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Old 12-11-2017, 01:04 PM   #5
Benny Mon
Join Date: Jul 2011
Posts: 37
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Default Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Later that night, Tahar would be able to recall little of the rest of the feast. He knew, of course, that as King Sadesh recalled everyone to their feet, many stammered, others burst into tears, and others sat in stunned silence. But Tahar could not say what the shocked nobles said to each other, what General Ayumeth whispered into his near next, what Sadesh said that returned everyone to their seats. But he remembered with crystal clarity everything the new, fantastically fat woman did, the woman clad in a pristine white dress that fell just above her knees in front, into a small train in back, and to her chubby wrists in the sleeves. He recalled her striding calmly, purposely, smoothly to the front of the hall: her long dark hair flowing behind her, her enormous thighs pressing and brushing against each other, every inch of her fat body trembling and shifting as she walked, Sadesh trailing her. He remembered Garun clearing the head table with obseqiousness and evident perturbation, and Muzara’s attendants waddling around to pull their stunned queen--was she yet the queen?--away from her seat. He recalled servants scrambling to push several chairs together, as nothing--not even the queen’s throne--was large enough to accommodate this newcomer. He recalled her settling herself on these four seats, which could only just accommodate her bulk. Her hips spilled over the seats, the rear of her ass pushed up against their backs, and the ass itself lifted her higher--a foot? two? more?--than she otherwise would have sat. Her enormous single belly strained mightly against her dress, keeping her even farther from the edge of the table than she sat above the chair.

But it didn’t matter, for, as Tahar remembered best of all, her servants--not just the two beside her when she entered, but a small army of red-armored attendants who followed her into the hall--engaged in a complex choreography of feeding this remarkable woman. Sometimes they would pass her a piece of cheese or a sugared slice of fruit, and she would pass it between her lips as effortly as though they had practiced this handoff ten thousand times. She munched steadily away on each piece of food they gave her, not greedily but heartily and never flagging, her arms and cheeks and neck continuously jiggling as she worked. But before long she seemed to tire, a slight flush rising to her cheeks and jowls, and she let her arms fall. Even then the servants continued, feeding the food directly to her, interspersing it occasionally with long gulps of beer. She consumed thick slices of bread slathered in butter, rich soups, huge bites of savory puddings that saw her mouth and eyes widen simultaneously as she took them in. She chewed and swallowed countless delicate slices of lamb and of beef, each dunked in a rich gravy before being offered to her lips and taken between her teeth. Whatever fatigue she may have felt, she never slowed down. There was nothing desperate or hasty about her eating, but it was clear that she was focused on the food and on nothing else. She was an artist who had trained her whole life in the art of eating, an animal statelier than all others and hungry long past the point of self-preservation, a glorious star growing as it sucked down the astral material around it and orbited by the many servants who worked in tireless and perfect adoration of her.

It didn’t take long for her to finish the food originally intended for Muzara, and without missing a beat Sadesh handed his own plate to the servants, who conveyed its contents to the enormous woman’s mouth. One nobleman, long one of Sadesh’s dearest supporters, immediately sent a servant with his own plate, following it to the head of the table and bowing to the woman as it was presented to her. Tahar judged the figure an unctuous coward, desperate to avoid offending Sadesh, but however anyone else felt, he had set a precedent: soon every lord was sending his plate to feed the woman in the white dress. But while she accepted all these offerings without protest, she curiously rejected the plates of the noblewomen, spending the effort to raise her hand languidly. Her soldiers, quickly cooperating with the castle servants, worked to fill the plates even higher with food and return them to the ladies seated at the table.

Eventually this stunning display of gluttony came to an end, and with it Tahar’s memory of the feast. He couldn’t say who he had talked to next or how long he had even stayed at the feast. All he knew was that now, long after this remarkable event had concluded, he stood before Garun’s chambers--his old chambers, the chambers of the Crown Prince, as he had offered the King’s chambers to his brother. Tahar could only replay the events of the evening over and over again in his head, obsessing over every detail, envisioning with stunning vividness the way this woman’s subtly plump lips had accepted every bite of this feast he had intended for Muzara--and more. It was like nothing he had ever seen, and yet he was deeply disturbed by the whole event.

The doors to Garun’s chambers swung open, and two soldiers, wearing chain mail under surcoats emblazoned with the Lajjari coat of arms, stood to either side as Tahar entered. Tahar fell to one knee before the past and present crown prince and kissed his rings before rising again. “My Prince,” he muttered.

Garun waved a hand languidly and didn’t responded, only staring out the window into a cloudless night full of brilliant stars. He didn’t have to say anything, at least about the fundamental predicament: no one had expected Sadesh’s return, and it had thrown the world into chaos.

