Dream Goddess - by Lardibutts (SSBBW, Archaeology, fantasy, ~XWG)

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Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
SSBBW, Archaeology, fantasy, ~XWG - This story about Amelia Grossenbeine, (the very) Full Professor of Weight Gain Practices at Indiana South Central University is a sequel to “The Sabbatical Year: Shipboard Romances” found here.

Those who read the Sabbatical Year may recall how Amelia Grossenbeine Ph.D., M.Phil., B.Sc., AWGA, and her family, while on a cruise, were callously exploited as guinea pigs for testing a drug that halved their body weight despite increasing their body size.

Cutting short the Sabbatical she’d planned, Amelia returned home to safety in Kempton Indiana, vowing never to return to the luxury Mediterranean cruise ship.

Instead the Full Professor was persuaded to spend the remainder of her Sabbatical at Indiana South Central University’s Mediterranean campus on Pannecotterra, the small island famed for its fat inhabitants.

In a recent EU study only 43% of young Pannecotterrans were classified as “not obese” while 34% were found to be “morbidly obese”. The spread of American fast foods in addition to the island’s traditional bread and pastas culture, the high consumption of sweetened soft drinks, and the ever increasing popularity of sedentary computer games are said to be the cause.

This little island within sight of the coast of Africa is the setting for this story

by Lardibutts

Chapter 1

The late spring is the very best time of the year in the southern Med. Days of rain are rare by now and the winds have dropped. The sun is high and hot, yet still the landscape is lusciously green. Everywhere carpets of wild flowers are underfoot and in the markets an abundance of locally grown succulent vegetables and fruit overflow the greengrocers’ stalls.

But it’s a brief window.

By August the sun has burnt everything to a crisp and the ground is baked hard. There is no escape from the heat, save for swimming or visiting the limestone caves deep underground.

Then from September onwards the hot Sirocco wind blows out of the Sahara. Wind blown desert sand grit and dust gets everywhere, including coating the nasal passages and the back of the throat.

With no relief from the claustrophobic heat, people become noticeably irritable. This is the time of year when relationships breakdown and for the onset of depression. These are some of the reasons why the people of Pannecotterra, since the earliest stone age, have turned to religion. The temples of the southern Med are the oldest buildings on the planet.

It is to these “fat lady” temples one day in early May that the Full Professor has been escorted for a picnic by Professor Franco, Dean of the Institute of Weight Gain Studies (Pannecotterra), at the Palazzo Felice in the village of Campofelice,

Accompanied by her unfeasibly fat but still very mobile hubby and two roly-poly boys, the party is to be conducted around the site by the government archaeologist for Pannecotterra.

The official title of Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Regione Autonoma di l'isola di Pannecoterra seemed inappropriately grand for this serious but unassuming little brown mouse of a woman in her mid thirties.

Which is perhaps why she told them “do please just call me Giancarla.”

Descending from Franco’s ISCU minibus at the site just before mid day the party were overwhelmed by the idyllic view. They looked out southwards over a broad sloping sweep of exposed “garrigue” limestone shining in the sun down to the Mediterranean sparkling in the bright sunlight. Looked at more closely, a carpet of yellow wild flowers along with a myriad of other tiny plants were springing out of the cracks between the pale limestone pavement stones

The dramatic profile of a small island could be perceived with difficulty against the sunlight, apparently hanging in the brightness halfway to the horizon.

The narrow raised stone causeway they were standing on swept down dramatically before them, straight as a die, out across the limestone and on into the sea. It was the incomplete remnant of a grandiose project of the Mussolini years to build a processional axis through the site and out to the island.

Below them were the giant stones of an impressively large temple ruin. Well preserved compared to the others, a number of great lintels were still in place across the monoliths. Traces were discernible in the surrounding landscape of several other temples now vanished. Looking down over them, all had the easily recognisable cottage loaf shape of an extremely fat women - as did also the profile of the island out at sea.

It would be a total paradise save for the crackle of sporadic gunfire, 4x4 trucks could be seen ploughing across the rocks. These, the Archaeologist explained, were the wild bird hunters and she went on to explain apologetically how all across the Med migrating birds are ruthlessly gunned out of the skies for sport. Fortunately here in Pannecottera, she says, the hunters are so fat they are much more likely to hit one another than the tiny moving targets.

Excitedly Randy and his two boys bowled off down the now rather neglected stone paving of the Mussolini causeway.

“Honey, they are right about these temples; they really do look exactly like you lying flat out on your back,” he called back. “I guess the island does too, babes.”

“But out there I look to be in profile,” replied Amelia the Full Professor happily.

“Yup. I guess we’re looking up between your butt cheeks!” Randy gave a deep belly laugh at this.

Amelia blushed as she realised he was referring to the very abbreviated shorts she had on today. She’d felt her thighs working them up until they were uncomfortably disappearing into the cleft between her gelatinous buttocks. At least the lower third of her buns had jiggled out to freedom.

Giancarla the Diretorre started by explaining enthusiastically that the fat woman artefacts found here, right from the little hand-held figurines up to the larger than life size sculptures, all had strongly emphasised breasts, unlike the better known Maltese finds.

Her eyes now alive and shining with passion, she says that Pannecoterra is quite possibly the island from which the famous Venus of Willendorf originated. The limestone is similar.

