His Masterpiece
by St. George

Paolo Gambetti was one of the 17th Century's less extraordinary artists. He toiled away in his Milan studio chipping away at sculptures that would only serve to solidify his anonymity. From time to time he would sell one, but he lacked the one thing that allowed him to tap into the talent he knew was there. That one thing was money.

Most of Paolo's contemporaries had wealthy benefactors. That is, even artists of modest fame lived on a stipend provided by some member of the Milanese gentry. Most of the work would become the property of the benefactor, but that didn't matter. With financial support, the artist was completely free to take risks, grow in his art, and build a reputation. Some even achieved immortality.

Paolo thought that all this was lost until Giuseppi Romana entered his life. Romana's family had made an immense fortune in the trading of spices, textiles, tea, and a fairly new luxury known as coffee. The fortune grew larger with each generation of Romanas until finally, Giuseppi capitalized on all forms of trade by dominating the shipping business.

But Signore Romana had a problem - Francesca. Francesca was his daughter, possessed of fair beauty and alluring charm. She had dark brown, fiery eyes, full crimson lips, and rich, curly brown hair. All her suitors enjoyed her company; she was well-educated and witty and seemed to bring out the finest in a man.

So why the problem? Well, Francesca was nearing 16 and still unmarried. In fact, she wasn't even betrothed. In 1642 she was about to be considered an old maid. But why should such a beautiful, charming, and cultured girl not be claimed by now? She was too skinny. So emaciated were he legs that people from far and wide knew her as "pollo" - the chicken.

In that time fat women were prized. For centuries a full girth was a sign of wealth and stature - of people who could afford to love the good life. It was so long a part of Iralian culture, that a large body simply became the standard for beauty and femininity. Pretty as Francesca was, no man would have her because her body was simply not attractive.

And so Giuseppi Romana sent for Paolo Gambetti. He knew Gambetti had a reputation for having only modest talent. He had no benefactor, and word spread that he would take on any project in order eat and keep himself supplied with marble. Romana had a most interesting proposition for him.

Paolo arrived at the Palazzo d'Romana and was escorted outside to a sumptuous garden. Giuseppi spoke, "Signore, my family is the richest in Milan. We have surrounded ourselves with every symbol of opulence and power. Our influence reaches all over Europe."

"You called me here from my studio to tell me something so obvious?" Gambetti asked, annoyed. He hated when others rubbed their advantages in his face.

"I'll get to the point," Romana continued. "I would give all this away to obtain the one thing I do not have."

"And that would be...?" retorted Gambetti, dryly.

"My heart's desire is to see my daughter married."

Paolo replied, "Signore, I cannot help you. I have not a drop of noble blood and am not worthy of the chicke...harumph...your daughter."

"I'm not asking you to marry her, you oaf. Of course I know that could never happen," he bellowed. "I need your help as an artist."

Gambetti just stared back for awhile. How could his artistic ability possibly aid in this situation? What could the old man be thinking?

"I want you to create a work of living art," said Giuseppi. "I want you to sculpt my new daughter."

Finally convinced of Romana's lunacy, Paolo slowly rose, turned, and started to leave. "Please wait! Hear everything I have to say," came the begging. "I'll make you rich if you'll do this one thing. Just imagine having enough money for the artistic freedom you dream of."

"Alright, please continue."

"I have offered immense dowries for my daughter's hand, but to no avail. No one will have 'the chicken.' All the noblemen want a woman of say, greater stature. And the truth is, I just don't understand why she's no larger. It took two dressmakers to measure around her late mother's waist. Unfortunately, Francesca did not inherit her mama's exquisite figure."

This is where Paolo would fit in. Romana was indeed in negotiations to give his daughter away to Salvatore Luchesi, son of the most powerful banker in all Italy. The dowry was astronomical, but no problem for the Romana family. There was one condition, however, which could bring an end to the whole arrangement. Salvatore had a sister, Regina. Regina, unlike Francesca, was the object of desire throughout Milan. She had seductive powers unknown to any other woman.

The caveat was that Francesca, when placed on the opposite side of a lever with Regina, would have to balance her or raise her off the ground. If that could not happen by her 16th birthday, then the marriage would be off. Sounds easy enough, but Regina had everything Francesca didn't, and in all the right places. By modern measures, she was about 230, and presented the perfect pear shape.

