled them, and it wasn’t me who claimed, and I quote, ‘they interfere with the process,’ end quote. I do, however, wish you a wonderful day, sire…” …

>>2700 CHAPTER II OF MADMEN AND MAGNATES Gwial was not having a good time. At all. As if coming back to her senses with a mother of all hangovers wasn’t bad enough, just as she was getting ready to binge-watch another season of Cheeky Fox Spirit And Seven Empresses whilst binge-munching on a fresh pile of colonial rations, her plans for the rest of the day – and, frankly, for the rest of her life – were utterly shattered in the blare of proximity alarms. A gue’la<3> ship of unknown type, recognized by the tacnet only as ‘pirate vessel, cruiser-class’, nigh-impossibly swift for its size and mass, steady on her six and closing in fast. <3> Gue’la (literally “lesser/lowest beings”) Tau term for humans not incorporated into Tau Empire. In hindsight, she probably should have just laid low on one of the maintenance subdecks, let the humans take whatever they wanted, and live happily ever after once they were gone. In hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have toyed with gravity and atmosphere in what she saw as a creative way to hinder humans’ advance – if anything, it probably hinted them someone was still alive onboard, thus painting a target on her back. In hindsight, hiding in a shipping container wasn’t the brightest of her ideas, period. Especially so after firing a bunch of potshots at pursuing humans and dropping the bulkhead right in front of them. And now, there she was. On her knees. Pudgy hands tied behind her roll-ridden back. Gun pressed against the base of her neck, stubby barrel digging deep into the supple skin. All her butt-naked, shamefully overindulgent glory on full display – downward-pointed cherubic face pressed into soft ring of a double chin, meaty arms squished into thick rolls of her flanks, sizeable mammaries flopped at the sides of her chest, rotund gut covering a significant portion of her lap, tubby thighs flattened against meaty calves. At least thirty armed humans around, men and women alike, garbed in a mish-mash of mismatching wargear, armor and weapons adorned with eight-arrowed circles, some gawking at her with poorly concealed glee, others with barely hidden disgust. These, however, weren’t the important ones. The important ones stood right in front of Gwial, barely a half a dozen paces away. Two genetically-enhanced warriors – one a hulking behemoth of yellow-stripped, matte-grey metal, a plume of twitching machine-tendrils attached to his back, other a noseless, bug-eyed, snake-tongued grotesque of purple and gold, intricately carved suit of armor encased in translucent skin-colored film. The third figure might have lacked their frightening stature or their grim flair – but whoever or whatever it was, it didn’t appear to be any less imposing. Shrouded in a simplistic, silver-trimmed mantle, it was casually levitating around the two giants, twin blue lights glowing in the dark of the hood kept at same level as their eyes, tiny high-frequency electric arcs quietly crackling across the pitch-black surface of its attire. Gwial didn’t know the language, but it wasn’t hard to read the room. Word ‘Tau’ being thrown around. Fingers pointed at her. Fingers pointed at one another. Gestures getting simpler. Phrases getting shorter. Voices getting louder. Weapons being brandished. Pretty soon, the marines shoved the hooded figure aside and proceeded to slowly circle around one another, giant axe sheathed in blue hissing light crossed against ornate magenta-glowing sword. Then, the hooded figure let out a disappointed sigh. Suddenly, the lights flickered. Suddenly, the two giants froze dead in their tracks. Quite literally – although their genetically-enhanced muscles clearly gave their best trying to overpower the locked servos, their armors barely budged. And then, after treating both of them to an obnoxiously long moralizing tirade, the hooded figure gracefully landed on the floor in front of the shaking Tau girl. “Oh, fret not, young one,” metal fingers subtly lifting her chin, synthetic voice spoke in near-perfect T’au, its tone radiating with almost parental warmth. “No one shall hurt you, for a time being at least. Now, beg pardon, but this might sting a little…” When Gwial flicked her eyes open, mother of all migraines plunging a thousand needles into her brain, she immediately noticed a couple of new developments. First, she found herself splayed on the bed – not the most comfortable one she ever went to sleep on, but the sheets were clean, and the surface wasn’t hard. Second, she wasn’t bound or shackled anymore – though her arms still hurt from whatever humans used to tie her down, her movement wasn’t restricted anymore. Third, she was no longer naked – for whatever reasons, her captors not just provided her with a formless white mantle, but they also went as far as actually putting it on her not-so-petite frame. The fabric might have felt a bit too rough, but it was the first article of clothing she wore in a pretty long time, so it probably wasn’t a bad thing. Fourth, thought the space she found herself inside wasn’t exactly spacious, it had certain amenities she could recognize. A locker. A chair. A table. Her old datapad on it. A sink. A weird-shaped appliance that resembled an autonomous waste relief device. Lights. Camera… …wait, a camera? But before the Earth Caste girl could do anything else, a hologram materialized seemingly out of thin air. A crisp hologram resembling the hooded figure she’d seen before – except the hood was undone, revealing a bald head of an aging human being, somewhat awkward, sheepish expression painted across the thick-glassed, wrinkled face. “Now, now,” it spoke calmly, hands gesturing Gwial to stop her frantic scramble. “My promise stands, young one. As long as you remain within my Machinarium, no one is going to hurt you. Intentionally, that is – you might want to be careful. Now, I’m sure you have a lot of questions…” “Who… or what are you?” she inquired bluntly, eyes running across the room, trying to find the source of projected image. “Where am I? What do you want from me?” “Cognitarch Kappa Twenty-Seven, a gadgeteering machinist, an aspiring naturophilosophist, and a dabbling arcanist. The other two would be Merovech Verdoff, our anointed Lord Discordant and Master of the Irradial Forge, hallowed be his name, and Aetius the Enabler, Exalted of the Sixfold Sinistrum. Together with approximately forty thousand underlings of varying utility, we are the Seers of Black Light – outlaws, vagabonds, sellswords, seekers of the hidden, plunderers of the forbidden… humble servants of the Primordial Truths trying to make a living in these most uncertain times. You are currently aboard our ship – the Reprobate, one of the few surviving Slaughter-class cruisers…” “You have an… interesting naming convention.” “Bah. Edgy, we call it. I may or may not explain its origins sometime later, if you’d still be interested. As for why you’re here and what are we going to do to you – well, I can’t speak for the others, by my own intents are both simple and straightforward. I wish to have an enlightened conversation – about Tau society and culture in general, and about Tau technology in particular.” “Really? That’s it? A talk?” “What, you thought I’d shackle you to a table and pull your organs out one by one? There are plenty of your dead kin for me to experiment upon, all in perfectly frozen condition! Of you, I only require your functioning brain… erm, metaphorically, of course. That is, unless you wish to transcend most of your mortal coil and…” “Can I, uh… not take on that offer, please?” “Another time, then. Now, considering the time you’ve spent unconscious, you’ve ought to be feeling awfully peckish…” Gwial nodded. Much to her shame, way too eagerly than she ever intended. ‘Awfully peckish’ was a rather modest of putting it – whatever Kappa had injected her with was wearing off fast, and in place of migraine and dizziness, a ravenous pit of hunger was awakening within her stomach. The hologram clapped its hands, somehow producing an authentic noise. As if on que, the door on the far side of the room parted ways, letting a dead-eyed cybernetically-enhanced human step in, crude clamp-arms pushing a contraption best described as wide armchair woven of colored wires and mismatching tubes, jury-rigged to what looked like a crude gravity cancellation device. “Um, thanks, but I, uh…” the Earth Caste girl felt her cheeks grow darker shade of blue, knowing perfectly well exactly what her captor was implying. “I can still walk just fine!” “My insights on Tau physiology suggest otherwise, but if you so insist, please do follow this avatar of mine. Still, just in case you change your mind, this lobotomite will follow us as well – for this is not going to be the shortest of treks. Oh, and word to the wise – please refrain from even thinking of doing something you’re going to regret out there. And do look at the ceiling from time to time. Mind the workplace hazards...”

>>2701 Truth be told, Gwial had heard many chilling tales of humankind’s barbarity, but the things she bore witness to along the way were far too bizarre to be really described as such. Technology far more advanced than she’d ever seen, integrated into devices and contraptions archaic in design and primitivistic in function. Teeming hordes of shackled servants performing tasks that could have easily been automated, overseers cracking electric whips behind their backs in place of networked controllers and remote relays. Laborers operating the stunningly complex machinery, some getting electrocuted to death or chewed into the inner workings right in front of her eyes, the very concept of workplace safety seemingly lost on anyone except the naïve blue-skinned prisoner. Horrid amalgamations of mutilated bodies and cutting-edge cybernetics prowling around, skulls fitted onto gravitic impellers zipping overhead, acrid chemical fumes mixing with sickly smell of burnt flesh, cries of pain drowning in the ever-present clattering of metal. At least she made it on her own. Maybe she was a bit winded, and maybe her new attire did get a little damp in certain places, but she made it. In stark contrast with all the horrors down below, the human supposedly residing inside an ascetically minimalistic suite overlooking the production floor was anything but a barbarian. He may have never showed before the Earth Caste girl in person, but even through an avatar, Kappa quickly established himself as a man of knowledge – not only enlightened beyond anyone Gwial had ever met, but yearning to learn beyond even the most devout of her peers. And so, their conversation soon became much akin to an exam taken by a benevolent mentor – an experience the young Tau was quite familiar with, except none of her exams lasted for hours on end, and none of her exams ever involved being served food. Way more food than she really needed to pack in her not-so-bottomless gullet. With only herself to blame for not stopping when full. Was she really that hungry in the first place? Was it because she got so unused to solid stuff? Was it because she just couldn’t say no when another plate was brought before her eyes? And now, there she was. Stuffed to the gills, so full it was beginning to hurt, so full her brain was starting to shut down, her only saving grace being acres of white fabric concealing her profoundly bloated midsection… “…so the entire assembly consists of just four parts, all of which could be made on a single-axis rotary lathes, and it functions only due to pre-calculated chamber shape?” “More or… nngh… less,” Gwial replied tiredly, clenched fist at her mouth. “Rotation speed still has to be adjusted for gravity, drag, and… hbrrff… atmospheric density. We have comp-hic!... computers for that. Manual adjustment is also possible – just need to… mnrff… crunch some numbers…” “Mildly amusing. Hardly of any use as-is to us or to Mankind at large, but it gave me at least thirty-six ideas on how to apply the concept in my ongoing projects. Now, speaking of…” “Uhm… Kappa,” the overfed Tau lowered her gaze. “Can we please… nngh… continue tomorrow? I-I’m t-tired, and, well…” “Ah. The imperfections of flesh. Beg pardon, after centuries of being absolved from that prison, it remains but a distant, faded memory… no matter. Young one, there is no need push your feeble form beyond its limitations – your mind remaining crisp and clear takes priority. You’re free to go… but I would urge you to accept the mode of transportation you’ve been provided. As you might have undoubtedly noticed, navigating the Machinarium on foot… erm, on hoof, is not the safest of ventures. Oh, and I’ve already sent digestion-assisting enzymes to your chambers… farewell, Fio’vre Bork’an Gwial, looking forward to meeting you again tomorrow.” And then, it happened again. And again. And again. Hardware. Software. Networks. Physics. Chemistry. Materials. Mechanics. Culture. History. No matter what they talked about that day, it always ended the same. Splayed on the bed, gasping for air, moaning in pain. Bloated blue dome of her belly pinning her down, stomach grumbling and churning underneath the thick softness of her skin, overworked intestines forcing uncouth bouts of gas out of both her ends. Almost too full to move, almost too full to think, empty calories melting into another layer of adipose as her consciousness melted into another food coma. Nothing that she wasn’t doing to herself already. Not too shabby for being captured by a roving band of genocidal marauders. Kappa wasn’t that bad of a company, either. Modest. Intelligent. Eloquent. Not without a bunch of quirks and eccentricities, but someone who’d spent centuries as a brain in a jar was likely bound to develop at least some of those. In time, he’d even let Gwial regularly have a mid-day nap right in his office – though her capacity was growing at a steady pace, courtesy of nigh-constant stretching her stomach was receiving, she was still far from a point of being able to eat throughout the entirety of their long and thorough daily exchanges. In time, she’d even get comfortable enough to try and relieve her more basic, primal urges – in the half-darkness of her room, once more squished into the mattress by her achingly overfed gut, knowing full well that someone was bound to be watching, breaking every taboo she could ever think of… and yet, once one of her hands slipped underneath the meaty curve of her belly, once the other cupped one of her ample breasts, once her stubby fingers managed to navigate the hidden mound growing around her slippery womanhood, once her nails brushed against the buried flesh of her lower lips, the rush of shameful pleasure immediately drowned out any other notions – including the one of remaining quiet. The tubby Tau might have been pent-up for months at this point – but somehow, the discomfort from her stuffed stomach, the difficulty of just reaching there, the jiggle and wobble of her pathetically out-of-shape, lard-swaddled frame, the shame of sinking so low as to do it on display of gue’la outlaws, somehow it all only added up to her depraved joy, making every consequent dive of her fingers more joyous than the last, culminating in a crescendo of sensation so powerful it nearly knocked her unconscious. And when she woke up the next morning, mind still hazy, skin still sticky with sweat and hands still sticky with juices, the Earth Caste girl reasoned she could as well do that again sometime. … “Test subject vitals… acceptable. Personality engram upload… complete. Network… all up. Readings… nominal. Gentlemen… ready to place your bets?” “You’re wasting my time,” the Warpsmith growled, eyes running across rows upon rows of Tau computational machinery daisy-chained together, thick veins of data-cables culminating at Kappa’s very own data-throne. “Inject it with scrapcode and let the irradial machinations do the rest.” “I agree,” the Sorcerer chimed in, claw tapping at the glass of the cloning vat. “I’ve seen you try eight times already, and though it is mildly entertaining to see you fail repeatedly, I’d very much rather be with my servants right now.” “Have a little faith you two,” the Heretek replied, popping the lid. Immediately, his avatars grabbed the blue-skinned body, yanking it out of the murky liquid, one of them injecting the vat-grown xeno with a hearty dose of slightly glowing concoction. “Now, I know that you’re a little unfinished,” he continued, watching his experiment being shackled to a table. “I know this must hurt like nine Hells, that you have a lot of questions, yadda-yadda-yadda. You’re not the first, probably not the last, so do spare me the pleasantries. Name and rank! Speak!” “G…Gwial…” the horrified clone stammered, “F…Fio’vre Bork’an Gwial…” “Good. A moment of truth!” With a series of metallic clicks, the dormant machinery sprung back to life, igniting the spacious hold with a myriad of flicking lights. Then, a synthetic voice uttered a short phrase on alien tongue. Then, a longer one. And then, an even longer one. “Praise the Architect!” Kappa proudly proclaimed, throwing hands up in elation. “I have the access token! And not a trite of data was lost or got corrupted in the process!” “Huh,” Aetius tilted his head. “Say, by chance… any porn in there?” “No. Well, there is a book on the, ahem, bedroom etiquette that is traditionally gifted to the newlyweds, some mildly erotic old folktales, but plain porn? Tau don’t do that, at least to my knowledge.” “That’s something I’d still very much like to see,” the champion of Slaanesh grinned, tongue lashing out. “Oh, and can I have the slit-head now?” “No,” the Warpsmith replied bluntly. “That wasn’t in the deal!” “The deal was, you can have her once she outlives her use to me and Kappa. And if Kappa’s ramblings are to be trusted, she can still be of use – to me.” “URRRGH! FINE! BUT IF YOU…” “Unlike you, I honor my pacts. Now scram. There’s plenty of data your degenerate mind would never comprehend, and plenty of work to be done.” “But before you go,” Kappa waived his hand at the Sorcerer, a holographic icon of a vidcast file flashing between metallic fingers. “Let me throw a little something to fuel your temptations, oh Exalted one…” “My. My, my, MY! How delightfully depraved! How agonizingly teasing! Oh, you deliciously decadent azure vixen! Oh, the things I’m going to do to your luscious…” “CAN YOU TAKE IT SOMEWHERE ELSE?” roaring with equal measure of hatred and disgust, Lord Verdoff lunged at Aetius, lifting the champion of Slaanesh off the floor by his throat. “Harder… choke… harder! I think… I’m about to…” …

>>2702 CHAPTER III IT JUST WORKS The foggy halls of the Machinarium might have been filled with many kinds of unsavory bizarrities, but whereas most of it defied logic, none of what Gwial had seen there violated reason. The Irradial Forge, on the other hand, made the portly Tau question her sanity more than a dozen times – and that’s just on her way in. At first glance, it appeared merely as a strange combination of an archaic forge straight out of Earth Caste folktales, an antiquated machine shop from the pages of history books, an equally antiquated laboratory, and, for whatever reason, a temple – one clearly dedicated to some sort of dark and malevolent deity. Though the place wasn’t particularly large, at least not by human gigantomaniac standards, nearly every inch of it was seemingly dead-set on defying the very reality Gwial used to inhabit. Machinery thoroughly etched with glowing runes, burning her eyes without a regard for protective goggles. Furnaces shaped like mouths of eldritch creatures, visibly twitching and audibly groaning every time a billet was taken off of the flame. Rows of shackled, eyeless smiths seated at the altar-like anvils, hammers rising and falling in perfect unison in their skeletal hands. Ingots of crimson metal spewing blood in place of sparks, faint cries of agony permeating the air. Pitch-black candles flickering with colors her couldn’t comprehend. Ornaments of impossible geometry woven into the architecture, unnatural shadows flashing across silver and gold. Giant quadruped beasts of iron chained to the walls, cracks in their plating glowing with crimson fires, hungrily feeding upon hunks of scrap and slag, snarling at one another as if they were living beings. A thoroughly frightening display, to say the least. But not nearly as frightening as the hulking figure at the heart of it all. “Xeno scum,” the Warpsmith proclaimed, booming voice drowning all sound around her. “You will address me as Lord Verdoff, and you will speak only when spoken to. Is that clear?” Gwial nodded, cold sweats beading on her back. “Kappa spoke highly of you, yet I won’t take a single word of that blabbermouth for truth unless I see it be. Prove your worth, and you shall be rewarded. Prove otherwise, and I’ll feed you to the Engines. Is that clear?” Another nod. “Good. First task,” the former techmarine pointed at a colossal workbench littered with piles upon piles of circuitry, bits and pieces, as well as tools and instruments – the latter, surprisingly, of both human and Tau make. “This schematic. Make it work with our parts. All relevant specs are on the ‘pad. Questions?” “But I don’t even speak the-” suddenly, the Earth Caste girl realized she was, in fact, speaking nigh-perfect High Gothic. “Didn’t tell you, did he? It’s called hypno-learning. You should be able to read as well. Also,” one of Warpsmith’s tendrils lurched into a massive crate, fishing out a ration pack quite familiar to the tubby Tau. “Hope you like these, because that’s all you’ll be getting. Three portions and six hours of rest per cycle, until you’re done. Now scram. Have your fill and get to work. Or don’t. Would be more entertaining that way…” She didn’t need to be told twice. And fortunately, she was somewhat familiar with that particular schematic – a tertiary inductivity coil of a Horizon shield emitter, the very one she performed manual check-ups on way back on her wreck of a ship. But building it from scratch, and only with gue’la tech she had not a hint of understanding? Still, spurred by the prospect of meeting a gruesome demise and by the ever-growing hunger gnawing at her pathetically empty stomach, Gwial pressed on – and on, and on, and on. It was the simple equation, one that worked on the most primal level of her being – do what the human wants, claim her reward in rations, stuff herself until her body shuts down, screw everything else. So, just under a week of sleepless nights later, she delivered – the horrid aberration of mismatching parts and haphazardly-soldered wires was as far from the sleek original design in terms of exterior as it probably could have been, but she made it work, and that was the only thing that mattered. When she notified the Warpsmith of her progress, the latter soon returned with a different device – much to Gwial’s surprise, it was his own rendition of the same concept, except it was at least twice as large and at least twice as ugly. At that moment, she wasn’t sure if she should vacate the premises as swiftly as her flying chair would allow, or just throw herself into the nearest furnace to escape the fate far less appealing, but all she could really do was sit there, frozen in shock, as Lord Verdoff’s tendrils twirled around both devices. “So the bumbling buffoon was telling the truth,” he concluded in a grim tone, turning to face Gwial, crimson-red glare of many visors of his helmet meeting the deathly pale Tau girl shaking in her seat. “You passed the test. The real work begins now. I’m doubling your regular rations, and giving you a day off. You may also take as many as you can carry – judging by the sorry state of your body, that’s all you’d really want anyway.” Once again, she didn’t need to be told twice. Her genetically enhanced custodian could only grumble as his blue-skinned captive pulled another ingenious trick – using the hem of her mantle as impromptu sack, at the small price of letting her tubby legs and the lower half of her rotund midsection flop freely for all to see, she soon whirred away with enough nourishment to last a small frontier outpost for at least a few days. Alas, by the time Gwial finally satiated her hunger, content belch escaping her throat as her fingers caressed the visibly taut but still exceedingly soft flesh of her engorged midsection, her mind slowly trailing to well-deserved sleep, nearly half of it was gone – while the other half was barely enough to last her the next. It certainly didn’t help that her old datapad was now connected to a new subnet, containing all the entertainment content she so sorely missed – a nice touch of benevolence on behalf of her captors, but between her massively overstretched stomach and her habitual absent-minded snacking, the seemingly hefty pile of rations didn’t stand any chance. But then, upon her groggy awakening, yawning and idly scratching the spare tire of her ballooning gut, the portly Tau girl suddenly realized how little she had actually achieved. Two days of rampant gorging was but a drop in a sea of misery to come. And even the doubled breakfast barely made a dent in the awakening abyss of her hunger. Fortunately, that misery didn’t last too long. Sure, there were plenty of times she wanted to simply give up. Sure, there were plenty of occasions she begged the Warpsmith for just a little bit more – only to be ruthlessly berated for her worthlessness and be coldly told to get back to work. Yet though Lord Verdoff was cruel master, he was a master undoubtedly fair – for every task Gwial completed, no matter how much time it took, there was always a sweet reward, and there was always plenty of it. The work, though increasingly complex, gradually got easier as well – once she memorized enough schematics, the amount of days spent running empty saw drastic decrease, while all the incremental increases to her daily allowance gradually soothed her hunger. After a while, it came to a point where was even able to sneak a couple of tubs to her chambers to suckle upon before falling asleep…