They reached the well preserved large temple and stood before the entrance. This was an opening more than 6 feet square made through a single great slab of stone; truly awesome in scale. The Diretorre continued with her outpouring of information about the temples.

Why were these megalithic temples in the shape of fat women? Were they Fat Deities? The most common view is that they were Goddesses of Fertility. To support this belief, she said, the early stone age inhabitants had been a farming society who lived in peace. There is evidence that they traded across the sea with other more warlike peoples on the continents of Africa and Europe.

Such as, for example, the Saharan cave paintings of hunters or those chasing deer on the island of L off the west coast of Sicily – drawn with three legs, she added deadpan, they were so well hung.

The Full Professor remarked that all this conjecture about over-endowed sexual superheroes of ancient times was totally theoretical, there was nothing else to go on apart from the temples on the site and the excavated artifacts on show in the museum in Panciuto, the island’s capital.

And besides, she complained, unsubstantiated theory always made her feel hungry.

With that Amelia declared they should stop right here for their picnic; she’d just spotted an invitingly large and low stone slab. Turning, she positioned her spectacularly wide backside above it and plumped down. Immediately she yelped in surprise; the rock was baking hot from the sun scorching her bare hindquarters. It was a great flat stone she was sitting on, about 8 feet long and lying to one side of the entrance portal looking out over the sea to the island.

Franco signaled up to the attendant catering staff to fetch their picnic lunch down.

While the picnic was being laid out the party slaked their thirst by swigging bottled mineral water and sipping on a chilled prosecco curtain raiser to lunch.

All the while the archaeologist continued with her impassioned narrative. She’d got to debunking the Fertility Goddesses now as too simplistic; a borrowing of anthropological ideas from places like West Africa with its fertility dolls. She asked them not to discount the possibility that the sculpted figures on show in the museum might have been of priestesses rather than Goddesses.

As the trays of deliciously imaginative antipasta assortments were being raided she went on to declare that she actually preferred the suggestion that the fat women might have been oracles. She said that the underground caves also used by these stone age peoples were sometimes altered to improve the acoustics for use by an oracle. This could also be true of the temples’ shape.

Randy interjected “You mean these big girls might have been counselors? Like stone age psychotherapists!” He guffawed with laughter.

“Except they’d be the ones that were so fat they’d need to lie on the couch, not the patients,” the Diretorre said. “We know this from the detritus excavated from where the oracle might have been located."

By this time they were enjoying great slabs of crusty topped deep-pan baked cold pasta (a Pannecotterran speciality). Now the Diretorre was getting around to the bits that clearly interested her the most.

“So in these fat lady temples was it the women who were in control? Or were men in charge and coercing women to lose control of their bodies? “

Catching Amelia’s eye just as Amelia accepted a second giant slab of the tasty cold pasta offered to her, the Diretorre added suggestively: ”In which case, Professor, might women have been force fed to make them fat?”

Instantly the Diretorre had the Professor’s full attention. In posing the question, the little mouselike Giancarla was a woman transformed. Her eyes, already alive and shining, now had an wickedly piercing gleam that to Amelia was unmistakable. She recognised it from years of participatory research - and just as much as ever she was turned on by it.

For Weight Gain was Amelia’s territory. Ruined piles of stone were boring.
Present day weight gain was interesting enough for her to have made a successful academic career out of, but the idea of weight gain in the far off distant past - just where she was sitting right now - she found a total turn on.

It started her off theorising excitedly. Superhuman (perhaps Suprahuman) seemed to equal big and fat. The big bellied Buddha was the best known example, as well as these fat women. Just what might have been expected of these fat women – and how did they gain all that weight? And what might have been their relationship with the unfeasibly equipped Sicilian hunters?

The more absorbed in thought she became it, the more she ate: enough chicken breasts and drumsticks to totally depopulate the Palazzo’s poultry yard; a whole local peppery salami sliced for her into fresh crusty bread along with repeated bowls of salad richly dressed. Various formaggios followed, lavishly doled out by the ever helpful young men and women catering staff.

Amelia had quaffed more than a bottle in total of the various very palatable Palazzo wines by the time they got around to the enormous Pannecotterran desserts and by now she felt very muzzy. She managed to cope with the cassata ice cream; finally it was on the huge slice of ricotta lemon cheesecake that the Full Professor stalled.

She lay back on the great stone, her head spinning. Randy came across to sit by her and continued spooning the creamy ricotta down her half open maw.

She was more or less aware too of the Diretorre leaning over her and humming soothing sounds as she gently massaged the Full Professor’s great taut dome of a belly.

Through heavy lidded drowsiness Amelia registered a last view of the island shimmering in the heat haze and the hum of countless bees working away among the wild flowers.


She awoke when a bee buzzed right past her ear. She was in shade now and saw the island was lit from the side now as the sun had moved around.

“Ah, at last you are awake, Oh Great One!”

Amelia could not see where the voice was coming from but heard the sweet sound of birdsong all around.

“Where are all the hunters?” Amelia asked, almost to herself.

“Hunters? We have no hunters here, Oh Great One.
Why should we? We can find everything here without having to hunt.
Across the sea I have heard it is different.”