"You can see my challenge," said Giuseppi. "Francesca turns 16 in only seven months."

"Yes, but I believe I can help. Living art you shall have. Francesca will move in with me in two weeks." Paolo had a secret technique he knew would be effective.

For that two weeks, Paolo labored over a new statue. It was simple, really. He sculpted Francesca's head onto Regina's body. She had the slight double chin, the full breasts - not quite hanging, the soft arms and chubby hands. Her torso rounded out ever so slightly beyond her chest, and her hips fell in gentle, yet prominent curves around to her full, rounded rear end. Finally, her shapely thighs, which let no light in between them, ended in a dimple just above her knees. Regina really did make the perfect model for the work Gambetti was about to undertake.

Francesca moved in, and the work began. Paolo would have her stare at the statue for one hour every morning and one hour before sleep. He wanted her to see herself that way in her mind's eye. As time passed, it became easier to do that.

Within eight days, she found out why. She decided to touch the artwork. It felt like flesh! Perhaps this was why Paolo constantly polished it with those oily rags. How else could he have this power over stone? When she touched it, it jiggled. She caressed her future self all over. She felt the weight of the breasts. She cupped her hands under the belly, rubbed it, massaged it, lifted it. When she let go, it bounced and made a slapping sound. Lastly, Francesca rubbed the great, big ass in sweeping circular motions. Feeling a tingle within her own loins, she now knew what made a fat woman so desirable.

"I see you've discovered my secret," said Paolo. "Now you see why I've had you stare at her for so many hours. Now that you've touched her, you can completely know what you will become."

"But how do you do this?"

"You see these cloths?"

"Yes."

"They are soaked in a potion that makes magic with stone. It's an old secret I learned from the man that taught me to sculpt. I just never had a reason to use it, until now."

"Does it do anything else?" Francesca asked.

"This is only the beginning," he replied. "There's more magic in this potion than you could know. But enough of that. It's time to eat."

With that, three chefs brought out a feast. The entire six by six foot table was covered with food. There were whole turkeys, at least a dozen different pastas, laden with thick cheese, two dozen loaves of fresh, spongey bread, and veal dishes in rich, fatty gravies.

"I'll never eat all that!" Francesca exclaimed.

"Just try it," Paolo said coyly.

And she sat down and began. From her first bite of veal parmesan, she was in ecstasy. Rich as her father was, he had lousy chefs. These Paolo brought in himself. This was shear joy compared to home. And Paolo watched with delight as Francesca nearly inhaled six veal dishes, all dozen pastas, and five whole turkeys. When finished, she soaked up all the gravies, cream sauces, and marinaras with the breads and ate them, too. The potion was working its alchemy.

When she sat back, she looked with disbelief. Had she really eaten all of this? That amazement, however, didn't last long. The staff cleared the empty dishes and brought dessert in equally copious amounts. Canolis, tortes, six-layered cakes of every flavor, and cheesecakes were brought out. Francesca devoured them all. All the while, Paolo watched in silent torture. To see a woman eat like this was a heretofore unknown pleasure. A fire was building in him.

Francesca arose. Where her torso was sunken-in before, there was now the slightest softness. Her ribs could no longer be seen, and her hollow cheeks had filled in. She studied the statue another hour, while running her hands all over it. Then to sleep.

As she drifted off, she imagined herself tipping the scale against the ample Regina. She also eagerly anticipated breakfast.

She awoke to a meal of similar proportions. There were platesful of eggs, six whole hams, ten rolls of pancetta (Italian bacon), sweet rolls and breads by the dozen, and freshly-churned buttermilk to wash it down. She polished it all off - twice over! After fondling her future self for nearly two hours, she fell asleep. And her morning repast slowly turned to more fat.

Paolo and Francesca continued this routine for two and a half months. Sometimes he would feed her himself. It was a particular joy to do that. Together they celebrated her fattening form. But more than that, it ignited his desire for Francesca. After this time, he stopped participating. He was commissioned for another work, he said. Burying himself in other projects was the only way to quench the fire in him that burned for the rapidly expanding Francesca.

