Chapter 13 Jelia at the limits to mobility
Back at the Palace, the queens continued to press the match of Jelia with the vile Roh. Jelia
and I had already talked about this at length, during our nighttime heart to hearts, lying
together up on our verandah. We had agreed that, whatever we felt about the wonderful life
we led together, Jelia's long term future lay at the Palace. So now there was no playing hard
to get on Jelia's part, she was more than willing to play the fat queens' game. She pursued
the greaseball Roh so vigorously and with such an appetite that it played havoc with all our
figures. We called at the Palace most days. Once or twice we re-visited the bizarre Food
Court, otherwise we stayed in the traditional courtyards. The pretenses to entertain us to
soirees, or fashion shows or dances as excuses for our visits were gradually dispensed with.
As the courtesies were dropped, it became abundantly clear to me just how all consuming the
celebration of flesh was for the Queens. It demanded ceaseless eating, drinking and
pampering, continuous monitoring of flesh accumulation and ample and immediate
gratification of all desires and urges that might arise from these pursuits.
In the courtyards the Queens could, unencumbered by their regalia, relax beside or move
freely within deep calm pools. Penetrating these recesses, I was shocked to discover that
Roh was quite good looking, compared to the obscene sex toys certain Queens left lying
around their pools. Their taste inclined to grossly distorted lumps, all muscle, belly and
genitalia. These grotesques could measure up to about 6 foot in any dimension, with a
scarcely visible shaven head. There would be a thick muscular back, legs and arms but at
the front, rolls of pendulous tit fat fell over a gargantuan flowing belly. This would extend
down onto to the ground, almost obscuring a scrotum perhaps some 30 inches in diameter
and an immense flaccid penis. Their only mobility came from sliding themselves along
headfirst on their backs, dragging their bellies and fleshy underparts on slimy schlubber
behind them like slugs. I never heard such lumps speak, save for uttering grunts while
feeding or orgasmic splutterings. They were simply fed and played with. Play usually took the
form of them being tantalized into arousal, whereupon they might topple or roll uselessly onto
their backs, with a great wavering dick extending out at 45o for perhaps 5 feet, like an artillery
field piece. They could shoot out cum like guns, I saw one fire over into the next courtyard..
It seemed to me that Jelia set herself to converting Roh into such an object single mindedly
and relentlessly, urged on in her feeding of him by the Queens with an overflowing
cornucopia of plenty. In those few months, I witnessed the hulk swell and seemingly burst in
the foulest manner through ceaseless gorging. What was also going on behind the scenes,
whenever Jelia was away, was that the Queens were getting him "strengthened", as Arpul
had explained to me, the very first time I had visited and inquired about the strange ways of
the Palace. Over time the stuffing of Roh was rendering him down into little more than a
torpid garden ornament.
During these months of gorging I also noted the reciprocal effect on Jelia. She began by
expanding, though still quite firm. Then gradually I felt her flesh becoming softer. Her
extraordinary projections eventually had to acknowledge gravity, her butt started growing
downwards as it enlarged. Her nipples and aureole enlarged as her breasts moved both
lower and outwards over her folding and dropping belly. I saw this after perhaps two months.
Perversely she still insisted on playing tennis up to a very late stage. So, being regularly
recorded on camera, her weight gain was very public. Her growing fatness became a media
talking point, first commentators remarked on how she was moving more heavily and
becoming labored in her breathing. Then they delighted in savoring the new softer fat,
noting her extended "jiggle time" after any movement about the court, and introducing new
statistics such as belly droop and estimating her circumference when seated.
After Jelia had attempted to play tennis for the very last time, to satisfy her curiosity, Jello-O
and I took her measurements. We recorded: bust 75, waist 72, hips 85, upper arm 32, thigh
47, calf 33. We also got belly droop 33 and circumference sitting down 94. I reckon with
those statistics, she must have weighed about 550 pounds, so it wasn't surprising that she
showed all the mobility on court of a deflating bouncy castle. Nevertheless everyone agreed
she looked unforgettable in a white satin shorty tennis dress over titanic lace panties.