“Oh, wow, it's you, Giancarla,” Amelia said as Giancarla the little brown mouse came around into view.

"Giancarla? What do you mean Giancarla? I have no name. We handmaidens are never dignified with names. I have brought you some grapes to refresh your mouth after your sleep, Oh Great One. You ate so well before you slept, we were all so proud of you!”

“Yeah, well I think I overdid it a bit,” Amelia commented, swallowing the grapes, “mind you I feel very hungry now after my sleep.”

”Here, suck this honeycomb while I go and tell the temple cook to prepare you something. Remember you have to be in place for after sundown.”

Amelia watched Giancarlo depart, clad only in a scanty scrap of what looked like rough hessian.

With difficulty Amelia rolled around onto her side; she could see a bit more now. She saw Giancarlo talking to Randy; they were making eating gestures. Randy turned and looked proudly in Amelia’s direction.

She would have responded except that she’d just been distracted by the stupid little scalloped skirt she had on. Actually more a frill than a skirt, it was all rucked up around her mountainous hip as she lay on her side. Since it felt like she was wearing nothing else but this tiny cheerleader’s skirt; she had to look one hell of a sight from the rear!

Where were the rather daring shorts she’d been wearing when she’d first burnt her bum on this rock?

To be continued


Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
Chapter 2

Two comfortably rotund looking boys arrived back with Giancarla, each weighed down by a pole slung across his shoulders balancing a pair of heavy looking goatskin sacks dripping a liquid. For all the world the two boys looked like Kurt and Benji but showed no reaction to Amelia’s familial greeting. Instead they responded to her with great reverence – just the opposite of her two high spirited boys. Though curiously they did address Amelia as Mama – putting a stress on the first syllable.

Giancarla summoned up two hunky men and between them they eased Amelia up onto her feet to begin moving slowly into the temple. She felt far heavier on her legs than usual. Ouf! Her knees were giving her serious grief. I won’t be able to last upright for more than a few shuffling steps she thought.

At first it was pitch black inside but as Amelia’s eyes grew used to the dark she realised they were turning her around in preparation to be lowered down on a kind of litter strewn about with bundles of dried grasses and animal skins. Just as her legs were about to buckle they guided her great pendant buttocks up and over the coverings on the bed and laid her gently onto her back. While they were bustling about re-arranging the bedding around her she noticed she was lying alongside a small square hole cut in the rock. Through it she could look back into the outer chamber and to the rock she had chosen for the picnic.

This was as well since she realised she could only see to either side and up at the poles of the lowish roof overhead. In front were just mountains of fatness. That couldn’t be all her fat? She peered over her chins more closely. GOOD GRIEF!

Her breasts were simply ENORMOUS!

MUCH MUCH larger than they were just a few hours before! She tried to grab at them but she was unable to heft the sheer volume of breast flesh overlaying her arms. Her arms were trapped underneath, uselessly spread-eagled out against the bed.

Then beyond, over the mountain pass that was her cleavage, she saw her belly rearing up, arcing high towards the roof like a great pale dome in the gloaming!

How big was she now? She delved into her professorial expertise. If, while being moved just now, she had the mobility of someone weighing 600 lb, then allowing for her fat weighing half a normal person, she must have the physique of someone weighing 1200 lbs or more. That would be over half a ton of woman!

Wow! She was quite something!

Full Professor Amelia Grossenbeine felt exultant – if only she could lay her hands on a camera, what an academic presentation she could make about all this back home at Indiana South Central University.

Under Giancarla’s direction the two men began tying together a structure of wooden poles up over Amelia. It became clear that it was to support a wide funnel stitched together from animal hides. She realised what they were up to and she relaxed smiling, feeling a wave of expectation about what assuredly lay in store for her.

Carefully the two burly men relieved the two fat boys of the bulging dripping sacks they were carrying and commenced pouring a wonderfully thick honey concoction down the funnel and into Amelia.

Aaarh! It was totally delicious!

A girl could get addicted to this. She decided it was mead fermented from honey, no doubt very intoxicating.

She arched her back in pleasure and let it all flow down into her. Amelia relaxed, enjoying how her mind was beginning to wander and hallucinate. She found she could sink vast quantities. One by one the sacks were remorselessly emptied out into Amelia.

Finally they raised the last and as they began tipping it down her funnel, Amelia opened her eyes needing to locate Giancarla.

Standing right alongside Amelia, Giancarla knew exactly what Amelia wanted. Giancarla beckoned wordlessly then she and two other temple maidens set themselves to gently oiling and massaging Amelia’s straining stuffed dome of belly. They hummed and sang so sweetly as they worked the soothing oil into Amelia’s endless expanses to ease the pressure.

Amelia took longer over ingesting the last sack as she had the previous three. She knew she was close to her limits and her head was swimming. This was not an unpleasant sensation considering she was stuffed so painfully hard. Indeed intoxication was probably a Stone Age form of anaesthesia. So it was only prudent that she should take longer and longer in attempting to down every last drop.

She heard the cries of delight from her feeding team as she finally managed to drain the last drops from the funnel.

“It the most you have ever managed to take Oh Great One! How privileged we are to serve you - the greatest by far of all our Goddesses.

"We are so proud!

