"A STATELY PLEASURE DOME DECREED…"
By Stefany di Wilmette
Laura found herself in a room of unparalleled grandeur. A fountain cascaded down an opalescent wall inlaid with a mosaic of cobalt blue glass. Byzantine designs encompassed the room and a bronze bust of Egalbus stood by the malachite fireplace. Cinnamon incense scented the air, the rich smoke rising from behind a statue of the goddess Thouris. Frescoed on the ceiling in the Venetian style were celestial creatures from the zodiac. The room was warm and Laura, as she looked around her couldn't help thinking of the line from Coleridge, "In Xanadu, did Kubla Kahn a stately pleasure-dome decree."
Then there was herself, clad only in a thin veil of cheesecloth and strapped to a weird chair, ornately fashioned out of wrought iron and calfskin. What city she was in she had no idea. The "Feeder" network (known also as "The Diner's Club"), of which she was an initiate had many locations: San Francisco, Chicago, Cleveland, New Orleans, Philadelphia, New York, Boston, London, Madrid, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Turin, Budapest, Sophia, Istanbul, Cairo… she could be anywhere!
Looking at herself for a moment, she saw that she had gotten quite round. Although the red Moroccan leather that bound her wrists kept her from touching her belly, it was easy to see the globe like protrusion of her stomach swelling up beneath the thin drape of cheesecloth. Laura blushed at the thought of all the food she had eaten recently. The previous night she had gorged on shrimp, veal, Chinese roast duck, wild rice with white wine sauce, six popovers, broccoli with a delicate cheese sauce, a quart of tangerine juice, a slice of angel food cake, a mixed bowl of chocolate dipped strawberries and candied orange peels, a slice of rhubarb pie, and a small dish of lemon sherbet to finish dessert. The mass of food packed into her 135-pound frame was enormous, and her still digesting belly showed just the slightest hint of stretch marks from the previous night's binge. A slight gurgling sound came from her belly, and she breathed deeply to settle herself.
The inlaid mahogany door opened. A tall man stepped in. He had straight dark hair and a lewd sardonic smile. His body rippled with animal magnetism. He walked purposefully to the chair that Laura was bound to and shamelessly and lasciviously stared at her body. Embarrassed, but flirtatious, Laura smiled at him shyly. He lifted the cheesecloth away from her body, removing even the slightest pretense of modesty. From his pocket he drew a little vial of ointment, which he poured on her protruding belly. It was cool and tingled like menthol. "Hmmm," she moaned as his firm hand massaged her stomach.
"You've got a big appetite. That's good," he said. His upper lip curled back from his teeth, trembling slightly as he smiled at her. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a syringe filled with white liquid… and sharply jabbed the needle into Laura's stomach.
"Ow! Shit! You fucker! Why'd you do that?!" Laura shouted. She wriggled in the iron chair to no avail. The man pulled out the needle and held a cotton swab on Laura's belly.
"As part of your initiation into 'The Society,' we have decided to inject you with a genetic serum that will allow your stomach and intestine linings to grow. It's a safe drug that was originally developed to grow new skin for burn victims. We can only give it to you when you're full; otherwise, your stomach lining would only grow thicker… and we really want to stretch this baby out," he said, prodding her bloated belly.
"That's so sick!" Laura protested. "I won't let you!"
The man smiled at her and replied, "The Savior once said that the body is a temple. We worship the female body, and we want to turn your body into our cathedral. Besides you cannot refuse; it is beyond your power to say no!"
Laura clamped her mouth shut defiantly, but as she did a waiter entered the room. His pressed linen jacket was spotless and white. Pinned to his lapel was a nickel-plated badge numbered "37." He pushed before him a polished brass cart laden with food. "Madame looks famished this morning," he said with dry irony. The porcelain plates jiggled as he pushed the cart across the mosaic floor and set it by the side of Laura's chair. "Leave us, Ramon," said the tall man to the waiter. Smirking knowingly, number 37 left the room. Laura looked at the tall man, and then at the huge cart of food. She resolutely clamped her jaw shut.