Although she now came home to sleep infrequently, she looked wonderful splayed out across
our sleeping area and I told her so.
I loved her lying face down. Her fat belly was causing her rump to ride much higher. From a
sitting position on the edge of the mattress, I could tickle the sweetest little wrinkled soles of
her plump feet, while marveling at the swelling calves and thighs flowing ever up towards the
great rounded mound of ass blubber. It was like the view of some mountainous island rising
from the sea. I loved to nuzzle up in between those soft thighs to sleep, cushioning my head
between the two great globes of loose liquid fat, all alive and quivering as she snored.
I loved her lying face up. I would look down and see someone at peace with herself,
luxuriating in her slow dissolution into enormity. Her aureole floated upon breasts flooding on
forever across her upper arms. Her belly fat cascaded onto the mattress either side of her
and right down over her thighs. Kneeling alongside her, if I brushed my lips against hers she
would smile and open her eyes and perhaps I might read in them a flicker of uncertainty
about her future as I continued caressing her and we reminisced over past passions.
I found it increasingly difficult to urge her into rising, and before leaving the verandah, we
had to struggle to clothe her. She took to wearing loose filmy Indian cottons which I could
wrap upon her in layers. I loved how these clung alluringly to various parts of her as she
moved. I felt that, though I was seeing her less, I was successfully countering Philippa's plan
to steal her from me.
About this time Hiccu stopped turning up at the Center. I asked Marcus if he knew where I
might contact Hiccu and he looked as evasive as ever. He just shrugged and continued
wiping down the Shlum dispenser.
Jelia must have weighed about 700 pounds by the time she stopped coming back to the
verandah for good. Once she moved permanently into the Palace her weight gain
accelerated dramatically. If I stayed overnight at the Palace with her I saw how the Queens
would cream and massage her, then as she grew too fat for them to reach, she was assigned
her own helpers. During the next three months living in the Palace, she came to stay longer
in the water like the Queens around her. I was delighted when Jelia seemed to discard Roh,
abandoning him, a disgusting satyr of slobbering blubber and gristle, as a toy for the more
mobile Queens. I could never bring myself to contemplate what he might have got up to with
my Jelia. Latterly I noted green mold spreading along the lower folds in his blubber and I
fantasized about him slowly morphing into one of the soft mossy grass covered mounds that
we reclined on around the Palace pools.
Overnight stays enabled me to observe, hear and smell more of the workings of the Palace. I
became aware of the parallel world of endless kitchen courts, storage larders and granaries
interspersed with the quarters where all the helpers lived. It was difficult to distinguish where
Royalty ended and servants began, all seemed interrelated. Plump women breast fed plump
children who, in turn, tended pigs, sheep and calves and fattened poultry beside pools
stocked with plump fish. I listened to the old stories told at bedtime to the children of the
Palace. I heard of their belief about the origins of the people of Dolores, how they came from
a Goddess living in the coastal freshwater pool that was the original site of the Palace. If they
continued nurturing her well enough then they all would return safely to her. I learnt how to
pronounce pee-arner io properly, which is the sacred name for the Queens' Canal. Before I
had said 'piano' like everyone else. Literally it means 'the line of life', though io also means
us and being.
In due course Jelia was given a pool in a court of her own. She loved me coming to sit on the
pool edge to watch, as her helpers worked tirelessly at keeping her stuffed and swelling. We
would also float luxuriously together for hours. Lying against her, she felt incredibly soft like a
nearly deflated toy balloon. It was one of the biggest turn-ons of my life to stay with her over
these weeks and experience her billowing out . The ecstasy that awaits those who have been
chosen to transcend the normal limits of human mobility is unique to Dolorean culture. The
queens and their helpers all emphasized to me that it was a very special privilege to witness
the apparently limitless sensations being felt by those who are passing through into this
state.