"Thanks to your always increasing weight and beauty, more than ever before we are the leading temple. However much they try, the others cannot come near us. They stay dealing with the small things. Because you are the truly Great One people want to bring all their big problems to our temple. The people offer us so much in tribute. Each and every day you are able to consume more and more.

"Even we, your lowly servants, are able to eat well from what the people bring. We prostrate ourselves before you.”

Stretched out stuffed and stupefied by the mead, Amelia was scarcely aware of her attendants’ grovelling obeisance.

Giancarla got the men to assist in arranging Amelia gently on her side facing the little opening. Semi conscious she managed to nibble a few herbs and leaves they fed her. It would help her to sleep they murmured.
Now with sensuous massaging and caressing, Giancarla and her temple assistants lulled Amelia to sleep. Quietly they hummed as they lovingly caressed her expanses of flesh. They were imploring their Great Goddess to dream wonderful dreams and to talk wisely in her sleep tonight.

to be continued


Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
I enjoyed writing this chapter, I've borrowed an age-old con trick sprung on unsuspecting souls in markets the length and breadth of Africa.

Chapter 3

It was pitch dark when Amelia surfaced from her drink-induced stupor, and her head was pounding.

She realised she’d been awakened by shrill wailing and chanting from outside. She peered through her little opening to see the scene softly highlighted by the waning moon. But the obvious source of all the disturbance lay a short distance out of her view to the left. She could just make out the glow from a fire and the shadows of figures.

She tried to peer around to see more but her enormous bulk prevented any kind of movement. Instead her attempts at wriggling provoked a drastic re-arrangement of the half digested contents of her cavernous gut. Inevitably, after prolonged subterranean gurgling she erupted.

Simultaneously at both ends she both burped raucously and began breaking wind tumultuously and at full volume. The sounds reverberated like there was a company of hornblowers sounding off within the inner temple chamber. The high pitched wailers outside were immediately silenced by the awesome trumpet voluntary from deep down within the temple.

Amelia was aware of gentle hands caressing her with soothing murmurs of re-assurance.

“I can’t see,” she said. “I need to see more of the fire.”

“Of course … of course,” she heard the adoring tones of Giancarla. “How stupid of the men not to check when they made the fire.”

Amelia felt the draped collar rolls of fat around her shoulders and the billowing immensities of her breast flesh being gently manipulated by capable hands until she was afforded a clearer view. The shrill wailing had resumed and she could see it was coming from the figures prancing about the brilliant embers of the fire. All were naked and not a few well on their way to being supersized. She assumed these bulbous beauties to be more of her temple handmaidens.

As she watched she saw Giancarla, now also naked, exit the temple megaliths and cross to the group around the fire. Like a ballet dancer with her graceful movements, Giancarla seemed to glide over the surface. Naughtily Amelia speculated momentarily about how loading Giancarla down with a couple of hundred or more pounds of low slung fat might affect her mincing walk.

Giancarla gesticulated towards the temple. She was urging the dancing heavyweights to advance towards the temple. They came to stand in a circle just outside Amelia’s window in the outer temple. Two attendants had arrived wielding blazing torches and by their light Amelia could see someone being urged to climb onto Amelia’s big stone.

A stocky almost square-looking man mounted the stone to face Amelia. With tree trunk legs and powerful arms he was clearly tremendously strong. Though he was intensely hirsute and sported an aggressively full black beard he was also strikingly bald. Most of all she could not help but appreciate how spectacularly well hung he was: altogether a very potent Alpha male.

But he was a far from happy Alpha male. Not only did he look extremely woe begone but his misery was greatly amplified by all the encircling wailing women.

Giancarla ushered someone forward to stand by the man on the stone; Amelia could tell by his bulk that this was Randy again. Randy began to intone in a bizarre droning monotone, solemnly addressed at Amelia’s window. Basically he was speaking on behalf of the short hairy guy on the stone - but didn’t he just lard up the flowery language? The sycophantic toadying was so totally over the top it was proving difficult for Amelia to suppress her giggling.

Giancarla by now had come around back stage in the inner temple and was standing behind Amelia. She whispered into Amelia’s ear that this was a really big hearing –tonight’s supplicant (the bald beardy) was a key figure in the community and what had befallen him was a disaster. It could destroy him.

In other words, “Will you stop giggling and start paying attention! We could do well out of this case.”

Amelia tried hard to concentrate, doing her best to unscramble the core facts from all the obsequious “Great Goddess” arse licking that Randy was intoning.

The supplicant - renowned far and wide for the magnificence of his endowment – was bemoaning his sudden misfortune. Recently, down at the shore he’d been accosted by a dark foreigner he had never seen before with some trivial enquiry.

He thought nothing of it until the stranger went on to point out how his much-prized genitalia were withering and seemed to be on the point of dropping off. The man had stooped, retrieved the shriveled remnants and dangled them, swinging to and fro, right in the face of the supplicant. (Randy, brandishing the evidence, took delight in describing the remains in great detail as looking like well-rotted blackened beets.)

The supplicant, now totally distraught, had apparently blundered about in agony until - right on cue - a wizened old man had appeared on the scene to offer his commiserations. He explained that our supplicant must have suffered the grave misfortune to fall foul of some kind of malign witch doctor.