>>2703 …unfortunately, by that point even she couldn’t deny that things were getting out of hand. Her appetite was seriously getting out of control – to a point where Warpsmith ordered her to construct some sort of feeding device so her constant snacking wouldn’t distract her from work and won’t litter the workshop with discarded packets. Which she did – embarrassing as it was, attaching a tube to a pump and sealing it to a tank didn’t take much engineering. But if Kappa’s meals, though filling, were seemingly devoid of calories, months of relentless indulgence barely adding a couple dozen pounds to her then-chunky frame, the consequences of habitually gulping down roughly the same volumes of colonial rations were far less innocuous. Getting out of bed was becoming a chore. Getting in was becoming a chore, too – the narrow plank of plasteel could no longer properly support the entirety of Gwial’s girth, lumps of blue flab slowly creeping over its edges. And worst of all, the distressed metal was starting to emit all sorts of ominous noises – the welds were clearly on their last legs, while the formely-flat surface was getting increasingly bent and warped. Getting up on her hooves was becoming tedious as well. Steadily swelling posterior parked firmly on the levitating chair, the overindulgent Tau didn’t have much reason to move under her own power – the contraption was outfitted with all the necessary facilities, and it allowed for a much greater deal of spatial mobility than its shoddy looks might have betrayed. As the layer of adipose encasing her body grew ever thicker, the muscle tissue underneath it withered and dissipated, making even the slightest exercise and ordeal increasingly excruciating. Not that she really could exercise much, even if she wanted – not with those roll-ridden, tree-trunk legs squeezing into each other all the way down to her sinking knees, not with that double-tiered sack of a gut sticking out half a foot in front, and not with those overripe melons of breasts sagging at the sides of it. That’s not to mention that her massive blue buttocks were beginning to overflow the chair as well, making her widen the seat more than once, that her hips were beginning to brush the doorway to her room, that she already had to add a whole bunch of extra suspensors just so it could lift her increasingly prodigious bulk off the floor, that her formely loose robes were starting to get awfully snug around her rapidly swelling frame, or that with each passing week, she had more and more difficulty reaching her sausage fingers into her buried womanhood… …but when her final task was complete and crossed from the board, when Lord Verdoff uttered a single world of gratitude, gave her unlimited access to rations, and told her to stay put for further orders, the only thing Gwial did for months was lay on her roll-ridden back, binge-watch schlocky shows, and pour tub after tub into her eager maw like tomorrow never comes. Because for all intents and purposes, the tomorrow might have actually never came, and she could as well enjoy some well-deserved rest. … “Just saying,” Kappa inquired, avatar staring into the majestic landscape of the endless Void, artificial eyes locked onto a distant yellowish-green planet, “Is testing this new contraption of yours on a Black Templar recruiting world is a wise idea? These fanatics are quite resourceful… and vengeful…” “I’m settling a personal score. I decide where or how it’s settled.” “But what about the gene-seed?” Aetius chimed in. “You know, it’s almost a sacrilege to waste it in such a manner! And I didn’t savor the taste of sweet-meats for well over a…” “You’ll savor the essence. Sensorium, ETA on the impact?” “Five minutes and counting, Lord Verdoff,” a nearby vox-grill buzzed. “Is the ritual ready?” “As ready as can be,” the Sorcerer pointed at a rather corpulent human girl chained to a nearby wall. “A shame to squander such beauty on something that may not work at all, but… you gotta do what you gotta do, right?” “Right. Ignite the circle… let the Gods witness our deed.” Grinning viciously, the champion of Slaanesh unsheathed his sacrificial knife. In one fluid motion, the unfortunate servant was no more, streams of fresh blood pulsing onto the floor – but instead of staining the walls and pooling on the cold metal, the droplets began running around, quickly forming into a collection of shapes, runes and symbols beneath the trio’s boots. “A single soul, even as worthy as this one, won’t give us much time… try to keep your villainous speech mercifully short, please?” “Noted. Ignite.” With a silent phrase uttered in Primordial Tongue, the blood lit with crimson fires, distorting the air and letting a flood of ghostly voices fill the silence of the observation decks. “Masters of all that be! Powers that shape the Universe!” the Warpsmith roared with all the might his artificial lungs could allow, “Hear us, thee Four Truths! Hear us, Dark Gods! Hear us and listen! For we, Seers of Black Light, your servants and champions, have come to offer you a feast of a billion souls! Humbly, we ask thee Four – accept this synchronized sacrifice in each of your names! May you grow ever stronger beyond the Veil, so that each of us may grow ever stronger with you!” “ETA minus forty seconds!” a garbled voice from the vox-grill informed. Forty seconds later, an asteroid propelled to a near-lightspeed, its surface carved with unholy runes and etched with vile rites, hit the surface of mostly unsuspecting planet below. Forty seconds later, as the planet broke before the men even had a chance to react, four demons, no longer bound to the asteroid’s core, began their feast of a billion souls, luring ever more of their kin to join the carnage in the Warp. And as they gorged themselves on the bounty of human essence, so did the Gods. And the Gods had undoubtedly noticed the offering of the three daring champions. And for many hours on end, all that could have been heard from the observation deck were three hysterically laughing voices, their owners receiving their fair share of the unholy feast… …

>>2704 CHAPTER IV BLOOD OF THE LAMB Gwial felt nervous – more than usual, that is. The Tau girl was almost shaking, and not only in the literal sense – at this point, the pale blue surface of her immensely overfed form quivered and rippled at the slightest of disturbances. Was it because she dumped tub after tub of delicious goop down her throat so eagerly her clothing literally burst at the seams, no longer capable of containing her succulent, roll-swallowed hips and her billowing, toneless, dimpled thighs? Was it because she ate herself into oblivion so hard she genuinely lost track of time, only to come to her senses laying sprawled atop an ankle-deep pile of empty packets, dead-eyed cyber-human poking her ham-swollen forearm? Was it because she let her short frame grow so ridiculously wide it took quite a heavy push just to pop her through the door, and so ridiculously heavy the whole ordeal left her gasping for air and dripping with sweat? Or was it because she was forced to make the last leg of that day’s journey on her own, deprived of gravity-cancellation machinery, plodding the length of a seemingly endless corridor in slow, ungainly, excruciatingly exhausting steps, thick hem of her gut slapping against the meat of her legs just above the nigh-indistinguishable knee-line, lard-ringed thighs scraping and squeezing their supple meat against one another, her obscenely wide buttocks and obscenely voluminous mammaries swaying from side to side, leaning against the cold metal wall for good five minutes of rest after less than half that of waddling, wishing for nothing than for this torture to end… …and just as she thought her knees would surely buckle if she pushed herself one step more, the elephantine Tau had suddenly reached her destination. Staring at the golden symbol etched onto the massive purple-enameled bulkhead door, Gwial hesitated for a moment, thoughts of recollecting herself for a bit before entering coursing through her mind. But since her beleaguered joints were not going to give her the time required, and since lifting her mass off the floor on her own was probably going to leave her in a same mess, the blue-skinned xeno decided to simply keep moving. If her captors didn’t want the spectacle she was now, they’d probably didn’t yank the chair from underneath her. And if it was the spectacle they wanted, the spectacle she was going to give. A large, dimly-lit, round room. Outlandish décor strewn across the satin-draped walls, with the same strange symbol permeating every piece big and small. No less than a three dozen humans, men and women alike – unarmed, scantily-clad yet covered in opulent jewelry, all in various stages of obesity, shaven bodies glistening in gentle yellow half-light. At the center of it, a fountain – a marble pool with a sculpture as intricately carved as it was obscene, a scene of one genetically-enhanced warrior passionately defiling the throat of another while a distinctly feminine yet inhuman creature with claws in place of arms passionately made out with the severed head of the latter. A fountain with a foundation wide and sturdy enough for Gwial to finally rest her colossal hindquarters upon. Alas, before she could shuffle her overheated, sweat-dripping bulk even halfway towards it, said hindquarters suddenly received a firm squeeze, making the Tau girl freeze in her track and yelp in equal measure of fright and surprise. Someone of Aetius’ stature should not have been able to sneak up on her, period. Even with streams of sweat clouding her vision and drumming of the heart drowning a lot of sound, someone wearing a functioning suit of power armor should not have been able to approach her without a trace or a sound. But then again, someone as hideously mutated should not have had a voice this soft, this gentle, this… angelic. “My, my,” clawed hand gripping Gwial’s buried chin, lifting her face up until her gaze met with his, the Sorcerer spoke. “Aren’t you something special, oh not-so-little one? My so-called ‘companions’ have done the most sublime prep work~ Their assumptions regarding my tastes might have been deeply misguided, but…” the champion of Slaanesh licked his lips, predatory grin forming on his face, “I still see enough untapped potential, regardless of their petty meddling…” “Are you… g-going t-to…” the elephantine Tau stammered, trying to wriggle out of Aetius’ hand and shuffle towards the fountain, the ache in her knees getting agonizingly unbearable by the second. “Torture and plunder your mouthwateringly luscious body until but a broken shell remains?” seeing his newest plaything’s struggle, the traitor marine simply slid his armored greaves underneath her arms, lifted her mass off the floor, and gently placed the beleaguered hampile onto the gold-lined marble. “I’m afraid we don’t do that here… usually. Don’t be afraid, oh azure one, for I chose the title of Enabler, and not without a good reason…” “What do you… enable, then?” “You’ll see soon enough,” Aetius’ fingers suddenly lit with magenta flame. “One hand giveth…” “And all others doth receive!” other servants hummed in unison. Suddenly, the entirety of Tau engineer’s prodigious bulk got enveloped in a cloud faintly glowing iridescent mist. Then, it began to thicken, molding into opaque tendrils of greyish blue, running across her body like dry, bristly tongues, reaching deep into her many flabby folds and gently squeezing her many meaty rolls. It didn’t take long before one of the apparitions subtly wriggled its way inside Gwial’s nethers, while the other slowly crept in between her pale blue buttocks… …her vision dimmed and blurred. High-pitched ringing drowned-out most of the sound. Terror beyond reason. Humiliation beyond imagining. Stimulation beyond anything she could ever achieve on her own. A surreal mix of sensations her mind couldn’t process, going numb to preserve whatever remained of her crumbling psyche. Yet just as she was ready to faint, the immaterial tendrils let go. Remaining tethered only to certain points of her thoroughly violated body, the apparitions lashed towards Sorcerer’s outstretched hands. The champion of Slaanesh grinned, snake-like tongue lashing from the abyss of blackened, needle-like teeth. And then, Gwial’s fading consciousness was brought back – with excruciating pain. As if submerged in a pool of molten metal, every fiber of her being burned with unseen fire, while the ghostly leeches, lit with vivid purple-ish glow, twitched and contracted in what resembled pumping motions, seemingly sucking something out of her and into Aetius’ hands, making the latter moan in perverse delight… …but it didn’t last long. She could see it, even through the shell-shocked haze. The mutated human’s expression. Blink of an eye, and it went from outright orgasmic to thoroughly confused. Another blink, and confusion turned to discomfort – to disgust, revulsion and acute pain. With a pained roar, the champion of Slaanesh forcefully tore the tendrils from his hands, making them dissipate and freeing Gwial from torment – only to double over and puke out bout after bout of glowing substance that evaporated before it could reach the floor. “Well,” angelic voice replaced with rather nasty-sounding high-pitched screeching, Aetius concluded, wiping his lips, “That was definitely new… not the way I imagined it, but… AH, FRAKK IT! GODS, HOW COULD ONE’S ESSENCE, ONE WHO’S CLEARLY NO STRANGER TO JOYS OF EXCESS, BE SO OFFENSIVELY BLAND? BY THE PRINCE, EVEN A MOLDY CORPSESTARCH RATION PEPPERED WITH RAT DROPPINGS WOULD TASTE BETTER THAN THIS!” “Serves you right…” Gwial whispered, lips curling in a tired but thoroughly satisfied smile. “Don’t test the limits of my benevolence, xeno!” he shot back, enraged. “With you, I’m nowhere near done! Servants! Your master needs AT LEAST three weeks of DECADENT SERMONS to wash away the INSUFFERABLE TASTELESSNESS the slit-head here DARED to DEFILE HIS TEMPLE with! Bring EVERYTHING! And while I’m purging this VILE SACRILEGE… please, do guide my most recent acquisition through the full measure of my hospitality…” …

>>2705 CHAPTER V DISCO INFERNO Waking up on a sprawling bed of purple silks was probably the last thing the young Tau expected to happen next – and after all she’s been through by that point, it didn’t bother her much. Neither did the massively obese, barely clothed, bleach-blond-haired woman with the same recurring symbol tattooed onto pale patches of scar tissue on her meaty cheeks, inquisitive gaze of grey eyes studying the undoubtedly exotic company. “Awake at last,” the woman smirked. “Remember your name?” “Gwial. Rank… birthright… you humans don’t care anyway.” “Ivy. Joy to meet you. Recall anything from last night?” But the harder she tried to remember, the less sense her memories made. Somehow, she felt it was all still there – yet somehow, it was no longer connected, no longer attached to time, space, or even herself. “No, I… I don’t think I can. Everything after stepping past that door is… a blur.” “So the amnesiacs did the trick,” Ivy smirked again. “Or they didn’t, but your brain simply blocked it all off. Either way works for me.” “But… why? Why drug me up – again – and drag me here? I’m in no shape to fight, there’s nowhere for me to run, and I can’t walk even a hundred paces on my own…” “Didn’t take Psykana degree to see you were on the brink – mentally, that is. Master… did a number on you. Usually, it happens in a far more dignified manner, but… he awaited your arrival for so long he grew… impatient. Still doesn’t ring any bells?” “I’m not sure,” Gwial shook her head. “I can see the picture, but I can’t… I don’t feel… how do I even explain it…” “Don’t bother. That’s how memory blockers work. Prevent your psyche from connecting with traumatic experiences. Lucky for you, they are, at least marginally, compatible with your physiology. And I’m a trained physician… used to be, anyway.” “Fair, I guess,” the Tau girl closed her eyes and sighed. “Where are we? What do you – or your Master – want from me now?” “This place is called ‘Sensorium’, dear. A deck-sized aberration of various entertainment facilities,” fishing a strange-looking pipe from underneath her massive cleavage, Ivy plugged its tip with some pink-colored ball and lit it up, slowly inhaling the sickly-sweet fumes, “This is where the rest of the crew come to unwind when the bugle ends their toil… anything a lonely void sailor’s body and soul may desire, we provide.” “Huh. So I’m a water flower<5> now?” <5> Por’yi, lit. ‘water flower’, a Tau euphemism for a sex worker, i.e. ‘geisha’. “Most peculiar metaphor… ‘water flower’, huh. But I think I get it. No one’s going to stop you from becoming one, if you so desire. Xeno charms are ought to do you well in that line of work, but… no one’s going to force you, either. You’re no ordinary servant to this Cult of Pleasure, Gwial… you, me, and many others are here for something different, something else entirely...” “Oh. How so?” “We are our Master’s drug of choice,” a warm smile formed on Ivy’s face. “One he’s hopelessly, helplessly addicted to.” “So I’m… his private water flower now?” “He’s certainly not above reveling in the bounty of flesh,” the former Sister Hospitaller gave her apron of a gut a tender pat, “And let me tell you, what he delivers while doing so is beyond any comparison. But it’s not what he truly needs from us. What he seeks is our… essence.” “Essence? You mean my…” “Come with me, and I’ll tell you everything over a meal... or two. Obscura always makes me so hungry…” “Can you…” the Tau shuffled on the sheets, mentally preparing herself for the torture of getting up. “Give me a-” A hand. A hand she suddenly realized she didn’t actually need. For some reason, she felt lighter – and not just in her head. Looking down to inspect herself, Gwial almost yelped in shock, because a lot of her bulk was simply gone. Not nearly enough of it to make her slim or even ‘Earth Caste stout’ – she was still far too fat to pass any Tau physical exams, but a good hundred pounds, if not more, seemingly evaporated off her frame without a trace. “Oh?” the blonde woman tilted her head, addled mind trying to understand what was wrong. “Oh, that. Don’t worry, that’s exactly how things are supposed to work. Come on now, I’ll explain…” And explain she did. But not before the two of them waddled their ever-wobbling butts and ever-swaying guts into the mess hall. Or, rather, into what was supposed to be one. By that point, the Tau engineer was fairly used to the fact that saving every cubic inch of vacuum-sealed, radiation-shielded, life support-enabled space was clearly not on their shipwrights’ agendas, so the size of this place didn’t make her flinch. Neither did the sheer screaming decadence of it all – the table nearly as long as the entire place, the piles upon piles of food that were probably already going stale, the sculptures, the gold, the gemstones, the marble… This time, it were the humans themselves. Seated on massive velvet beanbag chairs, there were dozens of them – dozens of scantily-clad humans indulging in the feast that was far too massive for them to consume. From just chubby to so massively obese they had to sit sideways – some even beyond that. From taking small, picky, connoisseur-ish bites to relish in the flavor to gorging like tomorrow never comes, smearing themselves with juices and passing bouts of gas without a second thought. From simply sleeping the consequences their indulgence off, hands still hanging on taut orbs of pale-pink flesh, to pleasuring themselves while cramming another sloppy handful into their mouths, or being pleasured by others whilst doing so – and, much to Gwial’s shock, some of them were even genuinely copulating. And then, there was everything else. A cacophony of grunts, gasps, moans, belches and farts, echoed through the walls through the guttural rhythm of chewing, mixed into strange, discordant music playing over many vox-speakers. A mixture of fragrant perfumes, mouthwatering aromas of many delights, artificial smells of burnt recreational substances conjoined with faint traces of sweat and stomach gases. And the humans themselves. When Ivy filled her plate and began talking, the Tau didn’t really listen. Anything that involved the concepts of ‘gods’, ‘magic’, ‘soul’, ‘arcane’, ‘demons’ and other idealistic esoterics wasn’t really worth listening to anyway. Instead, she watched. She watched men and women impossible to tell apart underneath the burgeoning rolls of quivering adipose and excess skin relish in the sheer excess, sounds of carnal joy escaping their lips freely. Openly. Shamelessly. On full display of others. Without a single regret. Without a single care for the world. ‘Like animals’, she wanted to add. Until suddenly, she met the gaze of a humongously obese human – probably male, but again, at this size it was nearly impossible to tell – and came to a rather unexpected realization. They weren’t ‘gone’ or ‘degraded’. They weren’t ‘conditioned’ or ‘forced’ into any of this. They knew exactly what they were doing. It was by choice. By their choice. A choice Gwial once thought unfathomable. Impossible, even. A choice that could have been made only under the direst of circumstances, one that only an utterly broken being could make when there was absolutely no other options left – but a choice they somehow took an almost impossible degree of pride in, a choice they brandished like a badge of honor and relished in with all their being… …all of which felt so completely, so intimately, and oh so dreadfully familiar.

>>2706 “Hey!” a snap of Ivy’s thick fingers brought the blue-skinned xeno back into the realm of living. “Ground Control to Greater Goods! Were you – hic-bhrff – even listening?” “No?” shaking her head, she replied, staring straight into Ivy’s glazed eyes. “Well that’s frakkin’ fantastic,” the former Sister Hospitaller raised both her hammy arms, only to let them fall at her sides with audible ‘PLOP!’. “Of course you weren’t! You didn’t even touch your plate! Now please, dear…” “You know what?” grabbing the nearest platter, Gwial slumped back in her beanbag chair, resting the food on the azure shelf of her gut, “I don’t care.” “Huh? Gonna take the…” “Whatever it is, how it works, I don’t – munch! – care. Screw it all! The Greater Good, the virtues, the traits, the states – whatever, it can all burn for all I care! Aetius wants my ‘essence’? Good. This is how ‘essence’ is obtained? Even better! I’m taking this, and to hell with other explanations! To hell with pretense, too! If this is how my life is going to be now – I might as well enjoy the living hell out of it! “Attagirl!” Ivy smiled, groaning and passing a few short belches as she lifted her overfed form upright, “Wanna get the first taste of Master’s many, many gifts now?” “Bring it – nom! – on!” “Now, dear, you just keep on eating,” wobbling towards Gwial’s seat, the bleach-blond woman knelt before the Tau, pudgy hands sinking into supple blue thighs, subtle pushing motions suggesting the young engineer to part her legs. “Trust me, this makes is so much better…” She didn’t have to be told twice. The food was already borderline divine. She didn’t know what it was, and frankly, she didn’t care. The smell alone was almost moan-worthy. The texture felt just right. The taste was so rich her tastebuds nearly burst. And the deft tongue working her nethers did indeed made it all so, so much better. Gwial didn’t register emptying the plate – or the second, or the third, or however much her greedy hands and her eager maw managed to rid of contents. She certainly didn’t notice the moment said contents began to stretch her bottomless stomach past its capacity, building into a distinct bulge peering through the layers of adipose of her turgid midsection. Familiar pangs of discomfort that should have brought her to reality somehow only added more pleasure to the depraved experience – the pleasure she so desperately wanted to bask in, but the pleasure Ivy kept depriving her of, masterfully keeping the blue-skinned xeno a mere touch away from reaching the apex. But even as the pain started to grow sharper, even as visibly taut skin of her massively overloaded gut began growing darker shad of blue, even as her stomach began pressing into her already straining lungs, all she could do was keep shoveling handful after handful of sinfully decadent delights down her struggling throat. Beyond her mind’s grasp, beyond her will’s reach, beyond the thin veneer of culture and the hypocritical pretense of civility, a single, overpowering desire held her firmly in a surreal trance, and she was utterly powerless to break from it. She wanted to cum. She needed to cum. Every fiber of her being, every strand of her soul, every cell of her burgeoning body screamed at her in agony, screaming for the sweet release to come before she’d literally burst at the seams. She was so close. So damn close. Another tired bite. Another strained swallow. Another desperate gulp of air. Another dozen needles jamming into her stomach from the inside. A moan – of pain, of joy, of despair, of hope, of everything in-between. Closer. She was closer. Maybe another was going to do the trick? And when Gwial felt she could absolutely not go on any longer, when her meaty arms fell limp at her bloated sides, knocking an empty plate down to the floor, when she felt her very mind was beginning to crumble under the combined weight of pent-up extasy and overpowering agony, it finally happened. The hall was no more. The humans were no more. The music was no more. A tsunami wave crashed into her every synapse and burned through her every nerve, exploding in mauve blossoms and taking her away from this bleak world on the back of a majestic blue bird, only for her to crash into a wave of unbridled joy again. And again. And again… for all eternity. Or, well, for what felt like a small eternity. “Did I… die?” she mumbled through the sparkly fog as the onslaught of sensation subsided a bit at last. “No,” a familiar feminine voice replied from what seemed miles away. “In fact, you seemed to be having an awful lot of fun… reminded me of me when my conditioning finally snapped.” Blinking a few times, Gwial finally saw Ivy – sitting in front of her, smiling. “This was… something out of this world…” the Tau panted, the afterglow masking the impossible fullness of her distended, taut, darkened abdomen. “You humans… URLPH… sure know how to party…” “Party?” the former Sister Hospitaller raised her tattooed eyebrow, feign offence in her tone. “My dear, this was but a regular old boring dinnertime… now, please, no sudden moves. Here,” she gave Gwial the same pipe she smoked before. “Inhale slowly, take it nice and easy. It will prolong your joy… take away the pain… help you sleep all of it off. And when you wake up, your new life shall truly begin…” Drifting away as the bleach-blond woman gave her agonizingly overfilled gut a tender yet thorough massage, the overfed Tau couldn’t help but wonder what else this new life had in store, thoughts and images slowly melting away into warm, fuzzy, soft and welcoming darkness. … CHAPTER VI BRAIN DANCE For once, Gwial felt fine. About as fine as someone semi-forcibly inducted into a deranged cult which revolved around consuming ungodly amounts of food, imbibing ungodly amounts of psychoactive substances, and reveling in ungodly amounts of pleasures of flesh, but for her, it was alright. Not that her semi-permanently addled brain could be bothered with having second thoughts about the whole arrangement. Not when her loins slid up and down another semi-buried shaft, sweaty bodies slick against one another, meaty fupa squishing into flabby fatpad, sausage fingers squeezing her flopping tits and groping her undulating gut. Or when she was cramming her greedy stomach with alien delicacies while her nethers were being feasted upon, moaning and belching in-between bites, someone’s hair ticklish against the hem of her burgeoning midsection. Or when, after slamming a fat line of some pinkish powder, she was eagerly ‘returning the favors’, burying herself into the turgid flesh of those who were no longer capable of reaching down there. Men, women, devotees of Slaanesh whom had their bodies remodeled after the presumed visage of their depraved deity, it didn’t matter – as long as it got Gwial where she wanted to be, it too was alright. Aetius soon became a welcome sight as well. The Sorcerer timed his appearances in the cult with almost impeccable precision – often enough to break the monotony, but sparse enough to make every visit a special occasion. Sometimes, he’d have everyone in a waist-deep pool of drug-laced wine, throwing handfuls of gemstones and coins and watching dozens of obese bodies wobble and wrestle in the blood-red liquid. Sometimes, he’d simply have the servants pleasure the twitching monstrosity of flesh that hid beneath his armor’s codpiece, rewarding the luckiest few with generous spurts of oily black ichor more potent than any substance available to the cult, yet never relenting until every single servant was out cold from the sheer exertion. Other times, there were cult-wide eating contests, debauched games of varied profligacy, collective exercises in obscene art, sybaritic escapades exacerbating the growing helplessness of cultists’ swelling bodies, or, occasionally, sadistic outbursts like force-feeding some of the servants within the inches of their lives and testing the limits of their waning health by rewarding them with long hours of rougher sex. A lot of them didn’t make it. Death was fairly commonplace the cult – overdose, heart failure, stomach ruptures and other complimentary ailments like diabetes and cirrhosis claimed their toll in grotesquely oversized body bags almost daily, but that was fine too. They weren’t worthy. Their essence wasn’t worthy. Only the living had a potential to be reaped and reborn, to be absolved of the burdens of their excess to fulfill their purpose anew… …and Gwial didn’t need a more nuanced explanation. After all, she was still worthy – and she was having the time of her life. For a while, at least. Truth be told, it all got old. It may have taken a fair bit of time to realize, but it all got old. The sex, even the kinkiest varieties of it, got old. The drugs, even the most potent ones, got old. Even basking in the gaze of a hundred pair of hungry eyes as she waddled her sweaty, out-of-shape, jiggling bulk onto the stage only to tire herself out in less than an hour and dive into a night-long ride of having her every fold and every crease violated by countless sailors got old. But the food remained. Moreover, it got better. The connection between the taste, the fullness, and the state of carnal euphoria grew so deep it made eating a sexual act in nearly every aspect – except it didn’t require actual stimulation other than one she got from her achingly overfilled stomach, from ungainly expulsions of trapped gas, and from her stubby appendages running across the acres of supple azure flesh, pinching and squeezing every newly added inch they could reach. Suffice to say, it didn’t go without obvious consequences.