One morning I thought I sensed a kind of electric tingling after I had entered the water and
settled into her soft bulk for a welcoming nuzzle. She opened her eyes and smiled dreamily.
She whispered to me that she was seeing the King at night now. Over the next few days she
said more about him: he had revealed to her that he was under house arrest, forbidden by
his brother, the Prince Regent, from seeing any outsiders. He was ashamed to have to admit
that, in effect, he was held prisoner in his own country. Jelia surprised me by saying that he
had heard all about me and knew of my mission. He wanted very much to meet me despite
the ban on contact with the outside world.
We worked out a plan where I would stay overnight in the adjacent court as I often did now,
and swim under the wall across the connecting canal into Jelia's pool when the King was with
her. A week later, I waited till the palace had subsided into its late evening sated calm before
slipping into the courtyard pool. Moving silently across in the water, I ducked down under the
wall and swam around into Jelia's pool.
I was unprepared for the towering presence of the King. He too was in the water, standing on
the bottom, a tall man - of basket ball player height - over 6' 9" I guessed and in his late 40s
or even early 50s. He was massive, with powerful legs arms and shoulders and a flowing
belly over, I fancied, a great penis. He had a strong man's head, shaven and braced by thick
neck muscles, but his face was unforgettable, piercing eyes under beetling black brows and
a huge hooked nose. He had a great lopsided grinning mouth shining with white teeth set in
an immense black beard that seemed to extend right down over his black hairy chest and
merge with the pubic hair that continued over his belly and swirled in the water around his
groin.
He welcomed me with a soft hug and said he wanted to thank me; he was so grateful for all I
had done for Jelia. She was about to become a Queen, a truly great Dolorean Queen, with
the potential to become the greatest in living memory.
I made several more forays under the syphon into his presence. During these visits he
opened up and explained a little more of his predicament directly to me. There had been two
factions, the traditionalists loyal to him and a group wanting to modernize Dolores with
business led growth in the economy. The modernisers plotted with his brother who, declaring
himself Prince Regent, placed the King under house arrest. The Prince Regent's cronies had
links with western Mafia and oriental Triad business interests. He had even heard rumor of
plans to turn the Palace and the Inn on the Sea into an international sex and gambling haven
with hotels and casinos.
When I rolled in to Jelia's courtyard for one of our customary prolonged lunchtimes, I found
her radiant, her eyes shining. She had been waiting impatiently to tell me she was pregnant.
Characteristically, it seemed to increase her appetite and I helped feed her the most
gargantuan meal ever. It extended through late afternoon and blended into the evening's
dining. I had to stand in the water with her floating beside me, gently easing and distributing
the mass I could feel below the surface belly fat of her paunch. I slept with her that night,
sharing her joy and as I caressed her, I wondered at what stage she would be moved into the
inner sanctum of courtyards.
Chapter 14 too fat to run
My frequent trips to the Palace and the need to conform to their etiquette played utter havoc
with my physique. I noticed it particularly in the make-up mirror. My face had rounded, and
my cheeks plumping up now made my nose look smaller. My eyes, previously the largest
elements of my face, were round and deeply set. Now they sparkled like water down a well.
My lips had taken their place as the most striking feature. They had more than doubled in
size, to be full, round and luscious, I enjoyed smacking them, then running my moistened
tongue around. I saw a large and bulbous roll of fat now framing my features, it paralleled my
cheek from beside my eyes down to my chins. In effect this gave me another cheek each
side. I now had three soft and full chins, falling straight into my deepening cleavage or rolling
directly over the long slow shelf of my bosom.
Sideways on, I was spectacular, I had reached the single measurement Sis had once excited
me with. My breasts were enormous, the nipple at each tip stuck up and outwards way down
below my waist, roughly on a line with my one time belly button ride height. My belly was a
complex of folded over swags of fat, low-slung in front of my knees. My ass cheeks on the
other hand had so expanded that they rode up and out; their maximum projection was more
or less in line with my nipples. Any tape around my nipples to check my bust measurement
also measured my hips. I could no longer reach out to touch these extremities with my hands.
