Prisoner Of Beauty
By Sasha Steele
One In every kingdom there are those to whom greed defines their lives. So it was that Miramari, born of nobility though she be, was sold into slavery by her uncle Kandrif.
Very early in Miramira's life, Kandrif saw that she had inherited the comely face and form of her mother who had died giving her only child life. Her father, killed in battle not long after, caused the child to be brought into the care of Kandrif who immediately saw the profit. First, in order to appease his greed, he secured her betrothed lands and possessions. And then, as the child grew, he saw the value in her development and sought to capitalize upon it.
When Miramari turned but fourteen, the age of development, her uncle Kandrif made a bargain with the sisters of Laven for Miramira. This was no ordinary bargain, as Miramira's potential was readily apparent at her internment. She was special, and upon completion of her transformation Kandrif knew that the Krals would pay a mighty sum for her. So he bartered and was granted more for Miramani than any internee had ever before yielded.
The Krals were an unruly bunch of louts, interested only in their combat and their drink, and ravaging young women from the surrounding kingdoms. They were much-feared warriors, raiders and looters - and, of late, guards for the slave colonies that worked their gold mines. It was a delicate peace held between them and the other kingdoms, but the Krals now were rich and they were stupid. So what mattered the sacrifice of a few virgins in the face of a profitable coexistence?
The Krals were a mixed race of men. Not really a race at all but a simulation of many men born of the women that they raped - girls and weaklings weeded out, only the strong remained. A legion of giants, the Krals believed in their own physical power, and to carry on their legend women had to be possessed of certain attributes deemed important in the weaning of future warriors.
So a system of concubineship had been devised. The Krals insisted that their acquisitions be untouched flawless beauties - virgins eighteen years in age, no more, no less - and they paid for them by the pound. The heavier the beautiful young virgins were, the better the price they would fetch. The sisters didn't think, upon paying Kendrif his demanded price, that they had bargained poorly at all, for never had they interned a girl with such potential as Miramari possessed.
Two Yes, Miramari was special; she would be trained as concubine for Tarub, king of the Krals. Deciding their leadership by combat, Tarub - having defeated all comers - was the strongest and meanest of the Krals, and his reputation was well founded throughout the kingdoms. Many a virgin, savagely raped, had died at his hand. Saddened by her fate, Miramari wept as she was taken to Castle Laven where she would be interned for four long years before being handed over to the king of the Krals for his pleasure.
But all was soon forgotten as Miramari acclimated to her new surroundings. After all, she was in a lavish palace, with the finest of clothes and most delicious food in all the kingdom. Miramari had never had it so good; she needn't lift a finger as her every whim was attended to by servants. Her quarters were wonderful, the garden within her courtyard walls expansive. Miramari could do anything that she liked except she could not leave nor have any contact with men.
The sisters had been correct in their assessment of Miramari and were confident that she would fetch a price higher than any they had ever before received. Watching Miramari closely, it was evident from the day she had arrived that she would settle into the idle life style of a concubine-in-waiting. At the beginning, Miramari was already as large as some virgins had been upon leaving; that was already quite apparent.
But what really set her apart - even more than her impeccable beauty - was Miramari's voracious appetite; her boundless hunger seemed insatiable. Within these confines Miramari could do anything that she wanted, but to the sisters' delight it seemed that all Miramari wanted to do was to eat. So she was fed, as much and as often as she liked, and encouraged to consume even more, and within six short months the results of Miramari's internship were already beginning to show. She had arrived already larger than any other virgin, weighing four hundred and fifty pounds, and now, a mere half of a year later, Miramari had already added another hundred.
Ishma was a thief who, as a consequence of his occupation, regularly got into places where he was not supposed to be. No one knew of Ishma's origins or who his parents were; he had been on his own for as long as anyone could remember, a strapping capable lad. Ishma had heard of the bountiful beauty who was interned behind the walls of Castle Laven, and at age sixteen, a powerful urge felt deep in his loins driving him forth. Of course, he had to see this beauty with his own eyes.
Ishma knew of a secret way into the courtyard; he had been there before. When first he laid eyes upon Miramari, it was as if he were struck down. Never before had Ishma seen an apparition of such prodigious size and extraordinary beauty. At first sight, Ishma fell under Miramari's spell and was in love.
Miramari had just awoken from her slumber, having dozed off after being fed her mid-afternoon banquet. She yawned sleepily, raising her heavy arms to stretch before struggling to her feet and steadying her weight upon golden high heel ankle strap sandals, shuffled to her mirrors to admire her imposing reflection. The air was quite warm, so Miramari was scantily dressed in a golden-jeweled brassiere and gilded hip belt, which draped below the swell of her huge belly and sat upon her broad flaring hips. A shear scarf sash hung between her thick heavy thighs in front and covered the cleft of her magnificent large rounded backside.