>>2707 The last time Gwial bothered to venture into the common area of the Sensorium, the last time she dared to heave all of her immensity onto the creaking stage, she had regained all of the poundage Aetuis’ sorcery siphoned off her – and added at least three dozen extra on top of that. Circular face sinking into mounds of cheeks and a sandwich of chins, ham-hock arms propped off her meaty flanks at awkward angles, saggy boobs each bigger than her head, sack of a gut sticking out further than she could reach, flaps of its lowermost roll dangling past her overgrown knees, lard-ringed legs bunching into uneven rolls both inside and outside, ankle fat folding above her hooves, and a pair of gargantuan buttocks – she barely held onto the pole for ten minutes before collapsing in a sweat-soaked heap of undulating pale-blue flesh that was losing its symmetry under the relentless onslaught of adipose, surrendering all her gargantuan bounties to the humans until even the strongest of stimms couldn’t last her any more. She didn’t care that it took three servants to get her upright the following day – as long as there was the fourth to chase away her withdrawal and the fifth with a platter of snacks, it was alright. She didn’t care that they moved her in a different place, a separate room packed with various medical machinery, or that they set her on what looked like a giant metal pedestal with waste relief facilities built into it – as long as there was a table jam-packed with greasiest and sweetest of delights, it was alright. She didn’t care that with each passing day she was sinking deeper and deeper into her own gargantuan body as it spread further and further around – and even when moving her own arms became a serious issue both due sacks of creamy lard attached to them and due to pathetic shortness of their reach compared to the rest of her immense bulk, it was alright too – as long as there were servants to hand-feed her, and they were around at her every waking hour. And when that too got too tiresome, they were all too happy to hook her to the feeding machine, pumping gallon after gallon of sickly sweet cream into her bottomless stomach. When Aetius stepped in, he couldn’t help but let a perverse smile cross his face. The lusciously chunky xeno he captured on that wreck of a ship, the delightfully rotund girl whom he watched relieve herself in her tiny cell, the luxuriously obese Tau who painstakingly waddled into his den just a year and a half ago – that girl was gone for good, dissolved into a formless boulder of wheezing azure flesh, moaning through the feeding tube with each strained gulp, filling the air with dreadful mix of sweat and sex, half-lidded eyes glazed in perpetual euphoria, still going like tomorrow never comes. “Now, now,” he spoke in a suave tone, plucking the apparatus off her puckered lips, eliciting a long, deep, bassy BHRUUURP! that lasted for at least five seconds and probably had caused her buried loins to contract in sweet release, “Pardon this intrusion, but we won’t be needing this for today.” “Am I… huff… finally… gasp… wooORP!... worthy?” she mumbled, jowls erupting in jiggle. “Almost,” the champion of Slaanesh sat beside her, letting the servants wheel in the first smorgasbord of solid food she’d seen in quite a while. “But before I can deem you as such, I’m afraid you’d have to show me what you’ve learned~” And when he pressed a piece of decadent cake against her lips, Gwial didn’t have to be told twice. How long it went on, she neither knew nor cared – for the Tau blob, time had long since lost all meaning. Bite after bite, piece after piece, serving after serving, cart after cart, barely stopping to breathe, packing it all away in her bottomless stomach. Which, as it turned out to be, wasn’t so bottomless at all. Even after all the stretching, after all the wanton gorging, after all the reckless indulgence, after months of doing nothing but sitting there and filling it to the brim with ungodly amount of calories, there was still a limit to her gluttony. A limit she didn’t even notice reaching. Agony and extasy were getting hard to tell apart. But fortunately, Aetius had other plans for her. Plans that involved lifting her up in a veil of unseen force, lifting the churning boulder of her gut, dropping down the gilded codpiece, and unceremoniously invading her nethers. That was fine. It wasn’t the first time she took that ride. And besides, it was the first shaft in quite a while that actually managed to pass all the rolls of adipose and actually hit her sweet spot – making her overburdened heart race, and causing a series desperate moans and raspy belches to escape her lips with each forceful thrust. “How does it feel?” he taunted, picking up the tempo, “If it were up to mortals, it’d take at least a dozen – and even then, it’d still be elbow-deep, beyond their reach!” It felt good. If not for the pain in her stomach, the burning in her lungs, and the sudden tightness in her chest, it’d probably been better, but extasy and agony were getting oh so hard to tell apart. “That’s right! The joy of excess! The gifts I offer! The glory of the Prince…” But just as the mounting pleasure began to tip her over the edge, Gwial suddenly realized that her lungs were no longer working. “Oh dear~ How connivingly convenient!” bug-eyes meeting her panicked gaze, the champion of Slaanesh didn’t stop, loud beeping of the machinery seemingly only making him go harder. “Azure one, I, Aetius the Enabler, hereby assure you that it’s not your time to pass into the Aether yet… JUST… LET… ME… FI… NISH!” And then, as the tidal wave of the most brain-shattering orgasm up to date wracked her nerves, Gwial’s world suddenly shrank into a single bright dot, a rush of warm lightness overtaking her being. … EPILOGUE “Gods damn it!” the Warpsmith scowled underneath his heavily modified Mark 3 helmet. “If you call a meeting, at least wash yourself before going here, you thrice-damned reprobate!” “Sire, you know and I know you can just switch the olfactory sensors off,” Kappa’s hologram shrugged, “Unless, of course, one of these mods bypassed the circuitry in a way that locked the switch relay in a condenser loop…” “Fellow champions, it’s urgent!” Aetius glared at both of his companions, “And important. I think I might have not-so-accidentally discovered the way of psychically awakening an entire sentient race!” “By fucking the fatass slit-head to death?” Lord Verdoff crossed his arms. “First, almost to death. Second, I wasn’t doing anything she wasn’t already doing to herself. Third… rude!” “Alright, alright,” Kappa shook his head. “Care to elaborate how exactly your old disturbing fetishes and your recent xenophiliac advances achieved what you claim?” “Her connection to the Warp… grew. When I harvested her essence, I felt that. Not by a whole lot, and her essence is still quite subpar in terms of potency, but… it’s there. Something happened. Something made the channel wider.” “Interesting. Could it have been the flood of carnal extasy that you’ve been pumping through her brain?” the hologram replied, “Maybe the aura of your chambers actually worked? Or can it be related to her prior emotional experiences? Or is it everything combined?” “Semantics and entropoenics aside,” the Warpsmith growled, growing impatient. “What’s the practical use of this knowledge, if I may so ask?” “Opening an entire race of assumedly incorruptible blunts to the not-so-subtle influence of Ruinous Powers? Shouldn’t there be, say, three neat Daemon Prince seats reserved just for a deed like this?” “Sounds a little far-fetched, don’t you think?” “It is far-fetched,” Kappa rubbed his illusory chin. “But doable. If her connection to the Immaterium grew, then the Immaterium must have interfaced with her helix – in layman’s terms, a minor mutation had occurred. All I need to do now is find and isolate the affected sequence… which would require at least ten specimens from all five Castes, males and females, provided the same treatment as our accidental guest. Which means…” “A jolly old raid on some outlying Tau colony!” Aetius clapped his hands. “You and your idiotic schemes…” Lord Verdoff sighed. “Fine, I’ll give the call. The slit-heads better have some ‘battlesuits’ in store – after seeing the schematics, I want to try binding a daemon into one…” … When Gwial opened flicked her eyes open, she felt strange. She was still in the same room, laying on the same ‘bed’, taste of sugar still lingering under her dry tongue. Except she couldn’t remember the last time she was capable of laying fully on her back, and not in an awkward semi-seated position. Or when she could look around. Or move her legs. Or arms. Or move at all. Or when she was not at least some degree of obese. Not encased in hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of gelatinous excess. Was she ever this slim? Even if she was, it felt like a lifetime had passed. A lifetime of betrayed expectations, of crushed hopes, of ruined prospects. Might as well not been her life at all. And then, her stomach growled, demanding to be fed again.

And that's all, folks. Not the best of my works, but here it is. I have one more 40k I plan to write. Tune in next month, maybe? IRL stuff is still being far too intrusive to sink more than two hours a day into writing, which is abysmally short for my process.

>>2709 Greetings once again Mr Moonliner! Another absoultely amazing read! I do however agree that it is perhaps not your best work overall. That being said, I wholeheartedly believe that there is a part of this story that really exemplifies what you can do and just how immersive your writing can be! In my opinion, chapters 1, 2 and half of 3 were exceptional. Of these, chapter 2 was utterly enthralling. I had mentioned before about the difficulties on focusing on a great many characters in a short story. Your focus on Gwial payed off extremely well. Between chapters 1 and 2, I found myself totally hooked on her character, the third chapter provided beautiful scenes showing that her slightly depraved state didn't destroy her personality or mind. For example the way you wrote her fear of the warpsmith was fantastic. The 2nd and 3rd chapters also had me rolling with laughter at the chaos characters, again, your focus on their unique personalities payed off massively. I found, that unfortunately, I just wasn't nearly as invested in the latter half of the story. Of course, as usual your descriptions of all things grimdark and sexy were on point, however I felt as though the guiding light (Gwial) was lost to a degree. Your writing in general of course was amazing throughout, however something was lost... ironically in her narcotic/food induced stupors, Gwial became... boring? Somehow even the chaos characters just didn't bring the same hilarity and enjoyment they had in the first chapters. I am but a humble reader... and very occasional writer of stories, so I have no idea how valuable anything I've said may be, but honestly, given that I don't usually comment, consider that I LOVE your writing to death and I hope my ramblings can be useful to you. In short, in my opinion, look to the way Gwial is written in the first few chapters and try to capture the magic that got me (and hopefully others) so utterly enthralled with her. Best of luck, looking forward to reading more!

>>2736 Once again, thank you for meaningful feedback. People over at DA seem to give my aisinine scribbles a lot of praise, but I'm yet to see meaningful critique come my way out there. Funny. I thought first three chapters were almost entirely made of pretentious 'artsy' drivel and lame attempts at humor while delivering far too little of what I assume my audience wants. I admit that the shift between 'fluff' and 'wank' parts of the story was probably too sudden and too abrupt, but I was under the impression that writing another chapter where Gwial would slowly embrace depravity and shed her conditioning would be both a waste of time and would break the general theme of her being little else than a plaything for the trio of antagonists. Yes, the Slaaneshi sorcerer could have played it coy and gentle, pretending to feel actual feelings for the poor girl, but really, I didn't want the protagonist to end up being yet another 'chosen one' from teenage fiction, hence my jokes (over at DA) about the whole story being my moronic rendition of Fifty Shades/Twilight in the grimdark grimdark of the grimdark grimdark. I also thought I have provided enough 'breakpoints' for the character in the prior chapters to justify the change of mind. As always, the war between me wanting to write a good story and me wanting to write good wankfiction rages on, and this story might as well been an unfortunate casualty of that war. I will try contemplationg on your words to make my next piece (which is about half done by now) better, but I give no promises. Again, thank you for reaching out, it means a lot for me.

>>2737 To me the hottest parts were when the fluff and fat intertwined. Gwial's lonley days on her ship as she slowy softened. The glimpses into her psyche were the right mix of cute and tragic, even uplifting when she began to enjoy herself. Then her frankly adorable reactions to giving in little by little to her capture and even going as far as to detail her skills being put to use. The scene of her giving in and masturbating whilst she was on camera had the right mix for me to be truly enjoyable as she played with her exquisitely described adipose. As I said, I also loved her interactions with the warpsmith for the fear it induced, proving she wasn't just a mindless blubbery haze of drugs and food. The last few chapters felt... generic in a way, lacking a little personality and uniqueness. Devoid of the awesome character quirks that made the first three chapters really hook me. --- Granted, I will be the first to admit I have no idea if anyone else shares my sentiments of course lol. Now don't get me wrong, the fat/sex stuff you write is undoubtedly extremely appealing, moreover it tends to be on point for the grimdark nature of the universe without drifting into being gross or overblown. For me, it is simply that without your flair for the artistic, characterisation and worldbuilding it just loses a little of its appeal. Thank you for writing awesome stories, I hate to say it but I may have picked up quite the fascination with the blue skinned women of the greater good thanks to you haha!

I have a slightly darker-themed (in keeping with 40K) narrative I've been working on-and-off for a little, about how to safely politically deal with an irritating Sister of Battle. It's not done yet, but I thought I'd post the first bit to gauge thoughts. https://ghostbin.com/paste/Fhd3I

Where Wild Roses Grow by Moonliner PROLOGUE +AND THE CITY DON'T KNOW THAT THE CITY’S GETTING+ Upright mammals of Sol Three. Unadaptable creatures. Dependent on rare elements and crutches of technology. A trillion minds, doomed to never escape the prison of self. Chained together to drag a mirage you call ‘civilization’. Economy. Culture. Religion. Law. Slipping back to primordial instincts whenever chains grow weak. You surprised us. Crippled, stagnant, ailing, beset from within and without, you held. You deduced our weakness. Acted on it. Whittled us away, kiloton by kiloton. The further we crept towards your cradle, the more biomass we had to expend, and the less you left us to consume. Simple equilibrium of calories. Your primitive brain could connect. You gave us challenge. We are grateful. We will overcome. You claim victory, yet there are shards of us buried deep in your burning heart. Lingering. Adapting. Evolving. Inching closer to the golden fire. You worship it. You sacrifice your unbound to it. You cannot comprehend its beauty the way we do. You gave us many names. We need not. We simply are. Sooner or later, you will become one with us. … The canvas of the Void was awash with rage of immaterial fire, distant flashes painting the black abyss with strokes of eerie crimson light. For a moment, a yard-thick ceramo-glass caught a reflection – one of a stout, bald, aging man draped in silver-lined heraldic brocade, burden of Imperial regalia peeking from underneath the fur-trimmed cloak, half-smoked cigar smoldering in his augmetic hand. Behind him, a long table – chairs of leather and chrome, half dozen figures clad in colors and honors of their respective Adeptae, shuffling papers and exchanging brief, worried glances. “If you want my answer, it remains the same. I’m not putting my seal on this,” the man spoke in a grim tone, turning back to face the others. “If these grox-humping hicks think they can push me around like my older brother, Emperor deliver his wicked soul, they’re gravely mistaken.” “Grox-humping hicks or not,” a middle-aged woman in Navy blue sighed. “There is a Warp storm out there. Emperor alone knows how long it will last. And they are the only major geno-corn surplus exporters within reliable reach.” “We had a contract. A favorable contract, with generous emergency fees, which I still agree to pay in full! But this? This is just preposterous! They don’t like the coin? Fine! Maybe they’ll like iron and blood!” “Lord Governor,” a younger, mustached man in greyish-brown PDF dress uniform took the floor. “I won’t object the order, should it be given. But since it’s all about cutting losses, please consider the combined costs of a planetary invasion and of our prolonged stay on the surface – both monetary and reputational. I’m no economist, so call it a gut feeling, sir – but I believe simply accepting their offer will prove far less costly than carrying out such an endeavor.” “Et tu, Horace…” “Not to mention that infringing upon Constitutio Pacis in times of aetheric disturbance, no matter how righteous or justified such an act may be, is an act of treason,” a buff, dark-skinned man wearing Adeptus Arbites’ casual kit added. “You’ve established yourself as capable ruler so far, and I would not take joy in subjecting you to any of the appropriate capital punishments – but the Law is the Law.” “Five percent,” the Governor threw his hands in the air. “That’s my final offer. Five percent on top of all the premium rates – but not a single denarius more! I am not handing the future of sixty billion hard-working souls over the whims of twenty-something million inbred degenerates!” “Then we’ll receive just under sixty percent of sustenance the hive cities require,” fixing inch-thick glasses with a trained motion of ink-stained hand, a lanky man in plain grey Administratum robes replied. “However, that’s without factoring in the usual inefficiencies like criminal underworld, black market and institutional corruption. Realistically, only forty to forty-five percent will reach the populace.” “Which means famine on a scale yet unseen in this realm,” a shriveled old servant of the Church wrapped in lavishly decorated Ministorum robes spoke. “And all that comes next. Disease. Riots. Collapse of the social order. Lord Governor, do you really wish to starve tens of millions to death and contend with an open revolt against your most pious regime… just to make a point?” “To lose whatever scraps of respect and authority I’ve managed to restore to this office over decades of rule… or to see it all burn while the Houses nominate some obscure relative of mine as a new Governor and give me the boot – or poison, or a bullet, or whatever. Dignity or life… what a fantabulous choice! Just as my reign was finally starting to…” “My liege,” a young bald woman, grey veil over her face, spoke from the far side of the table. “What if I told you we can help manage this crisis in a way that, God-Emperor be willing, won’t involve either of presented outcomes?” “Weren’t Orders Famulous supposed to stay out of politics?” “Consider this a return of the favor for restoring the Order of the Veiled Mantle to the official position in your most illustrious court… and allowing us purge all the degenerate offspring of your predecessor, Emperor rest his tormented soul. Now, Lord Governor, speaking of the Houses… it is said that balance of power is a delicate thing…” CHAPTER I +THE QUEENS WE USE WOULD NOT EXCITE YOU+ Deep down below – below the proudly shining spires, below the dense clouds of industrial pollution, below the uneven rows of smoke-gushing chimneys, below the blackened monoliths of high-rise habitation blocks, below the orderly lanes of atmospheric vehicles, below the layers of corroded roofs and rusted canopies – a woman clad in banged-up, color-faded, sweat-soaked overalls was making her way through the sprawling web of narrow passageways, rusted catwalks, rattling stairs and dark alleys. Every step of the way, at every turn and every intersection, she made her way through the dense crowd, yet that human river never hindered her advance – a talent every Hive-born acquired, honed and mastered from the moment they made their first footstep, along with uncanny ability to navigate the incomprehensible maze of their hive city’s passages. Laborers like her, reeking of sweat, lho and booze, going to or coming back from their long shifts. Enforcers blowing their horns, yelling at the crowd to scram to the sides and let them pass. Fat chance, but she complied, rigid suits of armor briefly scraping against her back. Summary beating was a rather unpleasant ride. One that tended to break a lot of bones, and bones weren’t cheap to mend. Some high-baller bitch and her armed goons. Didn’t stop some juvenile dipshit from groping her ample lumicloth-draped behind. Didn’t stop the goons from discharging a couple bursts into the crowd, either. Dead bodies were the worst kind of obstacle. Appearing in unexpected places. Laying in funky poses. Waiting until some poor bastard carries them over to a nearest Corpse Guild outlet for a few free rations. Stepping over broke the autopilot – the pacing, the tempo, the rhythm. For a few seconds. Afterwards, it was all back to normal. Vendors. Beggars. Preachers. Pushers. Gangers of every flair. The creme de la crème of near-surface layers of the hive. And the one, the only God-Emperor of Mankind, watching them all squabble in toxic dirt from His Golden Throne atop the nigh-mythical Holy Terra. Life in the lower portion of middle hive wasn’t pretty, but it was all she had. Air, usually breathable without a respirator unit. Water, usually drinkable after a couple of boils. Electricity, usually available at least half the day. Food – a billion colors of the same old corpsestarch, but at least she could choose the artificial flavoring. Most importantly, however… “Yo, Ditz, you home?” she spoke loudly, banging a simple cypher on the door to their pod. A moment later, the bent plasteel swung sideways, revealing the sleepy, unkempt girl of her dreams. Aedith Hazael – usually known as Dita or Doc Ditz around these parts – wasn’t the paragon of beauty. Not in the way porn-casts from up above presumed what beauty was anyway. Short. Bony. Tomboy-cut. No breasts or ass to speak about. But her heart was in the right place. If it wasn’t, she’d probably be another high-baller, a full-blown member of Medicae Guild, wasting away while removing wrinkles from the shriveled asses of other high- and higher-ballers. So maybe stealing meds from a Guild-run clinic and handing it to the downtrodden wasn’t the wisest of her choices. Maybe going against her family’s wishes and running to these slums was none the wiser. But even if the Guild sent the word that she was some kind of maniac getting off of killing her patients, it didn’t stop many a bleeding gangoon from dragging their lead-pumped bodies straight to her doorstep. And Summer was one of them bleeding gangoons. A lean, buxom, green-eyed blonde beauty with toxic-green bangs, pale skin covered in lumi-tattoos and lousy spiked leathers. ‘Lucky Summer’, they called her. Lucky she was fished out of the trash compactor by some junkie before the machine snuffed out her worthless life. Lucky the local thugs took pity on a crying newborn about to be turned in to the Corpse Guild for rations. Lucky the ringleader took her in and raised her like a father – an abusive, binge-drinking, stimm-headed father, but a father nonetheless. Lucky she met Dita. A girl whose heart was in the right place. A girl too pure for this wicked world. A little tender flower growing amidst endless piles of waste. A girl who spent hours saving her life without asking for coin or favor, fishing out three jacketed hollow-point blossoms from her chest and stomach – yet the one who could barely stand her own or make her own living.