But the old man had said all was not lost, for by great good fortune he too possessed special knowledge and he knew how to restore the missing parts.

Once the new moon appeared he could start bringing back the missing parts and by the time the moon was full everything would be back in perfect working order.

But the price was high. The old man said in order for the cure to work, our supplicant would have to hand over a dozen of his fattest goats and likewise a dozen of his fattest women outside the fetish cave where the devilish evil spirits resided. Apparently the price had originally been higher: at 20 goats and women, but our supplicant had managed to bargain the old man down.

As the details of the pact with the devil got elaborated to Amelia, the wailing and crying of the women rose to a crescendo.

In astonishment Amelia muttered to Giancarla “What on earth is all the fuss about? Look, you can see for yourself. He’s got the biggest dongle I’ve ever seen!”

“Yes, Oh Great One,” Giancarla said, peering over her mistress’s shoulder, her arms deep within Amelia’s collar rings. “But only you have the powers to see it as it should be. I am privileged to see it too from here with my arms about you."

“So what’s the issue then? If I can see it; you can see it – why can’t they?”

“But it is different out there away from you. Believe me, no one can see it outside,” Giancarla whispered in Amelia’s ear.

Amelia ruminated awhile. ‘There’s obviously some kind of mass hypnosis going on out there’ she told herself. Looking more closely, and with some prurience, Amelia observed ‘how he can hardly move without that great dick slapping at his thigh’.

“Jeez! All this business is making me horny and hungry,” she said out loud to Giancarla. “Whatcha got that I can eat?”

Giancarla said “I will go and bring you some roast goat from the fire. But while I fetch it …. pleeeese PLEEEESE can you tell them something. They are expecting some wise advice from you.”

After her scolding Amelia watched as Giancarla scurried off. She kept looking back over her shoulder hoping for some utterance from Amelia.

Thankfully Amelia remembered Randy’s quip at the picnic “You mean these big girls might have been counselors? Like stone age psychotherapists!”
Then she chuckled remembering Giancarla’s response “Except they’d be the ones so fat they’d need to lie on the couch, not the patients”

Now Amelia knew what to say.

“So tell me …” Amelia began, her amplified voice booming eerily out of the stone inner chamber “ ….how does it feel … to feel …well, nothing at all down there?”

There was a silence.

The supplicant tried to stammer out a reply but he was cut across by one of the widest of the wailing women a beautifully broad, firm, luscious young pear, quite clearly still in her teens.

“What does he feel? What do you mean ‘what does he feel’? What do we all feel? Who knows what will happen to us . . . . . It’s us girls - all his biggest women - who are deep in the manure pit. He always gave us so much to eat. Look at me - the fatter I got, the more he needed me. When he was really pleased with me, he could get this big," she gestured, "we had so much fun together. Now there is nothing.” She broke off, wailing.

“The Great One was not just asking your master, she was asking you all,” Randy interjected. “Remember The Great One cares for all of you.”

Giancarla returned with Kurt and Benji loaded down with armfuls of roasted goat. As Giancarla waved the two boys away, she passed a roast leg to Amelia.

Giancarla reminded Amelia that she should say something. “Tell them to come back again after you have been dreaming,” she whispered.

Amelia’s voice boomed out of her temple, “Thank you for choosing our temple to bring your troubles to.”

She was buying time opening with this smarmy corporate spiel, but just then she remembered a stock component of her sophomore students’ philosophy course. “To truly know something, first the oracle has not to know.”

The Great One let the truism ricochet around the echo chamber a while for full effect. Then she added, “We wish you to return after two sunsets. By then I shall have a dream for you…”

“And remember to tell them to leave us some food,” Giancarla hissed urgently.

“…. Provided you can feed me enough to have sweet dreams,” Amelia appended seamlessly.

She heard Randy start back into his lengthy boring monologue. Giancarla explained that he was hanging a lot more detail onto Amelia’s last utterance. He was itemising a long grocery list and adding a flowery conclusion thanking the oracle for her attention.

Giancarla passed Amelia another roasted leg and the other Hand Maidens arrived back with milk and bananas. They were fulsome in praising The Great One on her wise utterances.

As Giancarla summed it up when they were alone, she’d said not too little and not too much – The Great One had judged it just right.

Tearing greedily into her midnight (or was it early morning) snack, Amelia decided she could happily grow into this job. Maybe there had always been Agony Aunts through the ages who’d been expected to be big – from Amelia the Fat Lady in this Stone Age temple right down to Oprah Winfrey on TV.

Story continued in post 5


Monkey Daze
Aug 22, 2006
How fun, L! I've always loved the Venus of W (of course); in fact, I have a V of W pendant that I love to wear. What an interesting theory about her significance in her culture.

Great story - can't wait to read more!


Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
Chapter 4

The following day Amelia was once again back outside in her ludicrously tiny scalloped skirt-cum-frill, basking in the sunshine. As usual they had arranged her flat on her back across the big slab. Now her handmaidens were busy oiling in and around her rolling folds, marvelling at her wondrous corpulence. They’d laughed delightedly when she’d demonstrated how she was now quite unable to move her arms because they were trapped under the enormous dollops of breast flesh flowing over them.

“Every day you grow fatter and fatter O Great One.”