Miramari's long flaxen hair hung in curls down her wide back. Her beautiful fat swollen face was adorned with make up and jewelry: rings on every thick finger, a golden drape necklace below the collar of fat upon her neck, a jewel stud in her nose, and ears covered all round in earrings. Miramari knew that she was beautiful and would become even more so as time went buy. In her mind's eye, she could see the astonishing beauty of stupendous size she was destined to become but shuddered to think of the consequence, putting the king of the Krals from her mind.
Round fat hands upon her billowing potbelly, Miramari turned slightly to check out its rotund contours, when she heard something in the garden and decided to investigate. Massive legs splayed as she tottered along, Miramari meandered into the garden and arrived puffing at her destination. "I know you are there," Miramari uttered in a deep sensuous voice. "Show yourself or I shall summon the guard."
Ishma kept his silence while Miramari waddled further into the garden. "I warn you," she commanded, "you will show yourself now." Hidden directly behind Miramari's broad back, Ishma thought best to escape while he could and turned to steal away as he had came. Sensing him behind her, a startled Miramari turned, losing her balance. Rather than risk allowing this goddess of prodigal size to injure herself in a fall, Ishma quickly caught her up in his strong arms. "Fearing capture, still you choose to save me," she breathed, knowing that the punishment for his presence in Castle Laven was death. "Why?
"You were watching me. Why are you in my garden?" Miramari knew that she should have called for the guard, but looking at Ishma, the strangest feeling came over her, almost as if it were the rapacious pangs of hunger she felt before her feedings. Without thought, Miramari had again placed a stubby swollen hand onto her protruded belly caressing the soft smooth flesh upon it. The act had not gone unnoticed by Ishma, who for the first time in his life was speechless. "Well, answer me," Miramari demanded.
"I could not allow harm to come to such a vision of loveliness," he finally managed. "I stole into your garden in order to feast my eyes upon your unbounded voluminous beauty. That I have done. If the guards you must call, then do so; I place myself at your mercy, Miramari."
"You could leave undetected?" Miramari asked.
"Yes, if you so desire, my princess."
Miramari heard her attendance call out for her; it was time for her to be fed. "Then do so, I release you," she said to Ishma, adding, "but you will return to me in three hours time, and we shall talk further," she commanded upon releasing him, turning and slowly waddling away. Ishma watched her massive rear end jutting side to side as she went.
"As you command," he whispered.
Miramari's alluring green eyes widened at the sight of the lavish banquet that had been prepared for her. Her mouth watering she plunked her substantial five-hundred-and-fifty pound frame onto the padded bench to be fed. All thoughts of her new friend in the garden were immediately forgotten as she opened her mouth to be fed the succulent repast of fowl and vegetables, bread and the finest sweats. Miramari closed her eyes as she hastily took each morsel into her waiting mouth, savoring every bite and swallow.
Miramari consumed platter after platter as her belly began to swell until finally bloating beyond capacity, and she was unable to stuff in another morsel. Dreamily, she lay back and drifted off to sleep as an attendant gently massaged her full belly to aid with digestion. She slept nearly two hours and awoke, thinking of Ishma in the garden. Dragging herself from the bed, Miramari yawned, went to her mirror and then waddled into the garden to meet again with Ishma.
Three Miramari saw Ishma in the garden again and stayed with him until her evening feeding. He returned again the following day and every day after that, falling deeper and deeper in love with the mammoth beauty. Ishma had entered into Miramari's dreams; in them, no longer was she alone at mirror but with him, attentive as she grew larger, and it was Ishma who came to feed her now. Such were Miramari's dreams, and such became the love that she too felt for him.
But alas, it was not to be. A mere three months had passed when one day, climbing the wall to meet his beloved Miramari, Ishma was caught and sentenced to be hanged. Miramari wailed and pleaded, but to no avail - he was taken away. Heart broken, she turned to the comfort of her food, and so began her metamorphosis into a concubine of colossal size, the heaviest woman who had ever lived in all the kingdoms.
Miramari wept as she was transported to the kingdom of the Krals, trembling in fear at the specter of what lie ahead, but also in distress of her treatment. A fine price indeed had been gotten for her, and, bargain complete, the sisters would have nothing further to do with her. And to the Krals she was nothing more than an object of sexual desire for their dog of a king. Miramari had not been fed since leaving Castle Levan; four hours had passed. Tormented by unrelenting hunger pangs, Marimba cried out for food, but all they did was laugh. Surely she would die from hunger before they arrived.
Ten bearers carried Miramari's transport into the king's chamber in the castle of the Krals. Behind drawn veils, Miramari was ordered to sit, awaiting her master's arrival. Incapable of getting to her feet by herself and able to walk but a few steps on her own, Miramari now struggled to roll her immense body with its oppressive weight onto her side and into a sitting position, only managing to do so with the help of two strong Kral guards.