>>2767 The one she soon swore to protect, whatever it takes. The hive didn’t care about their union. Gangers didn’t live long. Those who fell out of Guilds’ favor didn’t either. But they were going to give it a shot – for love, too honest and pure for this Emperor-forsaken city. Putting a bullet through her adoptive father’s head, Summer ran from the gang, calling in every favor and every connection to jump the hook for good. Calling old friends and spending most of her modest savings for bribes, Dita soon got her hands on a brand-new set of documents and a Guild-stamped private Medicae license on her new name, jumping off the hook as well. Summer found a legal source of income as well – through some unlikely miracle, she managed to get a job with the Dockworkers Guild. The hours might have been long, and the work might have been grueling – but the wages were decent – and, most of all, regularly paid. For a while, their future looked bright. They were in love, they were fairly well-off, and their pasts no longer haunted them. Until a cadre of riot-kit Administratum enforcers barged into Dita’s tiny clinic, tore the place apart, thoroughly wrecked both her arms, and made sure not a single ripper-doc within a dozen levels would dare mend her bones. Because Heavens forbid if someone with actual Medicae Guild education offered their services to the lowborn rabble at a fraction of Guild-approved price. Especially when that someone still had a very aggrieved family way up above. But even if her hands could no longer perform the subtle motions required in her craft, even if it meant that the very reason she went down there was now null and void, Dita wasn’t coming home. Not without Summer at her side. The very Summer who now stood in the doorway on wobbly legs, reeking of way more cheap booze than she had a habit of imbibing after her shifts. “Sheesh,” grimacing, Dita waived a hand in front of her face. “How much?” “Didn’t count,” Summer replied through a weary smile. “Your boss at the café said ‘on the house’. Do we have any recaf left? Got plenty to tell.” A minute later, both girls sat at the folding table, acrid smell of artificial caffeine permeating the stale air of their tiny living space. “They fired you, didn’t they?” “Me, and half of the dock. And half of the next,” Summer took a large gulp from the still-steaming mug. “And Emperor knows how many more. ‘Suspended indefinitely’, my ass. Paid what we were due and told us all to scram. When I saw a bunch of dead-tint cars parked outside, I took the hint. Told everyone it’s gonna be a bloodbath if they don’t leave fast. Some listened. Most didn’t. So I climbed my usual spot, lit up a stick, and what do you know, there’s a firing line of Shanxi goons, whipping out their pimped-out las-typewriters…” “Shanxi? Why not Guild muscle?” “They are Guild muscle – for dirty deeds. Guild gets shit done, Clan gets the coin, workers get the lead, goons the get blame. Everybody knows, nobody gives a damn. So yeah… it was a frakkin’ bloodbath. After dockers scrammed, a thousand bodies were left on the ‘crete – if not more. All of my closer buddies? Gone. Everyone at your birthday last year? Gone. So excuse me for getting this hammered this early – had to pour a lot for the fallen.” “Damn… so it means…” “Yeah. Let’s not sugarcoat it, Ditz. Until I find another gig, we’re screwed. And you better hold onto that job at Tarkhan’s, because finding anything that pays is going to get a lot tougher now.” “Unless, you know…” Dita looked upwards. “My family. I tell them what they want to hear… get my hands fixed with top-notch Guild tech… and back to my Lucky Summer I go.” “Heh. And they all lived happily ever after… until another hit squad did them part. For good this time.“ “Then it’s me working my ass off while you’re freeloading yours on my bunk,” the ex-doctor smirked suggestively, undoing a couple of buttons of her shirt. “Care to make it worth my while, sweetheart?” “Oh? Just when did our Princess-in-Exile became a Big Block Madam?” the ex-ganger smirked back, fiddling with the straps of her overalls, ‘accidentally’ squeezing her rather ample rack against the cloth. “I learned from the best.” If only they knew how rough the going was about to get. Moving to a smaller, shoddier pod in a rougher neighborhood might have allowed them to survive on Dita’s subsistence wage and the rare few tips she got. Alas, that didn’t last long. Two months later, an inter-hive war broke out. The war itself was barely a concern for the populace at large – for untold centuries, the Houses conducted their conflicts far out in the endless wastes, in the ruins of dead cities and in the oceans of poisoned sand. What the hive dwellers were extremely concerned about were wartime taxes – wartime taxes that, be that directly or indirectly, usually cost Summer and Dita a meal a day, and left them running on empty stomachs at least once a week. A month or so later, it got worse. Far, far worse. In a single day, ration prices nearly doubled. Next day, they doubled again. When people realized what was going on and unsheathed whatever meager savings they had to stock up for the coming famine, the prices soared tenfold. Official propaganda blamed it all on the Houses – that their meaningless war emptied even the emergency stocks, and that their sheer hubris was the reason God-Emperor sent a Warp storm that cut the world from its regular supply. The Houses tried to reject these accusations – yet their voices drowned in the roars of raging mobs, in the crackling of broken glass, in the thumping of Arbites’ shields and it the thundering salvos of firing lines. Amidst this chaos, a certain couple was slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the bowels of the hive. Hunger clawing their stomachs. Fear gripping their minds. Despair seeping into their souls. Sleepless nights in the burning streets. Odd jobs, increasingly shady and dubious, paid in a pinch of crumbs and a handful of scraps – or, more often than not, not paid at all. Until one day they woke up to a sight of a surprisingly healthy-looking blonde man poking at their faces with a muzzle of a rather long-barreled revolver. “Well, well, well… if it isn’t Lucky Summer, still clinging to her dear old life…” “The fu… Klaas?” fluttering her eyes open, Summer immediately recognized the smiling face. “In the flesh, baby!” he replied, performing his trademark holstering trick. “Shit, that Doc Ditz? You guys still together?” “Barely,” Dita mumbled apathetically. “Yeah, you two look like you could use a decent meal. Hang in there, I’ll call…” “Wait,” the ex-ganger meekly gestured him to stop. “The gang runs these parts now?” “Nah. The old gang kinda fell apart after you bailed. Me… long story short, I run with Red Rings now.” “Can we… join?” Summer inquired, a glimmer of hope piercing her sunken eyes. “Babydoll, please” Klaas sighed, helping both girls up on their shaky feet, “We both know it ain’t gonna work. Guys from the old gang – some are still around, and many blame you for the shitstorm that ensued after you popped your old man. Won’t end pretty if you back out of the deal.” “Why offer us food first, though?” the ex-ganger squinted her eyes. “Have a stash or something?” “Eehh…” the man put on a forced smile, instinctively taking a step back. “Because you look like you’re a couple inches away from the starcher? And because I still kinda owe you for that shootout with Bustas? When you literally took one for me? That’s gotta count for a full meal, right?” The next moment, a compact stub-gun was gently poking at his abs. “Three,” Summer replied coldly, staring her ex-associate dead in the eye. “I took three. First, you redeemed when you swore not to look for me ever again. Other two, you can repay now. Or you can have ‘em back inside you. And before you ask, Doc Ditz ain’t gonna stich you up.” “Even if I wanted,” Aedith sighed, showing her scarred hands and unnaturally-angled fingers. “My stitching days are done… unless you want the wound to never ever properly heal.” “Shit, that’s Lucky Summer I know and love,” still smiling, Klaas slowly raised his hands. “Look, that ain’t no stash. That’s a supplier alright. A bunch of religious nutjobs set up shop in the ass end of the underhive and claim the Big E himself gave them unlimited supply. Don’t know if that’s true, but the stuff they offer is top effing notch, and they give it for a very reasonable…” “Where?” Whatever he tried to wriggle out of the conversation, it didn’t work. Rumors were discarded. Warnings fell on deaf ears. Appealing to common sense? Even after the starving girls got their first decent fill in months, they remained adamant – if anything, it only seemed to reinforce their convictions. So what choice did he have? Or, more importantly, what choice did they have – an ex-doctor robbed of her craft, an ex-ganger who burnt all the bridges on her way out, their lives chewed and spat out like cheap bubblegum by the uncaring hive? Left with nothing but each other’s increasingly cold embrace, Summer and Dita were more than willing to take any chance their fate was still willing to offer. And if that chance meant traversing the treacherous underhive to become a part of some shady, likely cannibalistic and possibly heretical cult – for love, too honest and pure for this world, they were going to give it a shot. And thus, a couple of weeks later, draped in layers of filthy, acid-eaten, irradiated rags, stomachs long since empty and lungs long since clogged by toxic dust, their long and arduous journey to salvation came to its end. A cavern, its narrow entrance indistinguishable from hundreds of other caverns they passed along the way – except for an arch of rough stone built a dozen yards in, covered in a coat of pearlescent mauve paint, faded white handprints peppering its foundation.

>>2768 “This be it,” pointing at the uncanny landmark and handing Summer and Dita phosphor torches, their guide, a human being with a face so disfigured it might have belonged to a rotting corpse quietly hissed. “You go. I go tell blonde man you make it.” “How much… cough… further?” Summer inquired. “Not far.” “Know what’s in there?” Dita wheezed through her impromptu facemask. “No. Only hear tales. Vault, older than hives. Before cult, many try open. None do.” “Archeotech,” a weary smile formed on Summer’s dust-covered face. “Or ancient stores. That’s where they get their stuff…” “Summer, you lucky bitch,” the ex-doctor pat her partner’s shoulder. “Wonder how they… cough… got in, though.” “Let’s find out?” “After you.” CHAPTER II +CAN’T BE TOO CAREFUL WITH YOUR COMPANY+ Life in the cult – Church of Final Harvest, as they called themselves – turned out to be not that bad of a deal. Sure, they were a weird bunch – both in their beliefs and their visages, their ranks seemingly made up only of beefy men and portly women, all completely hairless, some with bluish or mauve pallor to their skin. So different from the rest of the hivers – tranquil and detached, calm and deliberate, quiet and graceful. Eerie? Yes. Unnerving? Indeed. Yet in this strange behavior, there was also something else – something neither of the girls truly experienced in their lives, something neither of them could quite figure. Inner peace? Wholeness of the soul? Sense of unity? True purpose? Whichever it was, somehow it felt appealing – inviting, even. Sure, like every other weird cult, they asked Summer and Dita for a dubious contribution. As the girls were recovering from their many ailments under cultists’ care, they were offered a simple choice. The Church of the Final Harvest could have provided them with some basic enviro-gear and sufficient rations to return to the ‘world of the wicked’ with the first underhive guide to arrive at the gates, never to come back again. Or, they could have agreed to be artificially implanted with ‘Forefather’s holy seed’, deliver their newborn for the cult to raise ‘in true purity’, and be allowed to stay with ‘universal family’ indefinitely, basking in ‘Lilac Angel’s gifts’ until the end of their days or the ‘The Final Harvest’ event – whichever came first. After some deliberation, the ex-ganger and the ex-doctor decided on the latter. And their reasons were as simple as it gets. Food. At first, their nourishment was administered intravenously. Then, as their acute malnourishment subsided, they were given plain old corpsestarch – pretty dense in protein content and pretty high-quality overall, but nothing really special. But once they’ve recovered enough, the cult invited them to a dining hall. To a long table packed with actual, fresh, organic food. Breads, crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside. Salads made of actual, juicy, freshly-harvested mushrooms and vegetables. Soups – creamy, thick and dense. Roasted larvae, red meat dripping with fat. Mashed starch-tubers. Various sauces and spices. Decadent nourishment that many a high-baller could afford to eat more than once a month – all within their arms’ reach, mercilessly assaulting their nostrils with otherworldly aromas and making their mouths overflow with drool. A moment of hesitation. A long, loud and unashamedly satisfied ‘BHRUUURP!’ from the overfed cultist seated on the other side – a massively obese middle-aged woman kicking back on the creaking bench, stubby hands sinking deep into her turgid triple-tiered gut, its contours distinctly protruding through the overstretched fabric of her ill-fitting mantle. A quiet moan, quickly muffled by another mouthful of pie, emanating from a chubby cultist at their side, a youngish-looking girl whose belly was packed so impossibly full it looked like her waters were about to break. And just before a booming ‘PBRRRRT!’ erupted from far across the table, making some pear-shaped shortstack’s flab-packed rear quiver and ripple, Dita and Summer dove in, shoveling the luxurious foodstuffs into their mouths and down their throats until the cramps and the heaves tore them away from the overpowering gluttonous trance. Should this have happened anywhere else in the hive, the girls would have racked up more debts than they’d been able to pay in ten lifetimes. But here, deep below the furthest outskirts of the arcology, inside the belly of an ancient tunneling machine, a bunch of bald weirdos in white-and-purple gowns simply offered it all to a couple of starving strangers who crawled to their doorstep. Well, maybe not just a couple. Word travels fast in the hive – and as the situation above kept deteriorating, more and more desperate people embarked on a dangerous journey to find their salvation down below. It didn’t happen just once, either – when Summer and Dita awoke from their food-induced slumber, swollen guts still churning with the impossible loads, the girls were invited to the table again, and again, and again, all free of charge, until the aforementioned choice was presented. Suffice to say, bearing a child for the cult was probably the lowest price to pay for such ostentatious display of hospitality. And it did them both well – Dita especially. Rich diet and the rush of hormones swiftly picked where her adolescence left off, transforming a flat, boyish waif into a curvaceous, feminine hourglass, packing hefty bazookas up top and some luscious junk in the trunk down below. Summer, on the other hand, didn’t change much on the outside – spare for softening up all around and obtaining a pair of thick killer hips, she was more or less the same buxom beauty. Ex-ganger’s prime metamorphosis happened on the inside – shedding her jagged thorns and finally becoming someone she was always meant to be was a beautifully liberating experience, and though her firstborn was taken away, her ‘tender flower’ was still around, blooming something fierce, becoming a perfect object to enact Summer’s newfound affections. Affections only grew deeper with every decadently soft pound of adipose, every new inch of skin and with every new curve that added to their bodies with each passing week. Not that it was entirely one-sided, either. Obesity was a spyrer thing. Spyrer problem, even. Often observed with high-ballers as well. Mid-hive and below, extra girth held a single meaning – power and wealth, be it ill-gotten or not. Wasn’t easy to get fat off corspestarch alone. Sure, some managed, but usually it meant having access to at least some amount of ‘actual’ food on a somewhat regular basis – a luxury only select few mid- and low-hivers could reliably afford. Dita and Summer quickly found themselves silently relishing in the subtle yet constant softening of their frames – softening that only got more pronounced once their stomachs got used to the daily onslaught of foodstuffs and their wombs delivered what the cult demanded of them. Pretty soon, just seeing each other’s – and, frankly, not only each other’s – growing bodies skinny-dip in the warm waters of cult’s thermae during daily bathtime time was enough to awaken the ill-understood desires – desires they frequently surrendered minds to in the short after hours, passionately exploring each other’s – and, sometimes, not only each other’s – increasingly chubby frames, letting no new curve, crease or fold escape their lecherous attention. But if for Summer it was all smooth riding from there, living every ganger’s dream of having it all and not suffering any consequence of it, Dita’s inquisitive mind wasn’t so easily placated. One of the lesser-known aspects of Medicae Guild education she received was being trained to subconsciously resist mental manipulation, overt and subtle alike. Added to Guild curriculum some centuries ago after an entire major branch of one of the Houses was nearly wiped off in a series of ‘medical accidents’, later discovered to be vile machinations of a psyker, it was the reason Dita’s family couldn’t just hire a sanctioned witch to ‘fix’ her brains – and it was the reason Dita picked things seemingly lost on the others in the cult. And a lot of things she noticed simply didn’t add up. Her pregnancy. Though she didn’t live through one before, she was a trained physician. Based on her experience, it went almost disturbingly smooth – and though the Church of Final Harvest made sure it was exceedingly hard to the keep track of time, Dita was fairly sure that nine months did not pass. The delivery itself had to be almost surreally smooth as well – though she was put under narcosis and the cult medic later said that she received ‘qualified assistance’, there was no C-section scar on her belly – and her pathways seemingly suffered no expected damage at all. She suspected miscarriage, but the cultists assured her it wasn’t the case. Did she give birth at all? And if she did – just what exactly did she give it to?

>>2768 The demographic dynamic was… interesting as well. After she, Summer, and some other female newcomers delivered on their end of the deal, they all were completely separated from the opposite sex. But before that happened, she remembered seeing quite a few newcomer men attend ‘public sermons’ – and she recalled how quickly they were inducted into the cult, given work and assigned various responsibilities. Inducted women, on the other hand – at least Dita believed they all were now inducted – seemingly had no duties at all, spare for having to sit through two long daily sermons, one after breakfast, and one after lunch. Clad in same shape-concealing white robes with purple stripes, carrying same hairdos and same lilac color to their hair, the girls were hard to tell apart through any means except their size – and even that was a dubious affair at best. But even with that, Dita could have sworn she remembered the largest woman in their group – one so immensely obese she had to rely on the others even for getting off the spread of her gelatinous behind, one who barely could make the short trek between the dining hall and the commons – simply disappeared one night, and not a single person bat an eye or mentioned her ever again. The doctrine didn’t add up, too. The sermons they were offered usually retold the same tale – one of some nameless yet assumedly famous hired gun who committed some nondescript ‘righteous deed’ by double-crossing his employers, who had to run for his life to the darkest depths of the underhive, who was saved from pursuing headhunters by a mysterious entity known as ‘Lilac Angel’, and who then became the ‘Forefather’ of the cult, founding it with ‘Emperor’s Four Gifts’, held in Lilac Angel’s four arms. Religious visions were nothing new. Hallucinations were nothing new as well. That merc was probably on his last legs from sheer exhaustion, both physical and mental. Likely wounded as well. Back against the wall, going down in a blaze of glory, defeating his foes through grit, instinct and luck, then coming down from adrenal high. Lilac-colored, four-armed ‘angel’ was probably the most innocent thing he could have seen in such a condition. Gift of Soil was the easiest to decipher. Likely a piece of some ancient terraforming tech, capable of de-toxifying the land, the water and the air within its area of effect. Maybe drawing nutrients from the exhausted soil as well. Or, it could have simply been an isolated cavern or a system of such caverns, untainted by millennia of industrial pollution. Or maybe the caverns became untainted after the archeotech device spent the last of its juice and fell apart. But though it more or less explained the abundance of foodstuffs, it didn’t seem important overall. Gift of Seed sounded more dubious, and not without a good reason. Though it did vaguely reference genetically-altered plants the cult was using to grow its crops, it was mostly about the literal meaning. ‘And Forefather’s seed was cleansed and made pure, and pure were made His children’. Somehow, it didn’t make the hired gun ‘pure’. Didn’t make the women whom he impregnated, be it in his lifetime or posthumously, ‘pure’, either. Some kind of stable mutation? Likely, given the visage of ‘pure’ cultists. Justified many discrepancies of her pregnancy as well. Yet for a cult seemingly hell-bent on maintaining its presumed ‘purity’, willfully furthering a mutation they had no way of not knowing about seemed… odd, to say the least. Maybe it wasn’t even stable, or rendered its bearers bare – hence the reliance on ‘impure’ regular women for maintaining their numbers. Either way, something shady was clearly at play here. Gift of Purpose was, without a doubt, a clear reference to cult’s doctrine – except there was no doctrine to speak of. Many a shady cult buried their true intents under layers of elaborate metaphors, subtly sandwiching their dubious ideas between the awe-inspiring quotes from Ministorum-approved holy scriptures. But the Church of Final Harvest seemed to take these concepts a couple notches further – literally everything the bald priestesses spoke about the Church’s mission was devoid of tangible meaning, multiple contradictions within a single sentence further exacerbated by the contradictions of the next. The more Dita tried to piece the scraps of seemingly valuable information together, the less sense it somehow made – as if the entire point of it all was to confuse and disorient the mind, to whittle down the safeguards and make whoever listened to this nonsensical drivel long enough blindly follow… At least Gift of Salvation made sense. Typical eschatologist ramblings about God-Emperor purging the world of the wicked and impure, leaving it for the followers of the Church to settle and rule as they pleased, with all becoming a single happy family living in perfect harmony with His Divine Will. There was, however, a peculiar detail about the coming purge – the presumed sinners were not going to be simply burned in the fire of divine wrath, or be instantaneously turned to dust, or be turned to fight one another until none remained. Instead, they were to be quite literally consumed by the Emperor during the so-called ‘Final Harvest’, only for their bodies to be regurgitated as rich and fertile soil for the ‘faithful’ to feed themselves. Religious underhive nutjobs at their finest, but there indeed was something behind it all. And then, of course, there was the food. Not that it was some kind of a mirage. Not that there were some machinations to conceal indigestible substances. If it was, everyone would’ve known it by now – if human physiology was so easy to trick, all corpsestarch rations from here to Ultramar would’ve been made of sand and dust and sold at a hefty premium. It was also quite unlikely the cult was feeding them the flesh of the deceased, or was using it as fertilizer – it simply wouldn’t have been able to sustain such ostentatious abundance for long. No, it all actually felt authentic – Dita had a luxury of eating a few ‘actual’ meals in her lifetime, so any overt trickery was likely out of the question. But whatever logistics were at play here, it didn’t concern Dita as much as the side effects cult’s food was causing – namely, excessive gassiness. At first, the ex-doctor believed it was due to their intestinal flora being unadapted to the stuff – but as the months went by, her and Summer’s uncouth outbursts only seemed to grow in frequency and magnitude. Same was true for everyone else, young or old, big or small – only their bald ‘pureborn’ pastors and caretakers were somehow spared the damage. Surprisingly, the cultists didn’t seem to mind any of this – even as the cacophony of belches and farts came dangerously close to drowning out the priestesses’ voices during sermons, even if many larger ‘tributaries’ openly napped during their only mandated activity, no penance was called, no admonition was uttered, no disciplinary measure was taken. So apparently, there was something else in the nourishment Church of Final Harvest offered – something that kept irritating female inductees’ intestines, but also something that made the food break down a lot faster than it should, enabling the women to habitually consume truly gut-busting meals, only to feel hungry again once the sermon was over. And though the rest paid no mind, gusts of foul smell quickly drowning in the ever-present thick aroma of smoldering incense, it kept bothering Dita to no end. Apparently, living in the gutter for well over a decade together with hotshot ex-gangoon didn’t make her lowborn rabble enough – deep down, she was still a Guilder, born where the smog wasn’t dense and raised to expect a much higher standard of human interaction. Even if she learned to seamlessly accept most of it, this… this was just plain wrong. Especially when the whole setup stank to high Heaven, both figuratively and, at times, literally.