Giancarla gleefully commenced reciting a detailed inventory list of the food stocks that had already been sent down by last night’s supplicant. There was, she reported, already enough to last them a week. Delicious smells were now wafting across of meat roasting and of fish being grilled.

‘Darn it! Do I feel hungry?’
Amelia thought to herself. ‘I could eat a horse or at the very least a small flock of goats’.

Then Amelia remembered she ought to encourage her temple staff to have their share of the donated food too.

“We need to make you all look more like you are part of the same successful outfit. It’s not only the temple Goddess who should be a Fat Lady. Take you for a start, Giancarla. You really could do with big wide hips and a paunch the size of those women last night. For us to be taken seriously you do all need to stack much more meat on your bones.”

The handmaidens chattered animatedly at being ordered to gain weight. Amelia enjoyed watching as they enacted the flaunting of imaginary fat bellies, backsides and breasts.

While waiting impatiently for the meat to be ready, they continued plying Amelia with spinach leaves and some bitter tasting hard green fruit. The handmaidens were pitting the fruit while feeding her, ripping the stones out deftly with their teeth then spitting them forcefully out at chosen targets.
Ladylike or dainty it ain’t, Amelia decided, although it did look fun and was quite effective.

“You know guys,” Amelia said between bites, “we really ought to do something about that poor guy last night, his women were totally distraught.”

“It’s because they all think they going to be sacrificed,” Giancarla replied.

“Really! You think they’ll actually be sacrificed?”

“Who knows? At best they’ll be condemned to be the slaves of some terrible evil spirit deep down in the caves. Many people tell how the very worst evil spirits can only live off human flesh.”

“OK. That does it! Giancarla: we need to run a Case Conference after we’ve done eating. Gather all the Temple folks together; we’re going to have a plan of action.”

Despite being a (very nearly totally immobile) Stone Age Fat Goddess, lying flat out in the sun, Amelia was already in role in her mind. She pictured herself a wise cracking Raymond Chandler hard dame, cast in the Dorothy Parker mould. She sat with knees crossed, elegantly exhaling cool Chesterfield smoke down her nose. The ceiling fan ground around noisily overhead and the sunlight split into dusty stripes through the window blinds.

“But what about your Dream, O Great One?”

“Leave any dreaming about the guy’s disappearing dick to me,” Amelia quipped [though no one registered so much as a flicker], “ cos I want you folks to go out and nail those hoods.”

“Hoods, O Great One?”

“Yeah! The two bastards who pulled the dick trick.”

“If they’ve sprung it once, they’ll do it again – and again.” Now in her mind’s eye she was busy making the city streets safe flitting to and fro in tight fitting lycra and a mask high over the heads of adoring citizens.

Though Giancarla had sent the two fat boys to round up all the temple staff for a working lunch, after they’d all feasted on the fish and the goats and fresh fruit washed down with more goat skin sacks of mead, nobody was capable of doing much in the way of planning for action afterwards.
The entire temple troop was in a food induced stupor. A dozen figures lay snoring in the sun around the Great Goddess, the ground about them strewn with heaps of debris. Mangy dogs tussled warily over the ribs and bones picked bare by the diners before dragging them off to hide in the shade.

As the sun began to slant, the temple workers awoke. Giancarla dispatched Randy to organise water and fresh fruit to clean out foul-tasting and dry furred-up mouths. By the time her handmaidens had roused the Fat Goddess and freshened her up - skilfully venting off further excesses of wind - Amelia’s court were eagerly waiting for action.

They arranged her to recline massively on her side. Her endless belly blubber flooded across the stone until eventually, way out of her reach, it dropped over the edge down onto the ground. Taking full advantage of the godlike gravitas this flaunting of her extreme corpulence bestowed, Amelia began the briefing.

“OK, basically there’s two parts to this :
One, we need to put things to rights for the supplicant and his women, and two, we have to root out and neutralise the two characters that did it.

Both Giancarla and Randy pitched in with “But isn’t there another bit? Don’t we need to keep supplies coming in from the supplicant for as long as possible? He’s more than willing to deliver.”

Randy added, ”Those goats were the most tender I’ve dealt with.”

There was a murmur of agreement.

“I don’t believe you’re saying this,” Amelia exclaimed. “Screw this up and we are nowhere! All the other temples will jump in offering a better deal.”

"Now listen to me. Do you want to end up thin or fat? [pause] OK?

"Right, so here’s what we do: I’ll stay here and look after this end of things; I’ll have to deliver the most important bit - restoring the guy’s tackle to full working order.

"Randy, I want you to track down the villains using as many of the temple team as you need.

"Giancarla, you will be my legs in coordinating the two parts of the operation."

By now Amelia was doing a James Stewart impersonation. Long lean and stooping, she was laconically briefing World War II Air Force crews prior to a daring raid over enemy defences.

“Finally I’d just like to add there’s no reason why we should not continue to do well for food supplies during this operation, we have till the next full moon to complete.”

“Talking of which I’m starving: Giancarla and Randy I’d like you to stay behind for a few moments.”

“OK that’s it! Good Luck, all of you.”