Peeking out through a slit opening in the curtain, Miramari shuddered as Tarub the king of the Krals came into view. In the shadows, he appeared monstrous, ugly and very angry, shouting at his lieutenants and then threateningly drawing his great sword. Miramari thought for sure that she was dead. Tarub stormed from the room and into the great hall amid the shouts of embattlement and clanging of swords, which seemed to go on forever.
And then there were shouts and cheers as the Krals acknowledged their new leader. Someone stronger and meaner than the great Tarub himself had finally managed to unseat him, the victor holding the severed head aloft, claiming his victory. Trapped by her own great tonnage in the curtained boudoir, Miramari cringed as the new king of the Krals approached. In the coming shadows, he looked ominous. Then the curtain abruptly spread and Miramari's breath stopped, "hhhhhhhhhhuuuu."
Now let it not be said that those sisters at Castle Laven were not a thrifty bunch. Having dispatched a half dozen or more of their guards, what good would a hanging do when such a strapping young man would fetch a handsome price sold to work the Kral gold mines? That which did not kill him only served to make him stronger, and, instead of languishing, Ishma had matured into a powerful Kral.
Ishma was a thief, after all, able to steal meat to fuel his labor as his body grew. Kral guards who admired nothing but strength grew to respect Ishma and allowed him to fight in tournaments. He learned well, eventually earning his freedom in combat, and allowed into the army, where in one short year he gained enough of a reputation to challenge Tarub for his leadership. It was the only way that Ishma could save his beloved Miramari.
"Ishma!" Miramari cried, tears rolling over her huge bulging cheeks, "I-I thought you were dead, oh Ishma I-I..." Momentarily taken aback, Ishma hardly recognized Miramari, who had ballooned grotesquely beyond all belief. Her beautiful face still framed in long flaxen curls and heavily adorned with dark mascara and lipstick was a distorted pear shape with a prodigious collar of blubber around her neck, large jowls and bulging cheeks. Even her skull and finer parts, lips, nose and ears were laden with fat. The sisters had taken all her jewelry, leaving her with none.
Miramari's shoulders were extremely bulky, her back three feet across, which caused her gargantuan arms to rest almost at ninety degrees upon her thick girth. Like huge overly stuffed pillows, they loomed nearly sixty inches in circumference upon her sides. Tapering into forearms not much smaller, the deep crease at Miramari's wrists gave way to hands so soft and swollen with fat, the fingers sausage-like stubs with long painted nails, that they had become useless in the performance of most tasks.
Miramari's huge imposing bosoms, bigger than the largest watermelons, sat atop an astounding belly of immense size. That blimp-like globular mass in turn rested upon monstrous thighs of impossible dimensions - possibly a hundred inches around them, protruding past her outspread knees which themselves measured eighteen inches across. Miramari's calves were as large as her arms and like balloons below the crease line that separated them from the rest of her mammoth leg. Miramari sat high atop her bed, almost as if she were standing squatted down slightly, due to the thickly packed hips, four feet across, and elephantine swelling of her enormous rear end, which if she could stand would bulge two feet out back of her.
Ishma was astounded by the beauty of this twelve-hundred-and-fifty pound behemoth who now sat before him. Scantily clad in a flowing gold dress, her perfect skin was silky white and perfect. Her green eyes now set further into her gorgeous fat face were more heavenly than he remembered and now looked troubled. "I'm here to rescue you Miramari," Ishma said as he knelt before the mountain of quivering flesh that was the woman that he adored, "I love you."
"Oh Ishma thank the Gods you are alive for I love you too." Ishma got to his feet, leaned in and they kissed. Tormented by the hunger pangs of her insatiable appetite, Miramari pleaded, "Ishma, please I need to be fed; I am starving, please, Ishma, feed me." Ishma had a fare sent in that would feed an army and ministered to his beloved one's needs himself, feeding her for well over two hours. In the end, an entire roast pig had been devoured with all the trappings, and, her breathing labored, the ponderous goddess lay back and fell asleep while her lover massaged the great expanse of her huge bloated gut.
Epilogue Miramari had not been raped by the Kral king, after all. When she awoke, Ishma came to her. On his knees, behind a mountain of fat that rose nearly four feet from the bed, he was gentle as he leaned against her warm flesh and took Miramari's virginity. It was wonderful, and he had lain with her, and they talked until once again it was time for her to be fed.
Ishma built her a palace, and Miramari continued to eat and grow until she weighed two thousand pounds. And so it was that Miramari, who had been born of noble blood, became the first queen of the Krals. And though no longer able to stand or walk of her own accord, she was no longer a prisoner of her own beauty.