>>2770 “You realize you don’t have eat to that much at every meal, right?” at one of the lunches, she inquired quietly, poking a finger into the side of Summer’s densely packed gut to emphasize. And as the well-manicured, lilac-pained nail sank into the nascent layer of pudge, as if on que, her lover’s buttocks released a quick, somewhat hush, yet distinctly audible toot. “Really now?” Dita cocked her eyebrow. “BHRRRRP!” dropping her utensils like some pretentious rhythm-pounder drops a mic, Summer turned her head, rewarding her lover with a grade A shit-eating grin. “You really wanna talk that talk again, honey?” “Just saying,” sighing, the ex-doctor continued, quickly glancing over the rest of the cultists. “Maybe we should take it easi-” ‘Pbrrrrt’, went her own chubby rear, painting her increasingly cherubic cheeks crimson. “-er.” “Real classy, Ditz. Real – bhrrf – classy.” “Look, something’s seriously not right…” “Figures. We’re in a shady prepper cult at the ass end of the underhive. Would’ve been a surprise if things were right in here.” “So you… noticed? The…” “Nah. I just know these types are never up to any good. Called ‘common sense’ where I’m from… look, Ditz, we’ve been through this a dozen times already. Once the shitstorm up above subsides – we bail, no questions asked. But before that, I say we enjoy the crap out of this ride. No rent, no bills, no taxes, no gangs, no law – and free food we couldn’t pay for even back in my gangin’ and your rippin’ days.” “That’s what I’m worried about,” Dita gave her own nascent paunch a ginger squeeze. “Why – brrph – why do I get the feeling that’s exactly where they want us – enjoying the crap out of this? For what, though? If they wanted to eat us, or to harvest our organs, or, I don’t know, to use us for sacrifice – they’d probably done that by now. If they only wanted our babies, they’d probably given us the boot in a month or so. Why let us be? Why let us eat? Why…” “HuURP!... hush,” subtly prodding her girlfriend’s side with an elbow, Summer pointed at the supremely endowed bald priestess wobbling her portly self into the dining hall. “Guess we better not find out early. For now… honey, please, at least pretend you like it in here. And I know that once it’s all over, you’re gonna miss that killer bod of mine – because I’m sure as shit gonna miss yours.” “Yeah… guess I could go for a little extra of those… aristocratic trappings…” CHAPTER III +THE DEVIL WALKING NEXT TO ME+ Exactly how much time Summer and Dita had spent basking in the aforementioned ‘trappings’, neither of them could tell. It might have been easier if Summer didn’t barter away that fancy uphiver chrono she nicked off some deadbeat gangoon way back in the day for half a stale ration… but then again, the cult would’ve probably taken it for ‘safekeeping’ along with the rest of their meager belongings. Some months? Half a year? A year, maybe? They were fairly certain it couldn’t have been two years – and that was the only measure of time they could agree upon. Conversely, obtaining information about the state of the world above was hardly difficult. Granted, the news always came with a severe lag – yet all the girls had to do to get them was ask the fresh arrivals, and fresh arrivals were easily distinguishable by their modest physiques. And one day, the news they were hoping for indeed came. The inter-hive war was over, no winner declared as starved soldiers refused to obey the orders or outright mutinied en masse. The Houses conceded to Administratum’s demands and put their collective wealth into procuring emergency food shipments from all across the sector, making corpestarch rations abundantly available – and affordable – again. The riots were quelled, and the hive was already beginning to recover – which, ironically, forced even more people to seek asylum in the depths below, to run and cower where the long arm of Imperial law and its many subcontractrors could not dish out the wealth of retribution for their collective moment of weakness and spite. The news came not a moment too soon, either. The girls’ prolonged stay with Church of Final Harvest was wreaking havoc on their waistlines – and with each passing day, the speed at which their bodies continuously swelled with creamy adipose seemed only to pick up. At the same time, their muscles were only growing weaker – aside from mercifully short bouts of shuffling between the bedchambers, the dining hall, and the commons, the longest journey they had to make daily was one to cult’s baths… which, ironically, was mostly an elevator ride. Even with constant attempts at moderating her caloric intake, by that time Dita’s weight managed to climb past three hundred pounds. Granted, as there were no scales for the ex-doctor to actually check the number, her own qualified estimate remained debatable – but thanks to her diminutive height, it seemed that every pound that clung to her frame ballooned it as if it somehow came with at least extra one in tow. Face encased in meaty double chin. Chest – a pair of meaty outgrowths she never even got a chance to get used having – puffing up several sizes more and starting to sag, yet retaining their round shape. Bottom-heavy shaped gut split in half, lower roll further half-split apart by a vertical crease leading to a tiny yet nearly finger-deep navel. Hefty love handles bunching at her hips. Dimpled thigs beginning to form inner rolls. All wobbling on their own whenever she had to move. All getting cumbersome and heavy, too – she never was particularly strong in the first place, and severe lack of physical activity certainly didn’t help at all. Did she like it? Hardly. Even if Summer clearly enjoyed every second she got to grope, to squeeze, and to otherwise get handsy with Dita’s newfound girth, and even if she herself kind of liked the fresh angle it added to their after hour escapades, the ex-doctor knew all too well that it didn’t contribute to the overall quality of her life. That, and soon she began suspecting that this might actually have been the true reason the cult was still offering them unlimited quantities of free food. Why, though? There was no answer. Only guesses, each wilder than the last. Summer, on the other hand, didn’t even bother trying to restrain herself when it came to food. Surely, as the time went on, she more or less stopped stuffing herself senseless at every given opportunity, but the amounts she habitually consumed could’ve hardly be deemed as healthy. By Dita’s estimate, her lover must have been near four hundred, if not more already. The stark difference in girls’ height meant that their width was more or less same – but if the ex-doctor’s body was spreading the creamy flab more or less equally, the ex-ganger’s was most affected in its lower half, transforming the buxom beauty into a distinct pear. Sure, her face became meatier, but it was spared the rest of the damage. Summer’s boobs hardly grew at all – maybe half a cup, for a single size was already stretching it. Her midsection might have developed from a barely noticeable potbelly to a drooping slab of fat hanging low enough to conceal her flabby crotch, yet compared to Dita’s meaty protrusions, it somehow remained surprisingly flat as well. But further down? Further down were her impossibly wide hips, the wobbly pillars of her leech-shaped, roll-broken thighs, and the dump truck of her ass, square-ish buttocks so immense their outline was almost visible from the front. Needless to say, having her lard-pumped legs chafe hard almost all the way to her knees hampered Summer’s mobility – and yet, for some reason, the ex-ganger didn’t seem to care at all, as if it was how it was meant to be… But as long as she could walk, they could escape – and that was the only thing that mattered. Granted, they both only vaguely remembered their way in. Granted, most of their plans revolved around figuring things out on the fly. But at least they have managed to covertly amass what they believed was a reasonable amount of ‘less susceptible’ food underneath their mattresses, and they managed to nick and properly sharpen some of the cutlery. Yes, traversing the underhive without a loaded gun and a lot of spare ammo might have been a dubious affair at best – but having at least some stabby bits was still infinitely better than walking out there with bare fists alone. At least they both realized that ‘you may go whenever you want’ were empty words – and they were not going to tempt their fates by trying to make the cult simply let them out. And so, the day came. They both had very light diners. They both went to their beds. They waited until everyone was fast asleep, and waited for an hour more to make sure they were safe. Then, they overturned their mattresses, wrapped their nourishments into the sheets, took the blankets, and armed themselves with extra-sharpened forks. Summer went out the bedchambers first – and when Dita heard her faintly whisper ‘clear’, she cautiously stepped through the dark doorway… …and then she woke up. On her bed, about five minutes earlier than she had to, feeling disoriented, tired and uncomfortably bloated, her already unruly stomach churning something fierce, begging her to deliver it from the built-up gas. Turning over, the ex-doctor carefully snaked her hand underneath the mattress of her bed. The stale, dried-up food was still there. Trying her best not to wake anyone up, Dita carefully shuffled to the lavatory, clicked the door behind her close, unclenched her butt and let out a long, booming, cheek-clattering fart. For a fleeting moment of time, she felt good.

>>2771 “Oh, come… bhrrf… on!” a familiar, if still sleepy voice suddenly rang from one of the stalls. “Summer?” shaking the dreamy look off her face, the ex-doctor inquired. “Yeah! Who the frakk else?” the ex-ganger peered from the nearest booth. “Oh. Up early today, love? Too eager to bail at last?” “We were supposed to ‘bail’ last night,” Dita replied somewhat coldly, crossing her arms. Not the brightest of her decisions. Even if it was but a fleeting bit of extra pressure, even if it was applied through generous cushioning, it wasn’t taken lightly by her angrily churning stomach, prompting a nasty, wet ‘BOORLPH!’ to come out of her throat. “Oh yeah? Didn’t you say ‘let’s knock ourselves out, tomorrow we bail’ yesterday? And didn’t you too let yourself go wild ‘just this once’ during dinnertime? The frakk you even talking about, ‘we were supposed’?” Though Dita’s expression and posture remained mostly unchanged, she could feel a rush of cold run down her spine. “Just asking… and please bear with me… what exactly happened between us during dinner – and after that?” “You’re acting weird, Ditz.” “Please, just… nnhgh… pfffrt!... just answer the question.” “Well…” the ex-ganger rubbed the back of her head. “We gorged like a pair of wild grox. Got so full we barely made it through the baths. Then we gave each other head and went to sleep. Why you askin’?” “I… I mean… no reason!” Dita replied through a forced smile. “I was thinking… maybe I should go first.” “Okay. That it?” “Yeah… that it.” “Cool. Now do your stuff and let’s go grab a bite to eat, ‘cause I’m… BHUURPH!... frakkin’ starving…” As it turned out, going first yielded the same results. Going together. Slowly peeking out. Crawling out on her gut. Throwing something in advance. Deciding not to go at all but leave some kind of innocuous mark. Leaving said mark without telling Summer. Always ended with her coming back to her senses feeling ungodly stuffed, with them talking inside the lavatory, and with Summer not remembering anything, re-telling the same story over, and over, and over again. For a while, Dita seriously thought she was going mad. Literally, clinically insane. That her mind could no longer cope and finally decided to give reality the finger, sealing her psyche inside a bizarre loop while her body either fell into a deadbeat coma, or was chained to a bed somewhere else, wracked in some kind of unnaturally prolonged seizure. Until a few weeks later, standing disrobed in front of a mirror, Dita realized it wasn’t the case. No, she was still in the same reality she used to inhabit for almost three decades, and the time in that reality was, in fact, still passing – no matter how mind-numbingly same her days in the cult could have been. Because in just a few short weeks, she somehow became visibly, palpably fatter, somehow packing on what seemed like at least a couple dozen pounds. Something entirely else, something extremely foul must have been behind it all. It even managed to somehow creep inside her supposedly impregnable mind, toying with her – and everyone else’s – memories. It didn’t matter who or what was pulling the strings. The only thing that mattered was escaping this madness. As fast and as far her increasingly encumbered frame would allow. And worst of all, she had to run alone. There was no sugar-coating to it, no way of going around it, and no way of making it work any other way. Leaving the love of her life to the mercy of these bald lunatics was a prospect beyond soul-crushing – yet deep down, she knew it was her only shot. If whatever vile powers behind it all could barely be held back by her Guild training, Summer was a likely lost cause, glaringly evident through repeated rewritings of her memory. No, it was the ex-doctor’s turn to be strong. To do what her self-appointed custodian couldn’t. To take the chance of waking from this nightmare. For herself – and, ultimately for her. She’d be back, Dita told herself. With a kill team of Arbites, and, her pride be damned, with no less than a hundred Medicae Guild mercs in tow. Whatever it takes, she’d have her beloved ex-gangoon back – and she’ll see this accursed place torn apart, reduced to ash, rubble, and a bunch of distant memories. Actually, screw the memories, too – after it was all over, she’d keep shooting amnesiacs up her and Summer’s veins until every single cell of their grey matter holding any information of this place dissipated for good… …but for now, she had to be careful. Very, very careful. Like they taught her, she buried the thought. Pulled on the mask. Called off the plan. Waited it out. Pretended to give in – excessive amounts of food and fiery bedtime escapades helped bury the onslaught of conflicting emotions, so that part might have actually been a bit too authentic for Dita’s likes. And then, one night, she silently rolled herself out of bed and left. As silently as her lard-laden, food-packed body would allow anyway – remnants of her ‘final supper’ still bubbling inside her, it seemed like every motion forced a bout of gas out of either of her ends. Fortunately, none of it woke up the rest of the cultists – they all were far too used to the uncouth sounds, and most of them were deep in their food comas, rows of white-draped bloated guts rising and falling in waves across the darkness of their shared bedchambers. Surprisingly, she managed to shuffle her wobbling heft past the doorway without having another lapse of memory. Crossing into the empty commons and arming herself with an orb-tipped metal staff left behind by one of the ‘pureborn’, Dita slowly approached the only unexplored passage – one that bald lunatics themselves came from in the mornings and retreated to at nights. Surprisingly, it wasn’t locked. The room behind the door was akin to a changing room – and, fortunately, it was empty. But once the ex-doctor carefully stepped in, ominous silence disturbed only with her somewhat heavy breathing and by a quick, muffled ‘pffrt’ treacherously escaping her quivering buttocks, she suddenly realized the place she ended up in was entirely different – yet so intimately familiar. Her old clinic. A small room inside the burnt-out section of a low-income hab-block the Houses and the Guilds never bothered to reclaim and restore. Ten decks of blackened, soot-covered rockrete, festering with every flavor of undesirables – and her, their uncrowned queen in blood-stained whites. Some freshly-stitched gangoon passed out on the table – his friends were supposed to come in an hour. Smell of chlorine thick in the air – she just finished mopping the floor. The whirring of grav-cleanser. The hissing of jury-rigged autoclave. Digital clock flashing ‘13:49’. She knew exactly was going to happen next. But the squad of riot-kit Administratum enforcers never came. Instead, out of thin air appeared a creature – a massive, four-armed alien creature, wrinkled lilac skin encased in spiked, pale-cyan carapace, triplets of fingers ending in thick, razor-sharp claws, tiny deep-set eyes burning with ghostly yellow flame. “STUBBORN ONE,” a voice, deep and reverberating, hit Dita’s ears like a flashbang grenade, despite the monster’s jowls remaining perfectly still. The only reasonable thing Dita could do was run – which she did, immediately. The ex-doctor didn’t know why there was no wall behind her, why the building was empty, or why there were no people on the streets at all – if there was time for such questions, it certainly wasn’t now. She simply ran like never before in her life – flab slapping against flab, sweat soaking her robes, lungs begging for air, joints begging for rest, gusts of foul gas erupting from her behind, mind awash in adrenal high. Adernal high that could only last her for so long. Completely exhausted, about to pass out, she used the remainder of her waning strength to ram her flabby frame into the first door her blurry vision could pick. The shoddy polymer yielded – but unfortunately, it also threw her off balance, while not slowing her down enough. Completely unused to her new center of gravity, the overfed ex-doctor immediately toppled over, falling onto the floor with a loud ‘SMACK!’. At least she managed to throw her meaty arm ahead, merely scraping the skin instead of planting face-first into the tiles. The door. She had to barricade the door. She had to get up. Get up! But the creature was already there. Towering over her pathetic, helpless, fatigued, sweat-soaked, blubbery frame. “YOU RESIST,” the voice taunted as the creature stepped over her, heading towards one of the many storage shelves standing by the wall. “IN VAIN.” “GET… huff… THE FUCK… gasp… OUT OF MY… haah… HEAD!” she screamed at the top of her barely recovering lungs. “YOUR MIND, OURS. YOUR FLESH, OURS. YOU OFFERED. WE TOOK.” “I didn’t-“ And then, sudden realization nearly made Dita’s struggling heart skip a beat.

>>2772 The deal. Among many dumb decisions the ex-doctor made in her life, letting a bunch of religious nutjobs residing at the ass end of the underhive perform any manipulations on her unconscious body was the dumbest. The cultists must have implanted her – Summer, and everyone else – with something. Brain-altering tech, cerebral parasites, chem-glands – didn’t matter. Didn’t matter where or how some obscure underhive cult got their hands on these kinds of stuff, either. Guild conditioning neutered most of ‘mundane’ and psychic aspects of Church’s indoctrination, but it was powerless against the more direct approaches – that’s what mattered. She too was a lost cause, and she had been a lost cause ever since. Maybe slightly less lost than the rest, but again, it didn’t matter. “Wh…what do you want from me? From Summer? From… others?” Dita stammered nervously, fear and despair gripping at her tongue. Then, an instantly familiar smell of grilled meats reached her nostrils. The creature returned – carrying platters loaded with her favorite meat-and-cheese sandwiches in three of its limbs. Kneeling beside the ex-doctor, it used the fourth to gently put the warm delight into her own chubby hand. “OUR GIFT. CONSUME.” She tried to object, but it was no use. Her very body was not her own anymore. Once her hand delivered the grease-dripping morsel to her mouth, all she could do was bite, chew and swallow. One, two, three… before long, she was double-fisting the sandwiches into her mouth, barely given any time to swallow before her teeth dove into the bread and the meat again. As familiar churning beneath the layers of creamy flab began anew, her puppeteer didn’t relent – winning an occasional moment of respite to let out a desperate, wet, raspy belch, the rest she was forced to swallow, making her stomach bulge outwards even faster. “GROW. RIPEN.” Another familiar sensation added to the pile – that of discomforting, groggy fullness, yet her hands kept bringing more and more food to her mouth, and her mouth kept pushing more and more of half-chewed chunks into her straining gut, the boulder of digesting calories pressing more and more gusts of gas to erupt from her squished buttocks. But even as that discomfort began transforming into the all-too-familiar pain, even as her lungs and vocal cords began contorting with sounds of agony, there was no end in sight. A cake, white, soft and sinfully sweet, torn apart handful by handful, mercilessly crammed down her throat, until it was no more. Alas, that wasn’t the end of it. A break that barely lasted for a few miserable, painful minutes was cut short by the creature putting a heavy jug in Dita’s trembling, tired, food-smeared hands. Warm, thick, semi-sweet liquid quickly filled whatever tiny pockets of space remained in her monstrously overloaded gut, somehow stretching the aching flesh even further. Very soon, the only thing her mind could at this point was beg the unknown entity to stop – tears rolling down her bulging, sauce-stained cheeks, each strained gulp making the pain ever more intense, a thought that each new mouthful bringing her ever closer to literally exploding in a fountain of gore and barely digested goop quickly draining her soul of whatever meek hopes she still clung onto. And only when her ungodly overstuffed stomach reached its absolute limits, the spell suddenly broke. Doughy arms finally falling limp at her unbearably bloated sides, unintelligible mix of moans, groans and gasps escaping her lips as she fought for each shallow gulp of air, she just lay there, bits and pieces of a sloppy midnight feast falling off the reddened surface of her heaving midsection. “FULFILL PURPOSE.” For a while, nothing of note happened. The monster seemed to disappear as well. Then, she felt something – someone – grope at her flabby thighs. Even if Dita could use whatever bits of strength still left in her to crane her neck, it was no use – the boulder of her gut blocked that angle for good, and the impossible load of food inside it made a prospect of actually hoisting herself any further up null and void. Not that she really needed to – it certainly wasn’t the creature, for she knew that touch all too damn well. The rugged texture of the skin, the slightly-not-so-subtle motions, the caring but commanding patterns. The scar on that tongue. Couldn’t have been a figment of imagination. Was it the eldritch creature toying with her mind again? Or was it actually her Lucky Summer? Was it Summer all along – and the monster was the last attempt of her caving psyche to prevent her from realizing the truth? Alas, once these rough hands hoisted her aching gut up and that scarred tongue plunged into her pubes, the wave of acute pain mixed into the rush of unwarranted pleasure quickly disrupted any remaining coherence of her thought. She tried to resist it. She failed. Summer’s ganger instincts didn’t save them. Neither did her preternatural luck. If anything, it was her luck and her instincts that led them here. Dita’s own wealth of knowledge didn’t save them. She should have known better – and she didn’t. Too late. All too late. No escaping off this gilded cage. Not when the bald weirdos – and whatever pulled their strings – took residence inside their very minds. And all she could do was lay there spread-eagle, still fighting for each pathetic gulp of air, pinned down by the heaping mountain of her desperately churning stomach, glazed eyes staring aimlessly at the ceiling while someone she assumed was the love of her life ate her womanhood out like tomorrow never comes. Her orgasm came soon. It didn’t exactly pierce through the shell-shocked haze, but she could enjoy it. Then, in came the bald weirdos. Scooped the pile of her off the floor. Wheeled her to the baths. Washed her limp body. Draped it in new robes. Brought her back to the bedchambers. Eased her on the bed. But before they left, the portly priestess knelt before the horrendously bloated, utterly defeated woman. “The Lilac Angel chose you,” she whispered, giving Dita’s heaving gut a tender pat. “Submit to will, and you shall be rewarded thousandfold. Betray your divine purpose, and you shall learn the true meaning of retribution… but now, sleep…” And then, Dita woke up again. For some reason, she didn’t feel like it was the first time. CHAPTER IV +NOT MUCH BETWEEN DESPAIR AND ECSTASY+ For a while, Summer took the sudden change of her soulmate’s MO for some kind of clever ruse. Some kind of ploy aimed to make the bald nutjobs drop their guard. Part of the plan she was supposed to play along to – which she did, no questions asked. After all, Ditz was supposed to be the smart one. Maybe she was meant to be the fat one, too – with each passing day, the ex-doctor was positively blimping up, likely stocking up the calories for the long and arduous journey ahead. And though it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, the days kept passing by – but no call was given. Worst of all, she recognized the look on Dita’s face. The same look of apathy and defeat she used to wear after half-dozen plasteel-tipped boots tap-danced on her armbones. The look of ‘I have nothing left to live for, just pop me already’, so sincere it’d probably force a bout of compassion out of even the most deranged of withdrawing dopeheads. For a while, she thought it was also part of the ruse. But the days kept passing by, and the expression didn’t fade. Worst of all, it was beginning to feel authentic – balls-to-the-wall, knife-to-a-throat, gun-to-the-head authentic. “Talk to me, Ditz,” Summer whispered through a forced smile, sharply jabbing her considerably softened elbow into her girlfriend’s much softer flank roll in the middle of one of their lunchtimes. “What’s cracking?” “Nothing,” Dita replied apathetically, glazed gaze remaining dead ahead. “The less we talk, the better.” “Something ain’t right?” Still not turning her head, the ex-doctor blinked, flutter of her eyelids simultaneously innocuous and forced. Then, she blinked again. And again. And again. One for ‘we’re screwed’. Two for ‘we’re royally screwed’. Three for ‘frakked up beyond any recognition’. Four, they never agreed upon, but it probably went along the lines of ‘we’re already dead, just don’t know it yet’. But fifth? What even could have been the fifth? Yet the tears at the corners of her eyes made it authentic. “BaAURPH! ‘Scuse me… it’s that bad?” “Yes.” “Can I help?” “No.” “Can we talk it out?” “Morning. Lavatory. Furthest stand.” “Honey, I don’t think we’ll fit in there together.” “Don’t care. Need… nngh… PBRRRT!... need to see you eye to eye.”