As the others dispersed to their duties Amelia learnt from Giancarla and Randy that there were some cold ducks they could fill her cracks with before starting her nightly fill of mead. Randy dispatched two workers to prepare and bring them, then he turned to Amelia to learn more about his assignment.

Amelia had been quite literally weighing Randy up. He was definitely her same Randy, even down to the mole on his cheek. He was the same size still - along with the agility of a guy half his apparent weight. But just like her two boys, he too was locked in the Stone Age – totally lacking her awareness of the leap back in time.

But on the other hand, once alone with her, he’d completely abandoned all the flowery ceremonial crap he'd spieled representing the supplicant “front of house”. He was like he’d always been: totally proud of what she’d made of herself – and of him.

All very strange, thought Amelia.

Randy admitted to being at a loss as to how to go about tracking down the two confidence tricksters.

“Look, it's easy. They’ve struck once, they’ll do it again. Where was it our client got buttonholed?"

“The supplicant you mean?"

“I prefer to call him the Client.” She was back as Philip Marlowe again.

“He said it was down on the shore opposite Fat Lady island where they bring the fish and the seafood.”

“Right. So you put a couple of guys down there watching out for a dark stranger. See if he is stopping people and talking. He might even be with the old guy who says he knows spells.”

Randy suddenly looked less than comfortable – which was hard for such a fat roly poly man. “Um …. We are afraid…. Everyone’s afraid….,” he now had the demeanor of a very small boy, “because they are witch doctors and evil spirits. Anybody I send down there will be scared about their powers.”

“Look, you all work for me; remember? I am The Great One, the most powerful Goddess around; I protect you against evil spells. And anyway, did I ever tell you I wanted you to tangle with those guys? No! I just need you to tail them; find out where they’re holed up.”

“Then what?”

“Then tell Giancarla. Then she’ll tell me . . . . then . . . . erm . . . . Then I’ll just flatten the guys. See? Easy Peasy!”

At least it made Randy smile, even if he did remain totally unconvinced.

She ate four ducks (Randy had two and Giancarla one), then she had the last one as well with some fresh green leaves and some plums. She sighed happily and watching the sunset, signaled that she was ready to be put to bed.

The strong men had been waiting just offstage in expectation of the summons to move their Great Goddess back to her bed.

“It’s a free night tonight, O Great One, nobody is due to call” Giancarla said, “so just relax. Oh, and remember …” she paused and blew a kiss, “…sweet dreams!”

to be continued


Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
So who actually calls the shots in these Stone Age temples?

Chapter 5

Randy stayed close to Amelia while her bearers struggled moving her unruly bulk carefully back inside.

Just as she’d been anticipating, they commenced the assembly of the formidable gravity-fed mead drinking funnel over her for her nightly topping up. She was looking forward to giving herself up, losing herself completely under the insistent flow of the smooth sweet nectar. She relaxed lying on her back; curling her toes up in delicious expectation (this was, she reflected, one of the few moves a Fat Goddess could still make for herself without calling for external assistance).

As usual the first two goatskin bags were emptied down effortlessly into her.

The third she had time to savour. She developed the fantasy that she and the funnel were one - as if she was only complete when hitched up and downing the intoxicating fuel that she knew powered her dreams. As she drained the fermented mead she and the funnel fused harmoniously to form a single vast pulsating organism of leather and blubber. Held together within its exoskeleton framework, she enjoyed the regular slow throbbing rhythm as the fermented honey-coloured cream pumped through.

And just as steadily as it was pulsing, she felt herself climaxing peacefully.

She surfaced to see the one last brimming sack of mead remaining. At the same time that familiar red flashing “Belly Full” sign and the warning Klaxons had begun alternating in her brain.

Still, with the help of those wonderful, long, drawn-out sensual tummy rubs her Handmaidens specialised in, she would undoubtedly benefit from coping gently with that last sackful. She could spin it out indefinitely. Her eyes shut once more.

‘Aaah …. what a life,’ she sighed happily.

AAARGH! A searing pain had racked her.

AAARGH! There it was again!

Both her arms were being brutally wrenched up behind her head. Good Grief it was painful. She felt her arms being bound tightly onto the timbers of the litter she lay on. The bindings cut deep into the soft tubes of fat at her wrists.


Now they were grabbing at her legs and were yanking them out sideways to the splits. It was agonising, legs as fat encumbered as hers were not supposed to move that way.

She ended up splayed out in an X beneath the feeding apparatus. Her eyes, now wide with terror, remained riveted on the sinister great funnel in the twilight.

“We’re gonna pump you up so hard tonight, O Great One, you are going to sing and squeak and shriek and scream – and you’re gonna do all of those things at the same time.”

It was Randy’s voice!

She tried to cry out but the funnel remained embedded in her. She and the funnel truly were one.

“Empty the bag into her,” he commanded . . .”now the other one!”

The other one?

She tried once more to cry and to resist but she was powerless.
A wave of useless indignation swept through her. She was the Goddess wasn’t she? They’d absolutely no right whatever to be doing this to her.

The weight of both bags in the funnel had opened the crudely sewn folds and more of the mead was pushing down into Amelia.

She couldn’t cope!


Again she attempted to yell out, but instead more of the thick liquid simply pumped in.

She heard Randy breathing heavily in her ear, “You are growing so beautifully, O Great One!”