“My Prince,” Tahar began again, “ King--”

At this Garun started and turned to his chef. “I do not know what to make of my beloved brother’s return,” he said, “but I do know that it is not clear who the King of Lajjar is right now.” Unique among the world’s realms, and a point of pride for the Lajjari, Lajjar’s monarchy was not hereditary but elected. Sovereignty lay with the nobles as a whole, and they chose from among their body a king to serve for life. In the event of sudden death, a king’s brother might assume the throne on an interim basis until the nobles could vote in a successor; sometimes they kept on the brother as the new king, as had happened for Sadesh. But never had a king that all assumed--all knew--to be dead returned. Did the kingship lay with Sadesh? With Garun? With someone else altogether? The nobles had agreed to meet first thing in the morning to decide formally, but given the reception that Sadesh had received from the room, Garun feared that his own days on the throne were numbered.

Rebuked, Tahar did not know quite how to proceed. “My Lord,” he ventured, and when Garun did not interrupt, he continued, “I am as overjoyed as any that your revered brother breathes yet, but...who is this woman he brought with him? I understand little about her.”

“You are not alone,” Garun responded, “but my brother assures us he will explain all tomorrow, before the assembled nobility.”

“Surely, my Lord. And I would hardly impugn the judgment of your revered brother. And yet...her arrival interrupted the Name Day Feast of your adored wife--interrupted the culmination of all that we--that you have achieved this year. My opinion is nothing before you, my Lord, and yet I fear that something has disturbed the order on which Lajjar rests. I cannot dispel this fear.”

Garun squinted slightly, as though in pain, but hesitated before he spoke. “I value your opinion, Tahar, and I am not sure my wife can forgive Sadesh this...remarkable surprise. But my first obligation is to my kingdom, not to Muzara….”

“If I may be so bold, my King, Queen Muzara is the kingdom, and you are its protector and ruler, just as you are hers. I do not know if you fear that unseen ears may overhear this conversation, and hence choose your words carefully, but truly you have nothing to fear. That your revered brother is alive is plain to see, but I mistrust this woman who returns with him. And we do not even know what has passed in your revered brother’s life over the past five years, or why he was even absent at all. This is unprecedented, and it comes at a moment when Lajjar prospers, when you reign over the greatest prosperity the realm has ever known. Just know, my Lord, that I remain your steadfast servant, as I, too, serve the kingdom first and above all else.”

“You are loyal, Tahar,” Garun smiled warmly, “and good. I do not know what we will learn from my brother tomorrow, but whatever comes I am grateful for your constant service. Get some sleep, my Chef, and let us meet again here at sunrise.”

Trembling slightly with emotion, Tahar composed himself enough to fall once again to one knee. “Of course, my K--my Lord.” He rose to his feet and stepped back into the hallway. His mind still spun as he walked. How could Garun, his King, remain so calm, when he did not even understand what had walked through his doors? And though he might not have been able to admit it to himself, Tahar feared not only for his king but for himself: when Sadesh had vanished, his own chef was among those tried and executed for his murder. Being the Chef was usually an enviable position of great power and security, but in this new world Tahar now walked around in, it also appeared to be one of great vulnerability.

He stopped at the quarters of the runners, the servants who carried messages throughout the castle, and called a small man out into the hallway. “Summon Almarka to the Kitchens,” he told the man. “We have work to do in preparation for tomorrow.” And the man was off in search of Sadesh’s Sous-chef.

* * *

Tahar was sitting on a wooden table in the Kitchens when the door opened--but it was a runner, not Almarka and not one Tahar recognized, who stepped into the room. “My Chef,” said the man, kneeling.

“Rise,” Tahar replied. “What are you doing here so late?”

“Please forgive this intrusion, my Chef,” the man replied, “but I have come to collect the food that our king who has returned requested for his chambers.”

Tahar gripped the edge of the tables. “Do you mean to suggest that work has taken place in my Kitchens without my knowledge?”

“Y-yes--no!” the man stammered, and then he froze.

Tahar’s knuckles grew white. “And what has our king requested?”

The man wordlessly unfurled a small scroll and held it out. It was totally covered in dishes: stuffed duck, loaves of bread and wedges of cheese, candied fruits, countless puddings… Tahar snatched the scroll from the cowering man and, without raising his voice, asked, “And who has overseen all this work?”

“I,” responded a lighter but slightly husky female voice, and Almarka stepped out of an adjacent room of the Kitchens, wearing just what she’d had on earlier in the day. The runner Tahar had sent for her scurried out from behind her and out of the Kitchens.

Tahar’s right eyebrow rose. “You?”

“Yes, my Chef,” replied Almarka, her eyes cast humbly at his feet. “I merely obey the wishes of my King.”

Tahar’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer and then returned to the first runner. “Very well. Collect the food and go.” No one spoke--Tahar seated on the table, Almarka hesitating in the threshold--as the kitchen staff rolled two trays of food into the elevator and disappeared. Tahar stepped over to the doors to the Kitchen and locked them one by one. He and Almarka were alone.

“It is not clear,” he said without looking at her, “just who the King is at the moment.”

She stepped up to him anxiously, her soft hand on his shoulder. “Tahar, I am as unsure as you. Please trust me. I feel as though our late King has risen from the dead,” and the necromantic implications sent a shudder through her body. “And I do not trust his companion. And yet….”