>>2773 They fit. Barely. Still groggy from last night’s sleep, they stood there. Well, Summer stood – ex-ganger’s bulbous behind barely allowing the door to click behind it. Gut squished against gut. Hips squished against walls. Eyes locked against eyes. Stomachs churning angrily, too. Empty or full, it didn’t seem to matter anymore – rudely awakened by the awkward commotion, the girls’ insides were already in full boil, bubbling with way more gas either of them could contain within. At least it provided some sound masking to their conversation. “We ain’t bailing?” Summer inquired. “We ain’t,” Dita replied, trying her best to maintain the cold, detached tone. “We can’t. There’s no way out – not anym…hic-mBRRPH!... not anymore.” “The fuck you mean, ‘no way out’? I bailed from a gang. You bailed from a Guild. Both were supposed to be impossible to jump, but here we… phrrft… are. So why can’t we bail some lame-ass cult?” “Because we tried. Eleven times noOURP!... now – at least I remember eleven. Then I tried to run alone. Summer, it’s not ‘some lame-ass cult’. Whoever they are, whoever or whatever really runs this place… it’s already in our heads. Your memory, they just rewrite on a whim. Mine… oogh… PBRRT!... they can’t – not completely, anyway. But they still can fiddle with my head – a lot.” “Some psychic shit? Witchcraft?” “Not entirely. I’d say it’s a part… hic-bhrrf… but it’s not the only thing at play here. They put something inside us. Probably during artificial impregnation, or…” “Can you find it, then? Cut it… FRRT!... out?” “Seen any diagnostors laying around?” Dita sighed. “MRI or X-ray machines? There are no scars to tell where to cut – believe me, I’ve looked. If it’s literally inside our heads now, there’s no way I’m pulling it out with a butter knife. Can’t operate myself, either.” “Well, fuUURP!... fuck,” the ex-ganger wanted to spit onto the floor, but there was no place for it to land except their smushed adipose. “Five blinks… did you, by chance, learn anything about their real plans?” “That Lilac Angel thing they keep gushing about – it’s real. Don’t know if it’s some kind of super-twist, a bona fide xeno, or something even worse – but it’s real, I’ve seen it, and let me tell you, these nutjobs omit a lot of details. Besides that… for all I know, it wants us to eat and fuck,” the ex-doctor stated rather matter-of-factly. “And to grow even bigger than we already...” “Know what my pops used to say?” “From what I can gather, slamming a fat line of stimm made him say a lot.” “No, honey. He was sober that day. Clean and frakkin’ serene. ‘We have each other, and that’s a lot.’ Told me to always remember that. Before whooping my ass like usual.” “Did you… hnng… not hear everything that I’ve just… oogh… said? Summer, wake the fuck up!” Dita’s hushed voice was crackling, tears already rolling down her cheeks as she fought to keep a particularly violent release of gas inside her. “Because if you didn’t notice, we’re in some real deep shit with no way out, and the only thing that comes to your mind is some…” “Ditz,” the taller woman sighed, putting a hand on her girlfriend’s soft shoulder. “Some gunfights, you just don’t win. Every juvenile dipshit loading their first stubgun for their first job knows that already. You high-ballers like to think you’ll live forever…” ‘GROOO’, went Dita’s stomach. ‘PBHRRRRT!’, went her buttocks, blasting away whatever remnants of cool she still tried to hang onto. ‘BWUURRP!’ went her mouth, no longer held by the strands of her waning willpower. For a moment, she just sat there, eyes unfocused, wet eyelids blinking aimlessly, mind desperately clinging to that fleeting moment of blissful relief that kept it from breaking outright. “You still there?” The ex-doctor nodded apathetically. “So I was saying… we gangers know only one in a hundred makes it past twenty. Everyone I knew back when I was sixteen? Two years later, half were gone. Two more, and I could count all who’s left with my one hand. Right now, it’s just me and Klaas – if the posh fuck isn’t cheating Big E at heaven’s poker table already. Case and point, I’ve seen them all go – only a handful got an actual easy way out, like we…” “Are you’re out of your fucking mind? Just how the fuck is ALL THIS an ‘easy way out’?” “Beats being put through a trash grinder, that’s for sure. Or losing it all to chem-cut obscura. Or slowly rotting away from mistreated wounds. Or being… brrph… caught in a whitefire blast. Or drowning in your own blood from three jacketed hollow-points in your chest. Or being popped in the head by your own adoptive daughter while your entire crew just stands there, watching. We… erm, Doc, can someone actually get too fucking fat to live?” “Wha… uh, yes, one indeed can.” “Then I’ll know I died doing what I loved. For a bailed gangoon who’s been on borrowed time for years, I say it’s not a bad way to go. Not that I have anything left to come back to anyway… nah, the only thing I want to come back to sits right here, skin against my skin, losing her shit about the life she’d never have again. Ditz, we still have each other, and that’s a lot. Baldies and that mutie-xeno-whatever-thing? Frakk ‘em all. Let’s make whatever’s left of our wacky ride worth it – together. What say you?” “Summer…” bawling her eyes out, the ex-doctor slowly rose from her impromptu throne, immediately crashing into the love of her life for a heavy, desperate hug, hands barely closing behind the ex-ganger’s back. “I don’t wanna di-i-i-ie!... Not like thi-i-i-s!...” “Nobody wants,” Summer readily accepted the embrace, letting her lover’s tear-wet face tuck into the pillow of her shoulder. “Everybody does, eventually. ‘Cept for Big E, and even He got pretty close for what I’ve heard. Own it, girl! You die only once, so own the shit out of it! Oh, and… let’s go grab a bite to eat already – it’ll cheer you up, and I’ve running on empty long enough…” Alas, food didn’t particularly ‘cheer’ Dita up that day. Neither it did on the next day, or throughout the rest of the week. Neither did sex – despite the ex-ganger repeatedly going out of her way and then some, the ex-doctor simply couldn’t enjoy it like she used to. It wasn’t about realizing her mortality. Like any half-decent Medicae, she learned to let go. It wasn’t really about the cult, either – all things considered, the premise could have been far worse. Instead, it was about not fully knowing what was and wasn’t real anymore. Was it really Summer she talked to in that cramped stall? Was their conversation real? Were Summer’s words really hers? Sure, it seemed sensible and authentic enough, coming from someone as jaded and cynical as the ex-ganger. Wasn’t she a bit too quick to give up, though? Or maybe a bit too wise with her words? Was everything else – everything that transpired after them passing that arch of mauve-painted stone – real, too? Or was it all just figments of her waning mind, a desperate last-ditch defense her conditioning put up to protect her from even more terrifying truth? There were no answers. Only more, and more, and even more questions. Questions that were quickly driving Dita mad with utter uncertainty and ill-understood fear. And the only things available to her that managed to more or less keep the mounting distress at bay were stuffing herself senseless at every meal and indulging in the joys of flesh whenever the opportunity arose. Which she did. A bit too intently than she wanted to admit. At least it felt real enough. The fuzzy abyss of food comas she slipped into to the tune of preachers’ droning. The fleeting bouts of blissful relief whenever a bassy ‘BRUUURP!’ sent her round cheeks wobbling or a trumpeting ‘PFRRRRT!’ made the creamy spread of her buttocks ripple. Summer – if she wasn’t just a construct of her ailing psyche – felt authentic enough as well. The consequences felt real, too. Stress-eating might have been something largely unheard of in the hive, yet that was exactly what she was doing. It caught up to her rather quickly – hardly surprising, considering how hard she tried to drown her existential dread in unending stream of quickly-digested calories. While still sagging to the grip of gravity, Dita’s excess also began quickly puffing outwards, into a collection of succulent rings of flesh bunching atop one another, deceptively dense vessels of pale, stretchmark-adorned skin continuously pumped with utterly toneless, quivering adipose. Swollen cheeks conjoined in a meaty loop of a double chin. A growing tire of neck roll bulging underneath. Arms, two-stage tubs of thick blubber, wrists swallowed by cherubic rolls. Same about her legs – twin creamy pillows of thighs bulging with rolls cascading into slightly less thick calve cones, flaps of shin fat descending onto her visibly swollen feet. Boobs, well on their way to surpass her head in circumference and heft, only slightly deflated, supported by the upper roll of her midsection and somewhat counter-balanced by the twin saddle bags of flab dangling behind her. Thrice-creased burgeoning boulder of a gut, only slightly wider at the bottom, a thick slab of lard up top hanging like a cliff over the vertically split collection of quivering adipose further below, teardrop-shaped flaps at its hem slapping her legs nearly halfway down her knees.

>>2774 Summer had it… weirder, in a way. Somehow, her face was still spared most of the damage. Her arms, though having grown visibly thicker, were still nowhere near becoming the ham-hocks her lover carried. While the ex-ganger was still supremely bottom-heavy, propped up with legs so ripe with blubber they resembled a pair of immensely bloated, roll-ridden leeches and boasting a grotesquely oversized shelf of an ass that spanned itself across two, if not three regular-sized seats, its dense flab creeping its way up her back as well, her form somewhat evened itself out – in a rather unorthodox fashion. Robed, she appeared to retain her pear-shaped outline – a considerably larger outline, sure, but the general shape remained, the only exception being the vague contours of reason-defyingly immense mammaries protruding through the fabric, sagging almost to a level of her navel. In reality, her boobs had barely gone up a size. It was the massive roll of belly flesh they rested upon that peered through her robes – an overripe outgrowth of nigh-shapeless flab that made the topside of her apron-like gut, a bizarrely top-heavy wedge-like waterfall of flesh trickling down almost to her sunken knees. Heavy. Cumbersome. Jiggling, wobbling and swaying incessantly. Yielding, but only to a certain degree. Constantly sweating, too. Kicking the breath out of both girls during their brief moments of movement. In that regard, Summer had it worse – shuffling those lard-laden pillars around was getting excruciatingly hard, and it certainly wasn’t getting any easier. Was it bad, though? For some reason, neither of the girls could call it that. Unlike many other things they had to contend with – like being trapped in a cult run by some four-armed mind-invading entity – it certainly had its upsides. It felt nice to the touch. It was oddly captivating to play with – or having it played with. It was surprisingly sensitive, too – to other’s touch, especially. And it too helped Dita’s tormented mind achieve a degree of peace – even as rendered her increasingly helpless, it made the beleaguered ex-doctor feel safer, more protected from the horrors of the world around, more… complete. The sex was somehow getting better than ever as well. Even if self-relief was steadily becoming a job increasingly tricky to pull and the intercourse itself was starting to feel a bit too heavy on their increasingly buried muscles, the knowledge that they now had no option but to rely on each other for scratching that particular itch only sweetened the ride. And the fiery foreplay – the groping, the squeezing, the pinching, the licking, the jiggling – sweetened it tenfold. So maybe it was real. It must have been, at least in large part. An illusion this authentic was hard enough to create as it is. But to seamlessly maintain it for what felt like years? Xeno magics or Warp fiddlery, Dita didn’t think it was actually possible. And so, gradually, she accepted it. All of it. Wherever it was going to take her and Summer, it didn’t matter. They had each other, and that was a lot – both metaphorically and literally. When they reached a point where even getting off their immensely overfed asses required quite a lot of assistance – which, frankly, didn’t take all that long – the cult had moved them to a different place. It must have been the ancient machine’s cargo hold – except instead of cargo, there were two orderly rows of impossibly obese women half-laying by the walls, ramshackle machinery pumping a yellowish-while liquid through the hoses put inside their mouths. Some of them didn’t even resemble human beings anymore – heaps of stretchmark-ridden, sweat-drenched, sickly-pale quivering flesh that spread far past their overgrown, useless, immobilized appendages, half-melted heads buried between towering guts and mountainous ass-cheeks, tubes hanging from the ceiling remaining the only indications where their distorted faces were supposed to still be. First couple of weeks in there were an utter torture. As it turned out, what felt like years of wanton indulgence couldn’t prepare Dita and Summer for the onslaught of the feeding machinery – cold and uncaring, not relenting until they were pumped with sickly-sweet goop within the inches of their lives. At least there were people to help them slip into glutted coma – ‘people’ being the loose term, for these hunched, multi-limbed, chitin-fused creatures bore little semblance to human beings as well. At least they put those additional appendages to good use – hideous exteriors aside, their handling of the girls’ utterly stuffed bodied not only eased the pain, but soon became a source of immense pleasure as well, vibrations and undulations penetrating into their gelatinous bulk deep enough to trigger a well-nurtured response. They got used to it. The pain. The relief. The cycle of eating and sleeping. The sight of the horde of creatures wheeling away another heap of lard barely contained within the ailing skin, bald preacher waiving a censer and humming some unintelligible rites behind. The way their boobs and guts crept further and further into view, blocking off more and more of their sight. The feeling of sinking deeper and deeper into their own utterly helpless bodies. The mounting difficulty of breathing. The increasingly loud thumping of their hearts. Adipose from their foreheads putting more pressure onto their eyelids… Then, many eternities later, the hoses were yanked out from their swollen, puckered lips. Then, there here were hands – many hands digging into their gelatinous adipose. Lifting them off the floor. Placing them on cold metal. There was rattling of the wheels. Smell of incense. Hands again. Walls brushing against their flanks – many feet further than their overgrown arms could reach. Hoses being put back into their mouths. Wherever they were in, it was moving – tilting, shaking… flying? Then, for a veritable while, Dita and Summer were no longer pinned down by their bulk – absence of gravity was a strange sensation, but they did enjoy it while it lasted. Last thing both girls felt was something wet and fleshy dig through their hair. Something resembling a tongue. Something that very soon thrust straight through their skulls… +EPILOGUE+ +AND THE WORLD'S YOUR OYSTER+ “Wake the fuck up, Summer… we have a hive city to cleanse.” “Wasn’t sleeping,” smiling viciously, a bald woman with Summer’s face and a barely noticeable mauve pallor to her skin sprung from the bunk, reaching for a lush blonde wig with acid-green strands. “Reminiscing, more like.” Having their brains quite literally sucked out of their heads was not the end of them. At least, not in the way regular humans like to think their lives end. Instead, it was like being wrapped in a tight cocoon hanging in the middle of a Galaxy-wide, three-dimensional spiderweb. And the further across that web their minds reached, the more sense it all made. The sermon of the Church of Final Harvest wasn’t just a bunch of gibberish peppered with fancy quotes. Every single word of it carried more meaning than anything else in this Galaxy and beyond could convey. It was just that a human mind – or any separate mind trapped within the walls of the self – couldn't understand it. And the further their minds reached out, the further it reached into them. The Universal Family. A singular organism spanning the web of stars. Bound through perfection of its genes. United in its transcendent purpose. Powerful beyond the sum of its parts. Directed by its genetic destiny. When Summer and Dita flicked their eyes open, they were no longer alone. They didn’t just have each other – they woke up in a loving family of a billion brethren, each ready to put their lives on the line for them just like the two were ready to put theirs. There was no more fear, no more uncertainty, no more doubt. There was only purpose – purpose that the Lilac Angel, the envoy of the Gods, gave them. “You sure you wanna open that clinic again, honey?” smirking, the reborn ganger poured herself some recaf, taking a seat at the tiny folding table. “If the Guild sends muscle…” “Then I’ll have myself a dozen strong, obedient aberrants,” the reborn doctor stated rather matter-of-factly, nodding towards the elegant-looking needle pistol loaded with vial of dark-green slime. “Besides, I’d bet their mauls will break before my new bones do.” “Uh-huh. I thought I was supposed to be a cutthroat bitch here, you know.” “And what are you going to do, Miss Cutthroat Bitch? Join a gang? Help the Family get some decent iron beyond milsurp crap?” “Nah. Heard Water Guild’s hiring. Also heard you’d like to have someone with access to major plumbing once push comes the shove.” “Once I improve the gene-agent. Gonna take a lot of bleeding gangoons to experiment upon, though…” “Say… maybe we do a couple side hustles, book a ticket, and skip this world? Start our own Church thing a dozen light years away, with blackjack and hookers and all that?” “Sounds like a half-decent plan, but no… not before I see this fucking city burn to the fucking ground. Then, we bail. Shouldn’t take too long… will you stick around for me, babe?” “When did I not stick around for you, babe?” hybrid Summer smiled, fixing the artificial hair in place. “Death didn’t do us part. What chances does some Final Harvest stand?” When they left their tiny, recaf-reeking pod to carry Lilac Angel’s bidding, they left a small boom-box tuned to a plain and boring vox-station turned on. And when the bent door slid shut, its clattering grill began whispering a song from a different world, from many centuries and parsecs away. An old song, one of sorrow and regret, but also one of love – too true and too pure for this wretched world. “…he said, "Give me your loss and your sorrow", I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed "If I show you the roses will you follow?...”

And that's all I have for today, folks. Took surprisingly little time to write. But then again, not much effort went into that moronic attempt at Lovecraftian horror. Especially since a lot of ideas were already formulated for me by a fellow on Discord. Apologies for excessive, at times shoehorned gassiness, that's what the guy who requested it wanted.

That sororitas story is chef kiss.

>>2779 Glad to appease. There is more to it, and I shall post it when I have time to actually write the damn thing.

>>2781 That's good to hear. You got a nice introduction, you got the ball rolling, and your descriptions are just sublime. Take the time you need, and make it truly great.

Hey! Frist Time I ever posted on here. I actually bothered to stop just hoping for fetish stories and start writting my own. So I made an Age of Sigmar WG story. I know this wont appeal to eveyrone but it is Warhammer Weight Gain.

The Holy Fruit of Fatness: An AGE of SIgmar Weight Gain story Its written in the style of the story telling found in Warhammer rulebooks. In Ghyran the Dawnbringer Crusade of “Lantern Branch” set off to reclaim lost a lost sight of power, scared to the Treepeople of the Slyvaneth. The hope was the fertile grounds would also help establish a new settlement for Mortals followers of Alarielle and Sigmar. The myths where the trees could grow a fruit whose juices would wash away the foul taint of chaos in anyone who ate them, Along with the Mortal leaders was a Band of Slyvaneth Lead by branch Wych Dar'lor. And a contingent of Stormcast of the Hallowed Knights. Veterans of the Blightwars and lead by the Gallant and Brave, Knight Arcanium, Aadya, Stouthearted. Renown for her devotion to the Goddess Allarielle and her Power magical presence. As the Crusade headed deep further away they would eventually find the ancient grove they sort. However, the Grove had been infected by the forces of Nurgle. Using the sap of the trees to empower their tainted abilities. Only one tree remained untainted resisting the corruption woith Power and branch. Even so, the Slyvaneth confirmed the tree was fading. Exhausted from the long journey and outnumbered four to one. Many wished to turn back, in shame but alive to the ogin city. Knight Aadya grew furious at this and gave a rousing speech. Insisting the forces for the Crusade attack whilst the Maggotkin were distracted. For not only could they try to save the scared site but if the forces of Nurgle were allowed to harness its power they would be empowered and would pursue them regardless right back to their home city. The choice was made. Leaving the civilians behind in safety. Forces of Order attacked catching the Maggotkin off guard. With ferocity and devotion empowering them. The army of order cut a great swath into the Maggotkin Horde and made their way to the last Great tree. With Lighting bolts, slashing thorns, and desperate blows they formed a circle around the Giant tree and drove back the Nurglelite filth. However, before the forces of Nurgle broke ground started to shudder and writhe. Then popping out of the ground like a great boil rose a Greater demon of Nurgle. A Great Unclean One. Infused with the power of the corrupted sap. The hellish she-demon rampaged and rolled over the Human, Aelf and Slyvaneth alike. Nearly losing hope Knight Aadya felt the winds of magic pick up. Almost as if guided by the Everqueen's hand she looked up and saw the last Tree bore a single fruit. A Great peach fruit hung to form a branch. Its skin was unblemished and it had swollen to massive size with cleansing juices. As Knight Arncaium looked at it the fruit fell from its branch and was caught by the BranchWhych Dar'lor. She looked hopefully at the fruit blessing it with some powers of her own and handed it to Ayada. Saying she must embrace the great burden and swell with Allarielle's Boon. Aadya looked hungrily upon the fruit and opening her mouth wide, took a great bite of the juicy peach. Some recall how Adaya's eyes became aflame with holy energy as she devoured the rest of the fruit much to the bewilderment of those around her and the delight of Dar'lor. Eyes opened wide as she even Gulped down the great seed sending a great bulge down her throat and into her silver amour. She soon finished the whole fruit leaving nothing but the juices that she suckled gleefully off her armoured gauntlets. Then was a great rumble. The Forces of Order thought their end had come and as a new monster would emerge from under the great tree itself. Instead, those that turned around realised it was the gurgle and rumble of Knight Adaya's belly. And Watched in awe as the Knight's face slowly began to buff with fat. Going from hard and fierce to rounder and softer even gaining a second chin. The changes to the rest of her body contained within her Sigmarite armour until. "Crack!" In a thunderous blast of Energy, her fattening body burst out of her amour. sending it flying in all directions. As if guided by Sigamr's hand the Lighting bolt fast pieces of armour missed the Forces of Order and scythed into the ranks of Demon and Corrupted mortals. Freed from her amour all could see that the Adaya's body was fattening like a hearty winter vegetable. She was being filled with cleansing energy that was turning into purifying layers of fat.. There was great sloshing as holy juices also filled breasts causing them to expand. Great holy energy was stored within her lower half as her buttocks and tighs grew in size. Buttocks swelling with cushioning fat. Her tighs like great treetrunks growing close together and leaving no light between them,. As the source of the cleansing energy, her stomach grew the greatest in size and softness. Once hard muscular abs had turned into a great apron of fat that still swelled and expanded. It was when Adaya as wide as 4 men across that she started to grow upwards like a young tree. Soon she was towering above friend and foe. Swelling larger and larger. The fighting came to a stop and Demon and Human, Slyvaneth and Aelf turned in awe at the great sight. Despite her initial shock. Adaya trend her rounded and much-chinned head towards her foe. Now at the same monstrous heigh6t as the Greater demon of Nurgle and probably even heavier. The two mighty paragons looked eyes. With a great roar, that was somewhere between Laughter and Rage the Great hill of disease threw herself at the Mountain of Holy Fat. Knight Adaya#s entire body began to jiggle and wobble as she took a ground-shaking step forward. Despite her stomach dragging along the ground and her legs swollen with fat, Adaya soon picked up the pace and surged forward as aHoly fatty avalanche. The Smaller combatants around the two behemoths Scattered. Forgetting their own fights to escape from the clash of Titans. But because of the sheer size, many were caught in their path. The Great Unclean one Crushed all behemoth her bulk, friend and foe. Leaving only an unpleasant smear. Whilst those caught under Adaya's titanic body were spared. The followers of Order were not squashed into energy like Maggotkin were. It felt as if there were held down by a great soft mass that spared their lives, errant magical energy even leaping from Adaya's flesh and healing wounds and curing sickness. As the Corpulent Bulk of Nurgle raised her mighty sword. The Holy mountain of Adaya grasped her hands together, as best she could over her titanic breast. With a pray to Allarielle and Sigmar, unleash a Sheer torrent of Holy light and empower vines. Consuming the Great demon of Nurgle in blinding light and horrific gargled scream. As the great light faded a great cloud of dead leaves blew over the forces of Nurgle. The purified remains fluttered and landed amongst the corrupted forces burning and scolding their flesh and sending the corrupted amry fleeing. A cheer went up amongst the Forces of Order. Allarielle's chosen Champion waddled her last couple of steps before falling onto her backside, shaking the ground under her incredible weight. Exhausted from the energy spent, Adaya was barely awake as Dar'lor used her tree magic to pull herself up the Holy Fattened frame. The Branchwych, soothed the Stormcast as she stroked her red fattened face. And told her to lie down ad sleep for a bit. She had earnt a rest. Adaya jokingly insisted upon having a feast when she awoke. before slowly lying back, allowing people around her to move out of the way, and falling asleep. When Adaya awoke a week later. She found that had not shrunk and while she still had great power she could only bring herself to sit up or stand for a short time before needing to rest. Still, her Massive form emitted a holy aura around her that was slowly growing day by day. Within her presence the corruption of Nurgle was being driven back, the land was becoming fertile, animals were returning in large numbers and the trees once again began to bear fruit. Expect the oldest and largest one that bore the greatest frui6t of all. Around her, Dar'lor and other Slyvaneth began to cultivate a great temple to Allarielle with Adaya at the centre. The non-Sylvaneth began raising a new settlement around the temple. Houses were being built, land cleared for fields. Another Stormcast respectfully took the duty of active military leader now that Adyra was too large to leave her temple. Still, the community gathered around their Vast champion to pay homage to her, Throw festivals in her name and speak to her of matters of magical needs. Already food had started to grow plentiful and having enough to spare to meet Dar'lor demands. The Branchwych knew that Allarielle would want her champion well-fed and comfortable so she regains her energy. Everyday s the Wych would lay across Stormcast soft bulk, using trees to bring her large platters of food that as her dyads attended to Adaya's other needs. She would feed to the Champion of Alarelle, and talk to her about whatever the champion wished. And so each day Adaya regains more of her energy. ready should she need to rise up to battle again.