She had grown to love his company, especially since she knew her eating nearly drove him to madness. She loved finally having this power over a man. This must have been what it felt like to be the desired Regina.

She had her food to comfort her in Paolo's absence. As much as she wanted, when ever she wanted, which was now from dawn to dusk. She compared herself daily to Regina's fleshy body, while Paolo worked in near isolation for the next two weeks.

At last he emerged from his studio. "It is time," he said.

"Are you certain?"

"Never more. Your figure now rivals that of Regina's. I'll tell your father to arrange the contest."

On a sunny Saturday morning, a crowd gathered at the Luchesi estate. Regina sat on her end of the balance, eating a large cake with a wooden spoon. A token of affection from one her many suitors, no doubt.

Giuseppi, Paolo, and Francesca pulled up in a gilded carriage. When Francesca stepped down, the assembly gasped in unison. How had she more than doubled her weight? She walked, with the slightest hint of a waddle, to her side of the scale. The dress she wore was intentionally tight. Every curve, each dimple, every roll was displayed. She matched Regina inch for inch.

As she sat on the platform, her dress revealed her wide hips as they spread across the seat. Young Salvatore prayed to his God in Heaven that Francesca would win. She lifted her round, dimpled legs from the ground - no easy task now. Slowly she sank, and slowly Regina rose in the air, cake and all. Francesca then hit the ground, sending waves of ripples through her tantalizing new fat, and the dress shone every one.

Well that was that. Giuseppi Romana and Mario Luchesi shook hands. The marriage would take place on Francesca's birthday.

The day arrived, and all of Milan turned out for the wedding. The Pope even came to officiate. All was in place. The bride had thirteen attendants.

As the doors at the back of the cathedral swung open, there was a hush, almost a stunned silence. The expanse of woman lumbering down the aisle couldn't have been Francesca. This girl was twice her size! She bulged all through the white silk dress, nearly straining all the seams. When she got to the altar, Salvatore lifted the veil, just to be sure.

There was Francesca. Her face had dissolved into her three chins. The dress was cut low to reveal two breasts that looked like watermelons perched atop the mountain that had become her belly. Salvatore had to stand on tiptoe to reach her for the kiss. She did her best to run down the aisle to her waiting coach. Fat undulated everywhere: her tummy bounced high, slapping against her knees; her swollen breasts nearly knocked her unconscious; and her ass wiggled and shook so that every man nearly lost his senses. And when she was finally seated in the coach, her wide, spreading ass took up an entire side.

Salvatore reveled in Francesca's enormity and softness. Naturally, she was more than he had expected. She had grown impressively since the weigh-in, and she grew even more as time went by.

The townsfolk wondered how such a precipitous and alluring gain took place, especially for "the chicken." Regina, now longer regarded as the fairest in Milan, wondered most of all. She knew about Francesca's association with Paolo Gambetti, so she approached him.

Naturally, he was reluctant to give up the secret that had won him a benefactor in Giuseppi Romana. Regina offered him the one thing no man still could not resist, though, a weekly liaison with her. So he showed her the statue and the potion, and he described the marathon feedings. She touched her own body in the statue, felt the warmth of real flesh and the suppleness of stone that was like true fat. Paolo explained that the elixir not only rendered the qualities of flesh to stone, but that the person modeled would take on the likeness of the art.

"But this is what she looked like at the contest!" Regina exclaimed, pointing at the likeness of her body. "She was so fat at her wedding. How?"

This Paolo kept to himself, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't know. Regina vowed this wouldn't be the end. She had to find out, and for days after watched him secretly in his studio. When she left, he went back to his study and pulled the cover from another statue. He had labored over it starting two weeks before the contest. He rubbed it and rubbed it with those oily rags until it looked as if it could step right off the platform.

Paolo had worked more sorcery. Among his friends was an exceptional thief who broke into the Palazzo d'Romana and stole a full length painting for him. That he used as the model for a new statue of Francesca. The subject of the painting - Francesca's voluptuous mother.

Paolo watched from afar as young Luchesi enjoyed his new wife. His desire for Francesca increased. Regina knew this from secretly watching Paolo adore his new statue. Finally she knew all - the potion, the painting of Francesca's mother, everything; and she would seize this opportunity in good time.