"Still not biting?" The tall man strapped a harness to Laura's head and fastened the back of it to a pair of wrought iron roses on the back of the chair. "You see Laura," he murmured as he tightened a buckle, "indulgence in the fantastic engenders its own form of grandeur." He deftly, but forcefully, pried apart her lips and pushed an object like a pacifier between her teeth. He attached the pacifier to a hose, and the hose to a small chrome pump. "You shouldn't resist," he said as he worked the pump, " You'll only tire out your jaw muscles. And believe me, you'll need them." Laura could feel the pacifier swell in her mouth as the pneumatic pump built up pressure inside the thickening rubber knob, prying her jaws apart. There was a half-inch gap between her teeth into which the man inserted four flat hooks attached to a ratchet mechanism on her head harness. The man stroked the small ivory knob beside her cheek. He pulled the pacifier from her mouth and lovingly began to twist the ivory knob, pulling Laura's jaws further apart.
When her mouth was sufficiently open, he gently put his finger in her mouth and touched her warm moist tongue. Then he tilted back her head and picked up a crystal pitcher of pancake batter from the cart, and slowly started pouring the batter down her throat. "Swallow. Swallow!" He urged her.
"Ungh!" grunted Laura. She gasped at the thick white liquid filling the back of her mouth and dribbling over the cusp of her lip. The tall man with the dark hair poured three quarters of the pitcher down Laura's throat.
"Now will you obey?" he asked. Laura gasped and motioned yes with her eyes. She knew she had no choice but to obey her Feeder's will.
He gently removed the harness from Laura's head, and she flexed the muscles in her jaw. She eyed the food cart apprehensively as her Feeder wiped the batter from the corner of her mouth with a napkin. Could she really eat all that food? Even with the injection in her stomach it seemed impossible. Already her Feeder was preparing a huge stack of pancakes and a sweet roll as big as a hubcap. "No! Don't make me eat it," Laura pleaded. "My stomach's already so huge." Her Feeder grabbed a blueberry crepe from the cart and stuffed it into her open mouth! Her eyes pleaded to him to stop as he forced her to chew and swallow the sweet blueberry mass. She saw in his eyes a hawkish predatory glint of pleasure as he forced her to gulp down crepe after crepe until she had finished six. She sat there helpless, flushed and swollen from her involuntary feast; hoping, praying for deliverance from her remorseless master, but every time she would finish a plate he nodded encouragingly, "That's good. Now eat a little more."
She finished the stack of pancakes, and her belly swelled out like it was six months pregnant. The inside of her stomach felt impossibly stretched and huge. It ached, and she whimpered pleading for him to stop. His only response was to pour a quart of orange juice down Laura's throat to help move her food further along on its digestive journey.
The next platter contained eight soft-shelled crabs. "No more!" she pleaded, crying. "I feel like the skin on my belly is going to rip."
"That would be cruel!" her Feeder said as he reached for a bowl of melted butter sauce. "Normally I would use cocoa butter or olive oil for this…" He swirled a sable basting brush in the clarified melted butter. "But today I'll have to make due." Slowly he poured the warm liquid golden butter over Laura's sensitive skin, and then began sensuously spreading the warm oil over her straining belly with the soft basting brush. Laura found the sensation to be exquisite and squirmed luxuriously in the iron chair as the brush caressed her taught flesh. Then as the coup de grace, her Feeder took a lemon slice and crushed it on a shrimp fork, dribbling pulp and lemon juice down the front of his willing captive. Rivulets of melted butter mixed with lemon juice ran down Laura's belly and between her legs.