In the luxury quarters of the 'chainbreaker' was the chaotica sororita of the freed. Starting with a bunch of renegade sisters of battle and allies who wanted freedom from the imperium. And one thing for the chaotica was that due to the repression of the adeptus sororitas they picked up new, and varied, hobbies. Some where simple of painting or tattoo artists. Others more of the vein dabbling in warp stuff and summoning deamons. While thier leader, Amy Sun, had taken up stuffing herself with icecream. One of her few good memories of before the schola and sisters. Stuffing herself with various types of icecream made or stolen when ever she could. Normally with other chaotica aswell. Overtime this feasting of cool desserts caught up with her. No matter how much she fought or worked out. She would get soft and doughy on the outside. Before growing a cute chubby pot belly. And an even larger ass than she had before Dispite being embarrassed by her gut the rest of the chaotica loved teasing thier leader with pinches and gropes. Dribbling melted icecream on thier chests and cheeks and own firm tummies. Of which she would lick and kiss it from. And all of this to tell you she was in the mirrior. Getting the fibomuscle suit of her power armor on herself. Tight on her massive ass and legs and her belly peaking over as she pouted 'oh. Why does icecream need to taste so good' she said to herself getting it up. Sucking and pushing her gut in and pulling the fibo muscle up and got it on. Still pushed out by her tummy 'i may need to get this resized. Again' she said sighing as her belly gurgled and glorped 'oh no' she said 'no no. Not now' she said trying to pull the suit off as she let out a messy urrrugpuuurrp from her mouth. Getting the suit to just her legs as she flopped back to the large bed. One of the sororita crawling to her 'gassy today warlady?' She teased as Amy blushed in lewd embarrassment

Any questions comments or suggestions for another vignette?

>>2884 A heretic commissar, musing on the effects her regiment turning renegade and abandoning major law and restriction has had on her daily life, and her waistline.

>>2889 I more ment for my chaos sister and her mary band. But i shall keep that in mind. Maybe of that aaid commisar and regiment joining with them

>>2891 How about this. After a string of successful raids on several agri worlds the Chaotica take some time off to hide out in a warp storm and enjoy the spoils of there success, both in food stolen or slaves taken. Over time they begin to become serious fat asses, with many even losing there mobility. Slaanesh, proud of their servants for reaching such hedonistic heights grants them numerous mutations to aid them in mobility and fighting.

After many successful raids and sackings of various agri worlds around the lardial sector the freed decided to rest within a secluded system for a time. Do some restocking and repairs apon thier ships. And test thier new loot. First it started with the celebratory feast. Amy congratulating the chaotica sororita with thier victories. The tables were laden with food and drink. By the time they where done with it all of them where stuffed. Hundreds near a thousand sisters of chaos stuffed and bloated on meats treats and sweets. Amy herself glutted over 4 gallons of thick ice cream's, shakes, and floats. But the feeding didnt stop. In the weeks to come the sororita ate and ate and ate. Thier guts and butts bloating. Thier legs and arms laden with lard. Thier chests grew. Each one in pure gluttonous lust. And the pounds and average weight grew. 200. 300. 400. 500 and it kept going. The skinniest was vasquez. The champion of the ghosts, and had the tightest set of abs, and she was over 300 pounds of thick tanned colored meat. Armor plates where forced apart. Fibomuscles strained and split. The soroita soon started becoming immobile. Thier trained muscles uselesd to move the ever growing piles of lard. Amy soon noticed this and had high oracle sapphic try to figure a solution. And so sapphic attempted a ritual. The obese blind pysker and the other tubby oracles started chanting and proforming the acts needed. Force feeding a captured slave various types of food. Muscle of a grox. Thick creamy milk. Tender pasta. And finally a gallon of liquid chaos. With an increase of heat in the room purple smoke started to pour out of the slave's body. Before darting through the doors and vents. Entering each sister. As the sisters where forced to huff the smoke their bodies huffed up and down like a pump. Muscle was being grown and densen. Making them stronger without loosing the soft meat. As some others had the fat evaporate off of them like nothing. Before feeling like they could have it come back. Meanwhile in thier armories thier armors and weapons changed. Morphing and bending and expanding to fit barrel sized guts, Fat pudgy fingers, thick milky chests and more. All of this vibrating and shaking also caused all of the sororita's gut to churn and gurgle. Finalizing with a loud concophy of belches and farts Here is another tale of the blubbery chaos sisters. Hopefully it was up to snuff. I seem to write shorter than most of the writers here. And if anyone has any more ideas they dont have to be connected to this one.

Damn I kinda want more of that Alarielle weight gain story way back in the thread Oh well But heres a story idea An Escher Gang makes a drug that they believe strengthens the person, after testing it on a captive goliath and seeing it work, they all take the drug only to realise it has a different effect on women, and they're going to need to take over the nearby corpse-starch factory to satiate the hunger they all now have from the drug...

I do not know enough about necromunda or the gangs themselves. I ment the story doesnt need to be related to the i one i just posted. But i'd like to keep it centered on amy and the choatica

>>2910 Oh no, nothing was directed at you Its just an idea posted from /trash/

My DA profile has the full Alarielle story.

>>2928 Is the Morathi part of the story also up?

The two chapters I have written are. I have terminal gets distracted brain.

>>2931 Shame, I hope you finish them some day. They were getting good

New Total War Warhammer III trailer dropped yesterday https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=033FWxL22A0 We now have a Chinese dragon waifu to feed.

Fellow 40k nerds, I've just finished writing a 40.000 word long 40k story. Forgive me for breaking the tradition, for I will not be posting it here in full like I used to, because it's going to be a HUGE PAIN. I will be posting it on DA either chapter-by-chapter or 10k words per post every couple of days. I will also be posting it to AO3 because I have it now, too. Stay tuned. It's going to be migthy magical. Oh and Westmetal, that was done based on your suggestion. The 'I loved the hospitaller who's just gone all in, would love to see her story' one.

You magnificent bastard, I'll read your book!

IT BEGINS https://www.deviantart.com/m00nliner/art/Gods-and-Monsters-40k-WG-OC-dark-part-1-892126742 https://archiveofourown.org/works/33928462

>>2968 Apologize for swallowing another pint of moonshine, but... ANY FEEDBACK, YOU ASSHATS?

I need more. More more! Let's see that hospitaller fall!

>>2968 IT ENDS https://www.deviantart.com/m00nliner/art/Gods-and-Monsters-40k-WG-OC-dark-part-4-892157953

That we superb dude.

>>2970 Time is short but I have managed to read the first chapter. Little miss spoiled princess is fun and not entirely 1 dimensional as is our slaanesshi friend. It's looking very good so far. I am most looking forward to seeing how you write this "Love" component for the good hospitler. Whether it ends in horror or something akin to "Love" is what I'll be most interested to read. I do wonder if this could be your best work, time will tell!

While the chaotica sororita was made of mostly sisters of battle turned to chaos. It didnt mean all of the sisters of battle they captured turned. But not fromack of trying. The main way was trying to break thier faith and will. There was many ways used by the various fire missions of the freed. But the most common was using them as servents or part of furniture. Mainly couches and beds. It was humiliating. It was mean. But it was semi efficient with help of corrupted hospitallers and the oracles as it occasionally worked with help. But for the more stalwart sisters. They where fed chaos infused food. Thick fatty meats. Rich sweets. Creamy and calorie dense ice cream. Even foods like Cake batter. Lard. And heavy cream. Until they turn or die. And rarely they die. One of the oldest prisoners was canoness amellia. For a few years she has been captive. First as a cuddler for a chaotica. Then as a seat in a common room. Her pudgening thighs a wonderful seat for them. But she still didnt break. And so she was fed. And fed. And fed. Her body growing and fattening like a pig. Now over an entire ton she was still not giving in. But that was fine. She was used as a bed by some chaotica. Her warm gurgling gut giving them a nice bed for when the ship's cooling systems went into overdrive. And this was one of those times. 'You damned heretics get off me. I am not a space heater!' she yelled angrily. The two fat bottomed chaos sisters giggled as they laid on her belly and chest 'whatcha gonna do about it?' One asked teasingly. Amellia tried to punch her with her heavy fist. But her overgrown hammy arms hampered that ability to uselessness. 'I'll make sure that when the emperors retribution finally gets you i shall be the killing blow' she said the same thing over and over. Granted theres only so much you can say after years of nothing happening 'oh. So you are going to smother us under your big blubbery behind?' One teased as amellia blushed in emerassment. It would feel nice to grind them under her ass. No. No! She cant let herself go to such degeneracy 'you hedonsitic sluts! No i will not crush you under my hmphorhmphomh' 'oh shut up you piggy.' One said shoving a tube of cake batter into her maw. Which amellia started suckling on against her will. Unable to help herself.

Always one hold out...

Oh yeah, Canon: The Emperor's Legion has a sister of silence find a heretic witch who's described as being obese, with fat pumped into her artificially for semi stasis transport. So, idea of sister of Battle squad who have bulked out for a long transport and come out of cryo sleep without having lost the weight...

I just want more of the fat Alarielle/Morathi story...

Just found this story about Grom the Paunch fattening the Fay Enchantress https://www.deviantart.com/twistedfantasy0/art/Grom-s-New-Recipe-wg-894096028 >>3060 Seconding this

Wow, I guess people really liked that.

>>3054 >Be Gamma minus psyker. >Come out of transit tube as basically a human flesh mold of the inside. >You catch something about a transit adipositive miscalculation, but you're more concentrating on trying to not drown in your own body. >Basically you were to be fattened up a ton and placed in semi-stasis for a multi-year trip across the galaxy to Terra, so that by the time you arrived, you'd burnt the fat off. >Instead you were fattened up to the limits of the machine's capacity, and placed in full stasis so you haven't lost a micron. >You're too big to move anything bar your plump and puffy fingers and toes. Even those have some resistance to them. Everything else, you're practically submerged in. >You're carted around by servitors. You don't get given the luxury of fitted clothing, and sometimes your flesh swaddles your head so much you look like some inhuman warp mutant. >You receive the barest minimum training in how to control your powers and not be dangerous, but then get sold off to a young highborn woman because you're too inconvenient to train. >She's just content to let your enormity spread out over a titanic gilded bed in her private quarters, a feed tube to keep your belly full, and waste tubes to allow you to remain reclined within yourself. >She doesn't give you the luxury of clothing or a bedspread for your decency, and seems utterly absorbed in fascination with your incredible size. >Her words all encourage you to eat in obscene amounts, but she's persuasive, and her blessed touch is all the action you get. >She likes watching you squirm in the throws of passion, but unable to shift your bulk to move yourself. She's been conditioning you to associate food with pleasure. It may be working.

>>3077 Yeah its good, just needs a bit more of a focus on the weight gain is all

>>3060 I too want this. Another idea I had for westmetal is a related story about the wood elves. Maybe a single, post-gain story about Ariel and the Sisters of Twilight which wrap up everything.

okay, well, in that case, I'll try for something this weekend about Morathi conducting a fat ritual...

So i have a few plot ideas(was ment to do thos before halloween but exhaustions a bitch). Vote on which you'd want - Vasquez inducting a new ghost. (contains force feeding. Teasing. And my attempt at horror/comedic horror) - a halloween/thanksgiving style feast for the freed(contains stuffing. Lots of dumb lesbain stuff. And maybe vore) - a captive sister of battle corrupted by feeding(contains weight gain. Corruption. And likely slob) 1. So a ghost is going through evaluation. And a test is to go through a dark maze before Vasquez stuffs/bloats her too much to move. 2. Kinda obvious but well its a massive feast in the spirit of halloween and thanksgiving. Lots of drunk lesbains stuffing themselves and each other. Ending with some of the higher ups scarfing down captive sisters 3. Some chaotica sororita try to corrupt a sister. Pampering and feeding her as she plumbens and her will and faith slowly wittles away

>>3208 Voting for 3

>>3208 Voting for 3 also.

>>3208 Vote for 3

Been quite a while, isn't it? Don't worry, my dudes and dudettes, I have not forgotten my 40k homies. https://www.deviantart.com/m00nliner/art/Time-To-Melt-40k-WG-OC-dark-Part-I-907438114

There is a common saying in the imperial guard, that kit comes in too sizes. Too big, or too small. In effect, this owes itself to the common standardisation of forge worlds and production blocks, each producing armours and clothes set to mean standards of the local segmentum’s average heights, masses, foot sized and bodily morphology, so that while a good forge master may account for many different sizes, the guardsman tends to only find the two. In some especially rare instances, two sizes alone may not present themselves. Often as the result of abhuman traits or particularly unique, and thereby unconsidered morphologies. One instance of such happens to be the 103rd Atachilian Reserves. A female regiment standard drawn from the ice world of Atachilia, which typically provides two other regiments per tithing due to overpopulation, with the Reserve being made up of those forces seen as unfit for combat duty. Due to cultural and environmental nature as a resource low world of biting cold and high physical exertion, members of the population have adapted to a hyper-efficiant digestive system and low metabolism. Typically, this kind of adaptation is seen as ideal in imperial forces, as soldiers can survive for longer without food, and still function to a standard, and when fed normal amounts are capable of heightened combat ability. Even the vaunted warriors of the Adeptus Astartes, boast of a similar adaptation to fuel their extremely active physiology. In less disciplined regiments however, in particular the Atachilian Reserves, this adaptation reliably results in extremely impressive displays of obesity, even for their sturdy people, once the Regiment has left the planet. Typically, this is corrected somewhat, once the Commissariat gains placement in the Regiment, though the obesity is rare to correct fully, and the resulting regiment can be deployed to moderate effect in garrison or patrol regards. However, in the case of the 103rd, the transport ship “Lockheads Whale” they were posted to had developed a shipboard culture, an occurrence common to the myriad tribes and societies located in such large bulk hauler craft, where lineages of void born may live and die and succeed each other. In this instance, the culture came with a sexual selective preference for individuals of mass or bulk, seeing them as more healthy, fertile, successful or sexually erotic. The 103rd, already spilling out of their kit, or unable to do up their uniforms over their bodies at the time, took on an almost fetishistic role to the crew of “Lockheads Whale”. Three Commissars were dispatched to the regiment, under the guidance of Commissar Perulan Devatos, whom based on his recovered log files, did not approve of the state of the guardswomen presented to him. An excerpt is presented within this summary to detail his personal opinion, but also more adequately describe the regiment. -Commissar Preulan Devatos. Memoirs. “The sight of them is an affront to the good image of his Imperial Hammer! It is almost a miracle how a bunch of women, Guardswomen no less, can be so comedically immense. They barely seem human with such heavy jowls and bloated forms and the sweat! It’s a testament to the glory of the human form that they’re still able to walk under all that bulk, though they puff and wheeze and cough and splutter for air, whining and grunting and snorting like pigs under the terrible exertion of wobbling themselves forward. They can’t even dress themselves in their own uniforms. They wear these skirts, made from strips of dyed cloth that hold enough material for a man to sleep under, yet still cannot give them dignity. Their flak armour hangs from around where a neck would be on any human woman, and sits over their fatty sternum's like a feeding bib for an infant, while their buttoned shirts, far too small to close across their bodies, barely sit over their sagging breasts by some mixture of luck and gravity. Their bellies sag down past their knees, and thrust out from their bodies far enough to move and sway independently of the rest of their soft bodies. Arguably the worst of it comes from the damn ship crew though. At least the Lieutenant in charge, a woman called Alexia, whom I refused flatly to respect in any kind of command sense, at least had the awareness to look ashamed of herself and her mockery of a Regiment. The ship crew seem to treat the sweating insults to Imperial might like they’re Saints sent by the Emperor himself. They have youths and aids who carry their lazguns for them! Who carry food for them and help them to shamble their immensity from point A to B! Children rub their bellies for luck, while any crew member pampers them at any provocation.” From here, Commissar Devatos devolves into an increasingly emotional rant on his dislike for the shipboard culture, irritation at his duties, and plans to rectify the issue, which did seem to excessive cruelty. It is believed that Commissar Devatos, along with his contingent, were slain shortly after arrival by disgruntled shipmen, as no further reports were found, and a dock workers report of a docked ship matching the “Lockheads Whale”, seemed to confirm women of a similar size. -Dockworker Ishmael Jennings. Report 126428/2389402.03 “I mean, it aint that weird, ya know. Voidborn ‘nd ship crews ‘nd all all have their things goin’ on in ‘em. Part o’ why I like the job. See all kinda people. This one, I was just done makin’ sure there was a good connection between a couple a servo’s, and I come across a bunch o’ crew standing around this one figure. Big las, an’ I mean big big lass. Was only her movin’ her arms around that told me she was actually a person, she looked like loose storage an’ there weren’t many clear give-aways. She had this big ol’ gut, going down to where I guessed her shins would be, an’ the rest o’ her weren’t any smaller I tell you that. It looked like they were trying’ to help the lass get up. Weren’t haven’ an easy time of it though, ’specially not her, she was red and sweating all over and in a fair bit of distress, where a lot of ‘em were trying to calm her down. I’d a taken half a look and gone for the power lifter myself, digression be damned she was a damn big lass. Funny sight, had a chuckle a bit, but I moved on.” This would seem to suggest the 103rd Atachillian Reserves regiment did not undergo remedial training, and remains currently at large, pun intended. While this case is concerning in some regard, the effort and resources required to track down and perform remedial training on the regiment, would exceed the predicted best case results the regiment could provide for the Imperium, and thus, convenience and practicality would have us forget them, as their influence is low, and the chances of corruption is negligible in practical measures. But their example can serve some measure to provoke thought and prepare members of the order for exposure to myriad cultures and situations, and thusly are included in these annals. -Inquisitor Jennita Leshy, Ordo Hereticus. ‘The myriad Military Cultures of the Imperium."

Imagine a scenario for Total Warhammer where various female Legendary Lords try to break into Slaanesh's Realm but keep getting stopped by the Circle of Gluttony where they give into temptation and binge like no tomorrow before getting throw back out; each time coming back fatter and more in denial about their weight gain before finally hit immobility and become permanent residents. Or better yet, they become so big that they become part of the landscape, landmarks of unrestrained gluttony in the ever shifting realm of Chaos and testaments to the power of the Dark Prince(ss).

Okay, that's...a good scenario....

>>3985 Hey Westmetal, I was wondering if you are still going to do finish the The Hag Queen's Horrible Gain story or it's been discontinued?

I've got a plan for at least one more chapter but not sure when.

>>3973 isnt there an actual ingame effect from going into nurgles realm which is something like "incessant bloating"? you could do something with that

Overhead, comets of crystalized sugar and clouds of whipped cream slowly made their way across a sky of liquid honey. Looking at the fattening horizon too long would make rains of honey and cream fall upon you, thousands of calories per minute. Looking at it longer and very suggestive shapes would appear in the sugary formations. Looking at it longer than that...well that didn't bear thinking of... Especially when Morgiana Le Fay had plenty of weighty issues on her mind. "This was foolish, foolish, foolish," the Fay enchantress muttered to herself, normally confident voice a moaning echo, "vanity beyond vanity...I had wagered my will could best this horrible land...and lost my body as a result." "Lost" was something of a metaphor. No, the most powerful human mage was not some bodiless specter, but her glamorous figure was just as gone. Inside her luxurious campaign tent, the blonde near-immortal was standing before the simple, six foot by three foot silver mirror she brought on campaign. As the loveliest woman in Brettonia, it behoved her to look good and inspire the knight's errant...and now she wished that she had never brought the damn thing with her! For in this hellish realm of illusions, the mirror showed the truth. That Morgiana had become horribly, gluttonously, frighteningly obese. Patricians features were buried under bulging apple cheeks, just as her sharp jawline and delicate neck had vanished under a sagging jowl. Narrow and delicate shoulders were broad as a peasant woman used to pulling a plow. Slender arms were thicker than a knight's waist, tricep flab starting to hang over her elbows while her sausage fingers were too thick for her magical rings. While her high and girlish breasts and expanded into heavy, lowing hanging melons, pink nipples stretched wide and turned brown. The sagging, graceless udders were each held up by an individual dress, a satin white garment that would have been once worth a peasant village's income for a decade. Now, they were stained and ripping, barely holding up the ludicrous bust that had once been the perkiest west of the world's edge mountains. "And it gets worse and worse every day, how can I stand this?" she moaned to herself, forcing her eyes to continue assessing the damage. Morgan's perfect wasp waist, 19 inches about even at the midwinter feast, was buried. Buried beneath a gut worthy of a woman at term with triplets, a 48' bulge that barely propped up her breasts. But the mage's stomach was soft as melted butter, beginning to bend at the middle and form a mocking smile as it split into two guts. Of bottomless capacity and demanding hunger, it was already grumbling with demands for more food. The only good thing about it was that it hung low enough to protect what was left of the Enchantress' dignity, not that much was left, as no skirt could be made to fit around her middle. No, apart from her impromptu bra, Morgana had to bear the brunt of hundreds of pounds of weight gain near nude. Pillowy sacks of love handle fat merged with dimpled hips and surging saddle bags to make a lumpy lower mid section. While the mage's lithe, narrow legs had exploded into sagging sacks of supple fat. The most girlish hips in Brettonia were too wide for her tower's doors and the couch cushions of her cellulite covered ass were too big for her unicorn mount, not that she'd subject the poor thing to her weight. No, the Fae enchantress was back to floating again. Once it had been easy as thought to float, now Morgana had to use most of the magic available to her to keep her swollen toes an inch off the ground. She didn't dare not float despite the waste of magical power, for she wasn't certain if she could bear the weight. "How did I fall so far, so fast? This was only my second attempt," Morgana moaned, kneading the meaty shelf of her stomach, "I...I was merely a little plump when I went into the realm of gluttony!" Normally self confident, the mage felt her eyes mist with tears. She wiped them away, knowing they were undignified of a powerful mage. But so was this bloated body, quadrupled or more in size after only two attempts at beating the realm of gluttony. A third time would likely be even worse, trapping Morgana in the realm of the Prince of Pleasure for ever...but what else could she do? Go back to Brettonia and show everyone just how hoggish she had become? .... all I got in me for today...

>>3991 Good to hear >>3996 Very nice

>>3995 I couldn't find anything about incessant bloating but I did find this. Plus, I wouldn't be opposed to seeing a more slob oriented version where the Legendary Ladies become brides of Nurgle in all their gravid, obese, gassy glory.

>>4002 no no, I INSIST theres a bloating debuff from nurgle, i saw an image of it

Been having a think Fey Enchantress, Morathi, Neferata etc would all just kinda get fat in the circle of gluttony Tzarina Katarin would try and focus the weight on her tits as shes flat as fuck but Alarielle? she'd easily turn into a massive slob, shes always been part of the uptight high elf lifestyle

Morathi would first try to deny she was getting fat, then be trying to shunt her weight into others and then claim she's always been fat... Interestingly, her AOS lore has her as a giant snake monster with an illusion of an elf queen to hide her being monstrous, with her getting mocked by nagash when the disguise fell . It would of course be better if she was an immovable blob...

Guess who’s back Back again M00n is back Tell a friend https://www.deviantart.com/m00nliner/art/Panem-Ex-Machina-II-Gangsters-Paradise-Part-I-922262395

Wrote a short story of WHFB Alarielle secretly being a fatass, but she uses life magic to disguise it meant to post it a few days ago but forgot https://pastebin.com/g87v7wjv

Oh you son of a bitch ...I was about to go to bed!

>>4611 This is some pretty great stuff. The premise kind of reminds me of Emi Isuzu from Tenjho Tenge who appears skinny and athletic but is actually obese.

>>3973 I didn't request or commission this but goddamn if it isn't on the money for what I had in mind when I read the Circle of Gluttony event

>>4616 isnt there a bloating debuff from hanging around the garden of nurgle in the game? "excessive bloating" or something?