I reckoned I was nearly 5 feet across, so I figured if I had gotten a tape around my
circumference it would have been something like 160 inches!
I'd given up tie blouses long ago, I couldn't reach under my tits now to tie anything. At work I
found it easier to wear bikini bottoms and a great tee shirt that more or less went over
everything, which is how 90% of Dolorean females dress. No-one I know in Dolores ever
wears bras.
It took a lot longer to move around now. I rolled from side to side, pulling my legs up to
sweep the billowing fat of calves and thighs past one another. I had to have the inside of my
thighs well oiled to reduce rubbing. My knees also had to heft the curtains of belly flab
forward at each step. I used my arms to try to steady the lateral flow of my vast liquid
quivering tits, continually displaced by the rolling of my belly. This wasn't bad news, indeed I
reveled in it. Watching and feeling my enlarged body dancing about me in continual
movement was wonderfully sensual.
Frequently it was simpler just to stay over at the Palace rather than walk home. When I did
come home, I would pull a light cotton tent slip over my head, it scarcely covered the bottom
of my belly curtain and butt. My waddling along the short distance between the Palace and
the Center took longer and longer for I had to pause repeatedly to let all my madly jiggling fat
calm down and gather myself up for the next few paces.
One night late, I had turned out of the Palace onto the home strait along the Strand, building
up momentum, enthralled as ever by the swish and jiggle of all that dancing body fat I was
nurturing. The Strand was deserted at that time, nearer 11 than 10pm. Noticing a row of large
black shapes blocking my path, I made to walk around them, to the outside, towards the
water's edge. Then, too late, I realized the shapes were great Gut Busters, and that it was
me they were waiting for. I decided I had to make a dash for it along the avoidance line I had
already started along. I put on speed, increasing the rhythm of rolling my legs past one
another but experienced such a hiatus of bouncing and quivering belly, breasts and butt
flesh, that I was thrown right off balance and forced to stop, my heart pounding, and
everything a jiggle. I heard the Gutt Busters explode in jeering laughter.
But I just had to make it through that gap, so I decided on longer pushes with each movement
of my legs. I held my arms tighter against the sides of my tit flesh to try to constrain the
unpredictable mass and struck determinedly out again. Then I noticed the nearer of those
obscene great blobs were actually making the same speed as I was and that our paths would
cross.
Dear God! Had I become so grossly obese that even floundering Gut Busters could catch
me!
The Gut Busters had indeed realized this and were calling to me: "We've got you this time,
Aunty." They started chanting in unison: "You're going to get it tonight Aunty Sam!"
I turned and started kicking my bulk back to the Palace gate. I just about could make it, if I
had enough breath to keep using this longer kicking pace I'd worked up.
Then I felt a bump from behind, I was pushed forward but somehow recovered. then
another and, Oh Shit, another. I couldn't recover, I was going over!
I overbalanced and pitched forwards, bouncing onto my breasts and belly.
My number was up - those obscene fucking Butt Gutsers had got me!
I heard a roar of triumph. Then I felt the loathsome bellyflesh of one of them thrusting against
me and the light cotton slip ride up. My butt was uppermost and utterly exposed, at the very
least I was getting raped!
"Hey Aunty Sam! Its me Hiccu," I heard the urgent stage whisper from behind me, " Before
the others get here, I just want to say I'll go easy. They want me to screw you. I have to do it.
I'm sorry!"
The others slowly rolled up, laughing and belching. They were jostling one another to form a
tight circle to better view the spectacle. They were obviously shouting encouragement at
Hiccu.