Tahar turned his head to her. “And yet?”

Almarka’s eyes thrilled. “She is remarkable, is she not? The Queen looked like a maid, like a servant beside her! And what tailors could have made that white dress? It was as large as a tent, and yet it fit her body like a glove.”

“It is unnatural,” he replied. “And insolent. How dare this woman present herself before our Queen? So she is huge--what is such bounty when it is not derived from the bounty of our kingdom?”

“Tahar, is it not jealousy that speaks in you? Unnatural,” she pshawed. “Would you not thrill to see Muzara so large?”

He flushed a little at the thought.

She pressed her advantage: “And with our queen so large, would you not dream of me as large as our Queen is now? None may exceed the size of the Queen, but a larger Queen would mean more room to grow for the rest of us?”

His eyes ran quickly up and down her body, and quickly he stepped toward her, pressing into the sprawling flesh of her belly, his left hand on the soft small of her back, his right pulling her round face to his in a passionate kiss. She moved to undo the bun atop her head, but he stayed her hand; he wanted nothing to obscure the soft rolls of her neck, which he covered in kisses. They stumbled back through several chambers of the Kitchens until they pushed into one of the rear rooms and closed the door behind them. The food Almarka had set aside earlier was spread along a table, the meats kept warm on the shelf of an oven set into the wall, its low flame lighting the room. Tahar, impressively strong for a man of his station, hoisted Almarka onto the table right beside the food and tore away the fabric that formed her top, leaving her breasts exposed and the top half of her smooth, round belly straining over the top of her pants. He picked up a palm-sized pastry and stuffed it into her mouth. The first bite was slow, her eyes closed in all-consuming pleasure, her teeth crunching into the pastry as her tongue coaxed it into her mouth. But quickly she scarfed the rest of it down in two more bites before her lips met Tahar’s again.

Even now, Tahar could not keep the returning King from his mind. As though in a vision, he saw the King in the royal quarters, standing at the foot of the bed as his strange, enormous companion almost filled it entirely, just by sitting on it, one of her incredible calves just hanging off the edge while the other leg jutted in front of her. Sadesh picked up a cheese-stuffed olive from one of the rolling trays beside him and approached the woman, popping it into her mouth. Unlike Almarka, she didn’t slow down, but her pupils widened somewhat, and Sadesh slipped in a second, and then a third, as she methodically chewed and swallowed.

Tahar’s mind returned to Almarka. As his left handled fondled her breast, which rested softly on her belly, he tore a fatty, dripping drumstick off a roast duck and held it to his lover’s mouth. She tore away the glistening skin and chunks of meat, barely chewing as she inhaled the food.

“Sadesh cannot be allowed to assume the throne again,” he breathed.

“Mmm,” moaned Almarka as she ate.

“If the Assembly restores him tomorrow, we must work to undermine him.”

Almarka grabbed a flask of rum and downed it in large glups, “What you say is treasonous,” she gasped between gulps. “It departs from all loyalty and tradition.”

He silenced her with another pastry. “Our king’s return departs from all loyalty and tradition. If he is indeed alive, he is under the sway of that woman”--he flashed back to the King’s chambers, where Sadesh pulled a string at the back of the woman’s dress, causing the whole thing to fall away, and allowing the king to massage her massive, pale belly while she downed an entire pitcher of beer--“the first foreigner to set foot in Lajjar in more than two centuries. We cannot allow her to dig her claws deeper into us.”

Almarka swallowed the pastry and crumbs flicked off her lips as she replied, “Surely you’re right, but we cannot destroy her without first learning the secrets of her size. It must be ours.”

“It must be Muzara’s,” he said, laying another strip of duck on Almarka’s tongue. “It must be the Kingdom’s. And Garun must sit on the throne uncontested once again.”

He flashed back to Sadesh once more. He imagined, he saw his returning King laying the last of the food, a hunk of cheese, between the strange, enormous woman’s lips, and she sucked it down like it was water. Almarka had barely eaten half a plate of pastries and a few hunks of meat from a duck, yet in his mind the strange, enormous woman had already consumed the two trays of food Sadesh had ordered. Tahar’s brow furrowed in lust and fury as he pulled at Almarka’s pants, already too tight and further strained by this indulgence, and her belly finally burst the band. He pulled them away as she leaned back, full and helpless, as the mountainous, strange woman leaned back slowly and majestically on Sadesh’s bed, the beams creaking, huge waves rolling through her belly as she reclined, as Tahar entered Almarka, as Sadesh bent over and parted his companion’s impossibly massive thighs and brought his lips to her sex, as Tahar thrusted urgently, as Almarka covered her mouth to stifle her screams of pleasure, as Sadesh’s massive companion twisted only a little, as only the slightest gasp escaped her lips but her chunky yet elegant fingers clutched the sheets desperately, as everyone but Sadesh Wasim Metheli Melekia III climaxed simultaneously.
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