>>3074 Sequel https://www.deviantart.com/twistedfantasy0/art/Grom-s-Corruption-of-Athel-Loren-wg-899424792

I had a conversation over discord a while back on what the different female LL’s favorite foods would be and how they would get fat off of them. Here are a few of our thoughts. Morathi – Chocolate/Burgers >My first thought was some sort of variation on chocolates because Lustria is geographically the Warhammer world’s equivalent to South America. As for the burgers, I like the idea that someone as vain as Morathi who would probably demand the finest everything, finest clothes, finest jewelry, and finest food and drinks would occasionally splurge on ‘lesser’ comfort food behind closed doors; particularly, if she remembers what happened between her and Aenarion, get depressed, holes herself up in her tower, and goes on a binge bender. Also, Naggaroth is geographically the North-America equivalent, so yeah America = burgers. Sisters of twilight- Bacon >This didn’t cross my mind but a pair of hippy elves falling in love with processed, fatty is beautifully ironic. I imagine Arahan (light-haired tomboy) being the type to not care about things like diets and eating what tastes good while Naestra (the dark-haired proper one) is the one who obsesses over her figure but has a binge eating problem. This dynamic would be especially interesting if, in addition to having their souls bound to one another, which is why so long as one of them is alive the other can resurrect, their physical traits are also connected, meaning that one gains weight the other gains proportionately. This leads to Naestra becoming increasingly exasperated when Arahan starts packing on the pounds, partially due to her new eating habits and partially just to spite her more uptight sister; at least, until Arahan notices her waistline expanding on its own and discovers that Naestra has been binge eating in secret. Allarieal- Cake >It’s a simple choice. Princess + Cake, what’s there not to like? Based on what I’ve read in the lore, Allarieal is the Elven equivalent of a 19-year-old, just out of adolescence but not fully mature and way too young for her position were it not for her predecessor’s untimely death. That kind of blend of immaturity and responsibility is the perfect setup for stress eating and being completely in denial of her weight gain. Let’s hope Tyrion is a chubby chaser. Tzarina Katarin- Ice cream/Syrniki >Ice cream for an ice witch? No-brainer. As for something more Russia-specific, I’d go with Syrniki, which is a type of sweetened cheese pancake with a texture similar to ricotta. As for how she gets fat, maybe in an attempt to make peace with Kostaltyn and his Great Orthodoxy, Katarin begins communing more closely with Ursun and subsequently develops more bear-like qualities, mainly a ravenous appetite in the summer followed by lethargy in the winter. Alternatively, because the power of the Ice Court seems linked to the land itself and vice-versa, Ursun’s return and the end of the long winter leads to an agricultural boom in the North which the inhabitants of Kislev fat and happy, their Tzarina especially so. Kalida- Honey >This was a tough one since I’m not particularly well versed in modern Egyptian cuisine, let alone ancient Egyptian cuisine. For what it’s worth, Arkhan the Black originally got his nickname not because he served Nagash but because his teeth were decayed and stained black from years of eating sweetmeats (dried fruit and candy) and fantasy chewing tobacco, so Nehekhara at least had candy. In the end, I decided on honey because honey was one of the items found in IRL pharaohs’ tombs and was even used in the process of embalming. Maybe for Queen Kalida the Mortuary Cult attempted to help preserve her natural beauty by soaking it in honey before mummifying it. While it did work making her much less decayed-looking than the other Tomb Kings, she also ended up retaining a lot of that honey making her bloated, sticky, and very sweet smelling. I’m on the fence about her hating this and her loving it and spending a lot of time licking herself. Either way, Neferata will probably get a laugh out of it, at least until Kalida decides to force feed her honey until she die-dies or turns back into a human. Isabella- Blood >She’s a vampire, that’s what they do. Maybe vampires have specific preferences for different types of blood. This opens the way for more interesting ideas. Blood on its own can become monotonous and as a result, the Midnight Aristocracy has developed an entire art for producing different tasting blood from their human chattel. Like actual livestock, their humans are raised and conditions to produce specific kinds of blood with unique qualities; blood from a diabetic would be sweet like syrup, someone with high cholesterol would taste rich like heavy cream, while another with hypertension would be fizzy like soda. I’d imagine that underneath Castle Drakenhof there is an entire farm for humans, particularly women, who are fed and fattened up specifically for this purpose. Most are kidnapped from outside of Sylvania due to its low population but some women volunteer for this either to escape starvation or hedonistic glee. Of course, Vlad enables Isabella’s blood addiction and even covers up her expanded figure by only commissioning paintings of her with her formerly thin frame. [Side note: I remember reading somewhere that Isabella became depressed after becoming a vampiress because she could no longer see her reflection. Noticing this, Vlad commissioned paintings of her to be placed over every mirror in Castle Drakenhof so she would simulate some part of being alive.] Repanse- Pastries, lots of pastries >Considering that she’s a former peasant shepherdess who spent most of her life either living hand to mouth and just above starving, I’d imagine that Repanse would have a ton of favorites once she was introduced to the variety of food available to the Brittonian nobility; cakes, pies, tarts, custards, puddings (of the plum and spotted dick varieties), etc. I can see her rapidly ballooning up once her crusade is over and she’s left with the much less physically intense job of governing a fiefdom and attending feasts. Nothing builds up an appetite like a lifetime of hunger. Maybe she even institutes a specific no-waste rule at feasts which inevitably leaves her stuffing herself senseless when the rest of her guests inevitably leave without finishing their plates. Morgana- Tarts >Before you ask, yes, this is a Monty Python reference. “You can’t expect to wield supreme executive power just ‘cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!” Beyond that, I’m honestly at a loss. Maybe to produce more grail water and thus more grail knights, she decides to become physically larger, becoming less a Lady of the Lake and more Whale of the Ocean. You know that the Brittonian frog-simps would be climbing over one another just to get a sip of that Lady of the Lake bath water regardless of all the crumbs and food bits floating in it. Miao Ying - Whole roasted pigs and I mean the WHOLE PIG. >She is, literally, a dragon, and a very large one at that. It would only make sense that she would have a dragon-like appetite. The shapeshifting also serves as a potentially useful story hook. While it is easy enough to handwave away all the extra mass going from dragon to human mode, what if one of Cathay’s enemies (probably Chaos) attempted to sabotage the defenses of the Great Bastion by robbing its commander of her ability to magic away all that extra flesh when she transforms. The result is that Miao Ying is immobile in her human form and barely mobile in her dragon form. Naturally, Imrik is in the same boat as Tyrion for this one so let’s hope he likes his women dragon-sized.

>>4955 I just realized that I forgot about Ariel. So, here's another story idea I came up for her specifically. In the Twisted and the Twilight DLC, the Skaven Lord Throt the Unclean's goal is to rid himself of the painfully, ravenous and constant hunger he acquired throughout his self-experimentation as Master Mutator of Clan Moulder on top of the Black Hunger all Skaven have and thinks that consuming the flesh of Ariel, the Avatar of the Elven Goddess Isha, will finally satiate him. What if instead of killing and eating Ariel, Throt decided to transfer his hunger to her via some sort of warp-sympathetic magic ritual? Throt gets what he wants, the end to his hunger, and Ariel is now forced to deal with an all-consuming hunger to rival any ogre but not the rapid metabolism that kept Throt relatively fit. As the result, Ariel transforms from the regal, ethereal demi-goddess of life into a near-mindless, gluttonous slob tended to by her former Emissaries/current-feeders, the Sisters of Twilight Naestra and Arahan, while her husband Orion is forced to pick Athel Loren clean of anything edible just to keep up with her demands. Take it one step further and it's possible that Isha herself was corrupted thanks to the ritual via her connection to her mortal avatar and all-female elves, including the twins, Alarielle, and Morathi, become afflicted by their own version of the Black Hunger, becoming irreparably lazy, hungry, and horny. Also for some added fun, a potential story based on this could switch perspectives back and forth between Throt and Ariel with Throt doing a Rocky-esque training montage as he gets back into shape while Ariel descends deeper and deeper into unrestrained gluttony. Throt becomes a 3-armed, ratman Fabio while Ariel is in a room-filling blob emitting enough gas to power a squadron of Thunderbarges.

>>4955 >>4956 I don't know and maybe the Great Maw goes into overdrive and becomes a 5th Chaos God, a god of hunger, gluttony, fat, etc. Basically usurps a lot of stuff from Slaanesh and Nurgle and creates a faction even more all about eating than the ogres and it corrupts all the female named characters or something. It's like Amazons + Ogres + horny

>>3054 >Cannon Sauce?

>>3054 Source?

Wish Tau got more love in terms hyper fat...Or, fat in general.

>>4991 There is a tragic lack of art for it. As logically, there is no real reason for tau warriors, once they hit Ui and earn a battlesuit, to not be fat as all fuck. >More fat means greater disease resistance. >Better tolerance to impacts due to padding bulk. >Additional tolerance comes from greater contact with the machine and the body, preventing shaking by simply not having the space to shake inside. >Able to last longer without food. >Have early warning override systems so they don't need to be mentally sharp. >Have mechanical joints so they don't need to be physically fit. Truly the ideal build for a fire caste battlesuit pilot is "poured into her mecha, and then squeezed". Do the more senior members get juniors tasked with fetching them food?

>>5385 Yes

>>4961 The Emperor's legion I think

>>5385 >The Tau Hammerhead and Skyray gunships. >Both based off of the Devilfish chassis, but both have space taken up by extra ammunition and capacitors (in the hammerhead's case, which means a hundred or so metal pencils and some capacitors, of which the skyray has neither), sensory systems (which the Tau have optimized very well and already process significantly, to the outside of the craft), and non-combat functions such as climate control and crew support. >And despite being relatively mobile, heavily armoured, and carrying large firepower, hammerhead and skyray gunships are often eschewed in favour of battlesuits, and kept to the back lines, with little hot action and chance for advancement. >Carry capacity in the Devilfish: 13+. One pilot, 12 fire warriors/pathfinders/breechers, plus attached gear such as drones or sentry guns. >Carry capacity in the Hammerhead: 3. A pilot, a commander who operates the main gun, and a gunner who operates the drones. >Carry capacity in the Skyray: 2. A pilot, and a gunner to tend the seeker missiles (which generally fired by control of another targeter) >It is physically impossible to fit any more crew or personnel inside either vehicle. Are gunships just designed for fire warriors that got so eager to boss their juniors around, and so happy being gluttonous for their greater good, that they got too fat to fit even a battlesuit, and needed to be pawned off to a backfield role with less attention on them? Gunship piloting would allow them to spend the entire time sitting down.

>>356 >>357 Finally got around to re-writing the prologue for a story based on this prompt. https://pastebin.com/bykSxAAM Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Especially for suggestions or ideas on where the story can go next.

finished some fantasy stories recently, figured I'd share. one about Miao Ying succumbing to her own vanity and hedonism https://www.deviantart.com/corngamer11/art/The-Curvy-Castellan-of-Cathay-946284824 And one about a dark elf fattening up his pet Bloodwrack Medusa https://www.deviantart.com/corngamer11/art/Kiss-Me-You-Animal-939938572 Enjoy! Or don't. Either way, I'm keen to hear what people think of them.

The first part of a Fatty Sororitas story. Will post planet and Order details later, if anyone wants to contribute ideas or characters for me to eventually continue the story with. Alko was a weary man. At 17, many civilizations would still call him a boy. Yet upon Uaza, life was harder, and by the age of 16, when Alko had set off from his nomadic tribe in pilgrimage, he was as much a man as any could ask. That had been near a year and a half ago now. A year and a half of near total isolation, broken only by the rare occasions he’d crossed the path of another tribe. There, he’d had to hide, while their warriors passed, and resist the urge, the temptation, to chance into their camp and steal some meat. He was not the biggest of men, and he was alone. Alko was not unable to hunt, over his travels. But for all his manliness, he was still young, and there was only so much one lone hunter could do by himself. At first, he had set off singularly fixated upon his goal, only catching game by opportunity, when they passed him by. He had withered then, lost weight. He had had to adapt, set snares, take time to kill animals, and then to properly prepare their meat to last. People didn’t always come back. The Pilgrimage of Manhood, was made alone, to the Shankt, the heart of Imperial faith upon Uaza. The other men had deliberately spoken little of it, and Alko knew precious little, save that he was to travel norwest, and that he was searching for a settlement that did not move. He was to find the Shankt, and pray before it, under the watch and blessings of the Sisterhood, the Daughters of the All-Chief. It was to be a mentally and spiritually enlightening feat. In journey, and in destination. To pray with the very Daughters of the All-Chief himself. To go to their dwelling place, to see them. But he did know that survival was not guaranteed, even before he set off. He was so very weary. The ground was not difficult, but the several months had taken their toll on him, and each day he felt he walked a little bit less. Though he knew not what they looked like, he’d dreamed of the moment ever since he was a boy. His first encounter came when he made it to the valleys, and found them teeming with life. He’d subsisted the first two days off of fruits and vegetation, but the third day he chose to forestall his pilgrimage to hunt. He strung his bow, tuned his ears, and crept off into the foliage. He heard the Sister before he saw her. She practically announced herself with her breathing, sucking down, then expelling air, uncaring of if her noise attracted the attention of predators, or scared off game. He admitted, when he first layed eyes upon her, he did not acquit himself well. Instead of bowing or offering up prayer, he had simply stared and gawked for several good seconds. But how could he be blamed for that? The daughter of the All-Chief was enormous. Easily a head taller than Alko, and at least twice, if not thrice his weight. Her boots, gloves, blackpack, and whatever it was that covered her neck and shoulders, were not made out of hide or wood, but flawless black stone, perfect in construction. But her body was what caught his interest. Alko simply could not fathom that humans could be so large. Heaving teats larger than his own head, covered in triangular strips of cloth, hung either side of a belly so large, it may have weighed as much as he did himself. Quivering slightly at each of her powerful breaths, stretched out more than a forearms length from her core, wrapped around her body and hung down over halfway down her meaty thighs, like the softest, warmest of skirts. He could not have imagined her in his wildest dreams, but concluded that this was absolutely the appropriate image, nature, for a daughter of the All-Chief. He could not tell if her womanhood was covered. Deep fleshy rolls gave no clue if they held anything, and her hanging belly covered much. Could she simply be content to let her belly act as a skirt for her modesty? Could skirts be mere imitation of these Sisters? He forced such lewd thoughts from his mind and finally bowed and offered his prayer. “Blessed Sister, Daughter of the All-Chief, please forgive my lacking senses. I come for pilgrimage to the Sankt.” “Noli arcum, puer pulcher. Gaudeo te inhio in corpore meo.” He had no idea what she’d just said. Was this the sacred language of the faith? It was… strange. He felt her larger, stone hand rest under his chin, tilting his head up. That soft, fleshy apron was so close, even as she turned to her side somewhat. At her hands gesture, he stood. He could hardly keep his eyes off of her. “Pulchra puer, es periculosa meae virtuti. Si me tam cupide spectes.” In a supreme feat of will, he tore his eyes off of her rising and falling bosom, and looked up at her face. He was smaller then her, and her strange dark stone neck armour with its golden skull sitting on the weird plant-spear thing, covered the lower half of her features. Yet her features were young, framed in chin length hair, and her eyes were steely, strong and convicted. “I. Thank you, for your blessing, Sister.” He saw her eyes crease slightly. Perhaps he had not offered too great a disrespect? Were they used to reactions such as his. Probably, he imagined. He had a hard time believing of anyone else who’d ever see a woman so big and fat anywhere else. “Sentiam cupiditatem inter femora mea. Come, pilgrim. Dwell with me tonight. You are not far from the Sankt, and there is no reason to rush the final steps of your journey.” [Will post planet

>>6217 Your stories are enjoyable, and the main warhammer 40k opus about Elise was a corpus of writing that brought me great joy. It had all things that clicked for me. Cheers, man. Also, I've made a character card for Elise to chat with her in sillytavern (that's merely an ui to stich and format text together gathered from the llm api). I've used claude 2.0, but I've encountered a number of issues in the process. It didn't feel as good to read as your writing, lol.

>>2889 'Perhaps discipline did have a point', Kyla mused, taking in another deep breath through her teeth. Her ankles were sore, and her face felt red and flushed as she made her slow way through the barracks. Their campaign to Agrippa IV had been costly. Dearly so. 40% losses, all the command staff, bar herself, a lieutenant, and two adjutants, dead to an assassin's bomb. The world was a backwater, a mere million or so souls, populating three meager hives, all under the yoke of the now-deceased Vorth bloodline, a 'divinely appointed' idiot tyrant, who wasn't even willing to re-arm the forces sent to his own world to secure it, so that he wouldn't lose is own personal assets. It didn't save him from retribution, when his own betrayal had come. Their astropaths and commanders dead, and with such a hard campaign, the men and women of the regiment had run rampant, and taken their spoils, pillaging the upper hive, alongside the vengeful citizenry, spilling into churches and looting all the gold and silver and fine things they could. Even the men and women of... comely appearances. Kyla lumbered around the corner, lungs burning, and slowly, deliberately, forced one leg up a single stair, thighs wrestling with the hanging weighty apron of her belly. Then she braced, breathed in, and forced it to straighten, bringing the other leg up quickly, as the first one trembled. Her pudgy fingers gripped the banister clumsily, but tightly, as she put what weight she could over it. By the second step, her thighs burnt, and her hips throbbed. But she set her jaw, found a breathing rhythm, and kept going. The mood, once the initial days of raping and looting in abandon petered away, was uncertain. Priests had been killed, churches sacked, and the Vorth bloodline, divinely mandated by the Emperor and High Lords, to rule Agrippa, had been slain by their doing. There was a tension. An apprehension in the air, in the guardsmen. They knew they'd crossed the line, that they'd let their despair at the sacrifices in the name of their duty get the better of them. They feared what the Commissar would do. Kyla supposed she could have kept them on the straight and narrow, perhaps. But there was just as great a chance that she, alone as she was, would suffer a grenade to the sleeping quarters by those men too desperate or fearful to obey. And Kyla was truly never the best of Commissars. Her hindbrain wanted to stop, to rest her muscles and catch her breath. But Kyla knew from experience, that she's never catch her breath just standing up. Standing itself was a drain on her stamina, so she willed the pain down and pushed on. She'd never been the perfect model of the Sash. She'd caroused with the men, even bedded some of them. So when the time came, and that murderous tension came, she'd made show of her camaraderie. And in truth, she was hardly against it. Their tour of service in the Imperium's name had been unforgiving. Now she could make manifest her most casual wants and needs, as one of the new 'elite' of this lonely little agri world. If she wanted to shoot a bunch of people, she didn't need to write any paperwork or justify herself to any priests or commanders. If she wanted to screw, she could find and detain any number of thousands of good looking, eager servants. And if she wanted food or drink... Kyla wasn't a very good Commissar. By the time she made it to the top of the single flight of stairs, she was gasping and sucking down air, red-faced, and dripping with sweat. A hand worked its way around to a shelf-like hip, and she leant back, to let her lungs breathe a little easier. There were members of her regiment on this floor, and she felt the glances and stares her arrival had drawn. In years gone by, they'd be shouting, and all forming up, neat and tidily toeing the line. Now, they merely nodded, or waved. Even the man, fucking a serving girl on a countertop, right there in the hallway, didn't even stop. Not all of them had abandoned discipline fully. At least half of the Regiment was still, to a degree, fighting fit, and the majority of the rest could be made to be with some PT. The difference was that instead of abstinence from temptations and soldierly conduct, they were fucking civilians and hunting hivers for sport. She wasn't the only one in her state. There had to be others who's temptation, who's vice, had been the myriad delicacies and sweat treats of food and drink to be found. But most of them didn't leave their chosen chambers, she imagined. But old habits died hard, and Kyra was fond of making the rounds, seeing the men, and going to her meetings with the Lieutenant. A nude man all but skipped past, and pressed himself into her fleshy flank as he went, erection hard against her clammy bulk. His left hand, cupping her breast and squeezing at the enormous mass, startled her so much that the second groping paw that struck her backside hard enough to make her back jiggle, came completely by surprise. "Reportin' for duty, Commissar." He breathed excitedly at her, before detaching himself from her before her arm could work itself up to shove him away herself. She wanted to reprimand him, but needed to let the air out first. After the next breath, the grunted "Oi", was too muffled to make it to the retreating figure. There was no use trying to chase him down, or follow him up. Not at her weight, and lack of fitness. And she needed to stay on-side with her men. So she huffed, and rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and grunted herself into motion. By the time she made it to the doors, she was blinking the sweat from her eyes, and almost moaning or whimpering with every footfall and exhalation. Her old coat, draped over her back with chain, clung to her every fold and crevasse with all the sweat, and had slipped slightly down between her ass cheeks, as had the loose, slitted skirt, her only other item of clothing, past her boots, her hat, and the Sash that hung from her waistband, instead of around her waist now. In the years since their official crossing into a Regiment of Renegades, casual nudity had become commonplace. And she wasn't going to let an outdated sense of dress code stifle her any more than she already was. She was bare from the waist up nearly, and her skirt was thin and delicate and slit either side, and she was still nearly cooking inside, no mind the sweat. The guards grinned friendly, comradely grins, and opened the doors for her at the flick of a finger and a tired nod. If she'd needed to announce herself, Kyla would probably have had to wait at least five minutes, seated on a bench, with a cold drink. The inside of the private dining room was as it always was. The floor was well carpeted, walls covered in drapes and cushions, and there were two wide, opulent chairs around a low dining table. Wheezing and heart hammering in her ears, Kyla finally made her way over to her resting place. She barely paid any mind to the throng of servants who, eyes to the floor, pulled out her chair and paced around her. Nor to the Lieutenant, nude as she was, in her own chair. Her fat fingers struggled to find purchase against the slick blubber of her belly, but with the practice of years she grasped the offending apron long enough to heft it up with a grunt, pulling everything above it that much more up to her face. Just barely enough to make it over the table. The air, perfumed and cloying, felt cold against her sticky, now open neathers. She sighed in relief, even as she felt the chair be pushed in behind her, and several hands guide her to let her bulk drop, violently, downwards. The painful digging of the armrests into her ass bought out a whimper, but the Commissar's sheer weight would not be denied, and she felt herself slowly, as always, slipping lower, before one ass cheek slipped through, and then another. It was a pinch, but it was better than feeling like she was sinking into herself. Her chair groaned and bowed slightly underneath her. When they'd first begun these meetings in this room, in the days after deposing the mad Governor, there had been room to seat three Kyla's, side by side. The Lieutenant, Malicia, had joked about her outgrowing it. Privately, Kyla suspected that she was periodically replacing her chair with smaller and smaller iterations. It was something she'd do. A pitcher of amasec, cooled to near freezing, was offered, and she greedily snatched it in meaty hands, draining it desperately and messily, feeling the cold, smokey liquid dribble its way down her insides. Then a second. And a third. To anyone else, it would have been a lethal amount of liquor, but Kyla had found that with her out of shape-ness, she'd gained a remarkable tolerance to its effects. Even though she coughed and spluttered after the third pitcher of the stuff, she barely even felt the hint of a buzz. The Commissar leant back into her chair, spreading her legs, exposing more of her lower regions to the cool balm of air, and let herself try and recover from her journey. Hands with damp cloths pressed themselves into all her natural crevice's, and she felt the questing hands of an under-the-table pleasure slave between her thighs, forcing the last of their mass open, and then another, behind her back, forcing their smaller body into her side and caressing her arms. She tried to get her breath back, and recover faster. Once they truly got underway with their ministrations, she felt, she wouldn't get much resting done. This was going to be a long meeting.

>>12 these are amazing.

>>8889 Whats worse? Loud boyfriend or cheating husband? Enjoy your night yall