One shouted in my ear "You're going to get your ass screwed into your fat Yankee tits Aunty"
I felt Hiccu thrusting against my backside. Of course I didn't mind dear old Hiccu having a go,
I'd often thought about offering him a screw before. But he could have chosen a better time
and place. Still, I might as well make it easier for him: I spread myself a bit and felt the shaft
of his penis for the first time, probing enquiringly. His great gut rode up over me, forcing me
forward. I continued trying to continue opening up, it wasn't easy, there was just too much
darned flesh in the way. I was pitched right forward atop my belly now, arms out sideways,
my face rammed down my cleavage between my tits. Oh God! How many times before have I
been in this position, face stuffed into my tits, being screwed for the sake of my country. I'd
lost count. Now I could feel him thrusting forward, feeling for the opening. I wiggled a bit and
he slipped further forward into a position where he could get in. I pushed back and up and
felt him enter. He was big! Yeah, and he was driving hard but the trouble was avoirdupois.
Try as we could, we couldn't work right down into one another.
We had to be content with making the best of where we'd got to. I wriggled around and did
the play acting bit which excited the watching Gutsos and also clearly encouraged Hiccu. He
started bouncing happily and shouting and I thought, hey, not too much big fellow, you'll
bounce out. I didn't have too long to wait.
He suddenly started crying out "Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!" I felt him come. I went along with it and
threw in lots of yelling of my own.
They all whooped encouragement and danced about, bumping their guts into one another.
Too soon Hiccu went flaccid and withdrew, I felt him slide off behind me, his face slipping
down into my ass before he was lifted off by the others. The really unpleasant bit came next.
The rest then moved in, they all wanted a slice of the action. The favourite routine was to rub
the bottom of their giant blubbery guts over my face and work up hards which they then stuck
into any crevice close to hand to jerk off: my cleavage, armpits, butt, or indeed crevices on
one another. It seemed like it took forever. From the first gut barging up my derriere that had
up-ended me, through to the very last indignity, it all took place in slow motion. But I also
found I could escape by thinking about other things. I thought about Hiccu and remembered
all the other gentler ways in which he had serviced me and Sis. I figured that, through
Marcus, he had made it into the Gut Busters and that this was one of the ritual initiation acts
he was obliged to perform as a rite of passage. Happy to have helped you Hiccu, I said wryly
to myself. Had St Sebastian escaped into such thoughts as the arrows kebabed him?
Fortunately the Gut Busters' lard encrusted imaginations were limited. Eventually they
lumbered away; their rapacious hunger, I told myself, was drawing them back to the snack
bar counter. I felt Hiccu pat me gently before leaving, as I lay on the ground, my cheek and
chins against the tarmac. I also thought I heard a woman's voice and laughter nearby.
When all was quiet, I tried to rise and realized I was painfully stiff. Instead, I somehow
squirmed and flopped, like a seal, over to the waters edge and rolled into the creek. I
immediately felt better in the silky dark water, the reflections crackling silently all around me.
I jettisoned the tatters of my cotton slip and swam. I swam and swam, flushing all that crap off
me in the nurturing water. Much later I came ashore on the slipway by the Center, climbing
up out of the water like some morphed up Ursula Andress. Proudly butt naked, I strutted
elegant and slow across the Strand to the Center. The watchman, aroused in more ways than
one, opened up the double gates to me just as the first light of dawn was breaking.
I slept nearly all next day, then nursing my bruised and aching body, went over the night in
detail. I was certain the voice I had heard was Philippa's. I had also seen her wobbling her
bulk laboriously along as I had left the inner sanctums. I remembered how she had looked
back, watching me over her huge backside. At the time I thought she was merely noting my
spectacular weight gain and I had enjoyed signaling "Up yours" with an extravagant extra
flaunting of my haunches! Now I was pretty sure she had been lurking by the Strand gate of
the Palace to spring the trap.
I reported back to base using the AFTERGLOW routine. The upshot was I got shipped back
on two months convalescent leave, a young minder being flown out to take my place at the
Center. The airport scales checked me out of Dolores at 564 pounds, over a quarter of a ton!
But my reward for this was to find the full works awaiting me Stateside. I was shipped from
the airport in a customized van with black windows to a health farm in the remote Maine pine
forests.