He began to caress and fondle her swelling body, stroking her, bringing her close to orgasm, and then holding back until she had taken another bite of food. She reeled from the deep raw sexual feeling of being so intensely full. He teased and tormented her, keeping her always trembling on the cusp of orgasm as he fed her. After over an hour more of feeding, her body was stuffed, orgasmic, over sensitive and tender like a bruise. Laura was flushed, sweating and short of breath. "Why are you doing this to me? I'm so full that I'm going to burst. Please let me come," she pleaded in a hoarse whisper.
"Eat this, and you'll see," was his cryptic reply. She could feel the food packed in almost up to the back of her throat when he pushed three chocolate covered cherries into her mouth. Her waist had stretched until she looked eight months pregnant. It was an immense straining, majestic globe of flesh that her Feeder was fondling now. The skin on her belly was stretched so far that it appeared that it was almost translucent. She could feel the chocolate melting on her tongue as her Feeder slowly pushed a thick ten-inch vibrator into her. He knew that as stuffed as she was every inch would count for double.
"Too much! Too much!" she moaned, as the vibrating shaft was pushed in deep up to her womb. It was too much for her, but she didn't care as long as it brought her off. Her body, her very being was stretched far beyond its maximum proportions. She was filled to the utmost, her mouth, her belly, her vagina… stuffed. Her eyes bulged in impossible amazement. Laura wailed. A long shuddering orgasm sent shock waves of pleasure through her body. She shook enraptured in the throes of the most powerful orgasm that she had ever experienced. She came, and came and came, reeling from the relentless intensity of it. It was so powerful that she no longer felt human. It had trespassed the beyond the borders of the human experience. She bit into the chocolate covered cherries in her mouth, and sweet red syrup dribbled down the back of her throat and out of the corner of her mouth. Black spots flew before her eyes, and her body, bloated as it was, seemed to float. She had experienced a form of sensory stimulation so overwhelming that it took her beyond the realm of the senses.
In a hallucinatory state of transcendent sexuality, Laura had a vision of a woman of enormous proportions, like the ancient Venus of Willendorf. Laura didn't know if this Goddess was her protector or an image of the woman that she would become - or maybe both combined into one superhuman form. Total sensory overload. Every cell, every nerve, every fiber of her body was over stimulated. She thought that she saw a universe of countless billions of stars burst from her navel and fly and dance among the zodiac figures painted on the domed ceiling above her. She watched them swirl and rotate like wheels within wheels. Then the Goddess and the entire universe contracted to a single point of light, leaving Laura in total darkness. She heard a buzzing, and this buzzing increased until it sounded like a thousand Tibetan horns. In a heartbeat she was back in the wrought iron chair, secure under the supervision of her Feeder.
"You've been on a little trip, I see," said her Feeder. "Sensory over-stimulation can sometimes produce powerful visions as consciousness folds into itself." He undid the leather straps restraining Laura; and she tried to stand up, but quickly fell to the floor, her body still shaking from the after shocks of her life's most intense experience. She crawled naked across a Persian carpet, letting gravity draw her engorged belly towards the floor. She stayed there for ten minutes, taking deep gulps of air. She felt like vomiting, but even if she wanted to, she was so stuffed that she couldn't.
After about twenty minutes, two female attendants entered the room with a wheelchair. They wheeled Laura to a bathroom with a small heated pool and washed her, gently dabbing her swollen stomach with a soft natural sponge. They left her in a goose down bed, nestled between the crushed silk velvet sheets. Laura moaned softly as she lay on her side clutching her belly.
The bedroom door opened, and her tall feeder stepped in, sphinx like and serene. "Are you feeling better now?"
"A little," Laura groaned.
"Stay in bed now and rest." He gently laid his hand on Laura's waist and she placed hers on top of his.
Laura vaguely remembered being on an airplane for a very long time. "Where am I?" she asked.
"In Turkey," her Feeder replied. "The country Lord Byron described as, 'The land of sodomy and sherbet.' Now try and get some sleep." He left Laura alone in the lavish bedchamber. She lay drowsily nestled into the feather down mattress, wondering to herself how she had gotten here - and what other events might take place in this strange and wonderful place.