I have never endured so much sustained humiliation, non stop action and sheer brutal
starvation. I ran round a lake, rowed across it, swam in it, hauled logs in and out of it, sank
into swamps, was continually slapped with twigs, pushed through steam and thrown back out
again into the icy lake. Day after day this went on, I just got passed from one sadistic trainer
to the next as they worked out squad after squad of victims round the clock. Everyone else
came for short sharp stints, because, compared to me, they were already hard and muscular.
Various big wigs came to witness the punishment meted out to me. While they got hards on
by closely observing a scantily clad fat woman undergoing severe physical hardship, they
quizzed me carefully on Dolores, the Royal Family and the King and the goddam Gut
Busters. My old admiral, bless him, did his best. When he visited, he smuggled in half a
dozen precious cartons of genuine Dolorean Schlum. Also from him I learned that sporadic
pirate attacks on shipping were continuing.
During that dreadful two month Boot Camp punishment routine, I yielded over 320 pounds of
that fat I had so joyfully stacked on in Dolores. After two months I weighed 238. I scarcely
recognized myself in the mirror when I was eventually allowed to look in one. My face and
neck had a sallow loose look, my skin had been overtaken out by the rapid weight loss and
hung in wrinkled swags off my hips, belly and over my boobs.
Everyone said how great I looked. My old ma cackled at the sight of me and enjoyed pointing
out that I was a lot slimmer than little Sis, who now stacked 270 pounds, the result of too
many vacation trips to Dolores. Sis sniggered, saying what a surprise it would be for Jelia
when I got back. And I did so look forward to going back, I realized I had grown to love the
easy pace of Pacific Dolores life just as much as I had loathed and detested swampy, midge
ridden Maine.
The day before I was due to fly back, I had a message, mum had had a stroke. I made it
down to Florida and Sis and I went to the hospital but she didn't recognize us. She died the
following day. I stayed on with Sis after the funeral and we talked over plans. I said "Come
back to Dolores with me" but Sis said that for now she would keep the Florida apartment and
her hospital laboratory job.
I flew back to Dolores a week later and, oh boy, the Shlum tasted like nectar. To mark my
homecoming and her leaving, the minder and I had a heavy night on the Shlum together at
the Inn on the Sea. I thanked her for her hard work in so ably filling my shoes in my absence,
and promised that I would write in my official report that she had developed into "a good all
rounder"' during her short time in Dolores.
She blushed at my heavy handed Dolorean punning and said God knows how enormous she
would get if she stayed permanently in this paradise. She had taken to quaffing Shlum with
everything. I patted her rolls of tum and said that I couldn't help noticing, but that was only
because I was jealous. I let her believe I envied her because she was still a lot slimmer than
the new lightweight me. But she had so obviously enjoyed blowing out with the expansive
Dolorean way of life while I'd had it battered out of me in Boot Camp. She loosened off her
waistband, giggling helplessly at me as her bellyflab cascaded out, then she passed out,
falling across my new lap. Fondling her soft new rolls of fat while she snored, I felt the full
extent of my homesickness.
For I loved the naughty feel of fat, of discovering new excesses - either on my body or on
those close to me. I loved all the different sensations: of fat lovers jiggling together in the
shower, slapping one another's rubbery streaming flesh, then chortling as they bounce
against each other to flaunt outrageously expanding curves in the mirror. Later, lying at
peace together, they might, with the lightest of fingertips, intimately trace soft folds and
slopes, marveling at the billowing blubber.
I remember this night as the time when I decided there was no turning back. Now I wanted to
stay in Dolores, become a part of it. I had nothing to lose; mum was dead, my remaining ties
(such as they had been) were gone. The outcome of the Maine work-out was a new self
awareness. I kept recalling how the orgiastic tempo of Jelia's fattening to propel her through
the mobility barrier had excited us all. Now I knew a fat woman of truly vast potential was
pent up in me. That night I decided to go for broke.
While coming to this conclusion, I had worked my way through two more cartons of Schlum -
already I had started grossing out again. Slumping down on my already supine colleague, I
murmured "Game On!"
To be continued