It was like he was manic and deranged. “Every night you take more and more! I am here to help you grow and grow and grow and ….” his voice trailed off into shudders of ecstasy.

The pain from the pressure in her belly was mounting now, she struggled to alleviate it but with no success. Then Horror of Horrors! She felt the monstrous Randy look-a-like attempting to mount her.

He was coming up from between her legs. He was leaning on her straining belly – it was totally gross –he was now pushing up through the fat between her thighs with his hand. But she was getting wet and without a doubt he knew just where to hit the spot.

Though her attention was being distracted from her acute discomfort and increasingly focusing on his stimulation of her clitoris, it struck her nonetheless that he was working her up just as the real Randy would do!Indeed the Stone Age Randy seemed rather good at this, so much more accomplished than the over enthusiastic Twenty First Century Randy.

She seemed to be ascending up and away from the unbearable bursting pain in her belly, she was arching up to some sublime steady state of ecstasy. She could hear herself screaming inside her head but at the same time she was clamouring to swallow more from the funnel.

While she had no notion of how long she remained in this state, she was somehow able to perceive a progression in her rapture. She was being violated at one end with larger and larger dildos and coping with greater degrees of penetration while, at the other, she was aware of further top-up replenishment of the creamy soft fluid pushing into her from the funnel. And somewhere midway between the abused ends of her great blimp of a body she could feel the stinging heat from some astringent balm being applied to her tortured overstressed abdomen.

Finally - right on the cusp, as she was about to plunge from the sharpest and highest pinnacles of pain into unremitting agony, quite unexpectedly, something gave way deep within her belly. She felt it suddenly let go with a kind of muted twang.

The excruciating pain eased, now there were no constraints to the flow of thick cream she could imbibe – she even felt exhilaration as greater quantities pulsed down into her.

In her bliss she never noticed her tormentors release her bonds. But she suffered an acute sense of deprivation as they withdrew the funnel and swung it away. She craved more … much more!

She heard herself calling out for, “More! I need more. Give me more!”

Randy, unquestionably her Randy, was alongside her, his arms around her, fulsome in his congratulations. He oiled her stretched surfaces adoringly.

In the first grey glimmerings of dawn she turned her head to him, “I knew it was you,” she whispered and at last she smiled.

He murmured back, “So now we ought to finish you off properly.”

As he heaved his bulk up and around she felt his soft, warm blubbery gut flopping onto her. Although he began surmounting her fabulously enlarged straining belly, she found she could bear it. There was an absurd rear view of him vanishing over the top. Shortly afterwards she was feeling his experienced tongue tenderly probing and working at her vagina.

As her arousal grew, he again switched positions. Unexpectedly he found the wherewithal to bowl her right over and she came to rest atop her impossibly spherical blown up abdomen. Now her immense buttocks reared high in the air over the overstressed pressure-vessel of her belly leaving her head stuffed deep down into her litter.

She felt the warmth from his furry massiveness as her lover endeavoured to heave himself over her corpulence. Randy in turn heard her chuckle as he continued struggling to park his unruly blubbery gut up on top of her enormous globular buns.

They were woozy and light-headed and the nerve ends in their vast bodies were tingling by the time he eventually found her entrance. Once again he heard her chuckling. Both were panting with excitement as he continued to gently push his way into her. He thrust as deep into her as he could manage before beginning his pumping, churning and circling. Their rhythmic thumping and pushing escalated violently as their excitement mounted. Slamming their vast bodies into one another, they were either repeatedly howling out with passion or gulping and gasping for breath.

Triumphantly they came together in delicious ecstasy, in a powerful long drawn out exquisite orgasm. Totally spent they collapsed together, side by side, quivering where they touched, trapped beneath the great bellies towering over them. Then they slept.

Outside in the grey light of dawn, the amplified sounds of their temple union echoed over the landscape. The banshee howling and the unmistakable squelchy slapping and farting sounds of blubbery torsos hammering up against one another were truly awe-inspiring. Those already up and about were left in no doubt that a step change in their Great Goddess was in progress.

The sun was low when the Great Goddess Amelia awoke, she’d been aroused by a violent cacophony of breaking wind. She ached all over.

Of Randy there was no sign, though her Handmaidens were busying themselves at oiling her, doing their best to sooth her stretched and bruised body. The various cucumbers courgettes and gourds she’d been required to ingest in her forced feeding were still scattered about.

"At last you are awake, O Great One.”

“Yes, and the Great One is very hungry,” Amelia replied, adding an additional long rumbustuous blast for extra emphasis.

A Handmaiden scuttled away.

Amelia was still inside the temple, lying on her back upon the litter. She addressed the room at large, “Shouldn’t I be outside now?”

“Yes, O Great One” Giancarla’s voice came back, “but we were unable to move you. You are so much bigger now. The men say you are so big they have to make a carrier for you.”

Giancarla ran cooling fingers delicately around the dangerously taut surfaces of Amelia’s abdomen. The huge sphere was very nearly as tall as Giancarla; Amelia shivered at the sensation.

“They say you took over seven great bags, O Great One!”

Amelia merely belched in acknowledgment, even though inwardly she felt proud.

“The sun is setting, don’t I have to work tonight?” Amelia managed to gasp.

“Yes, but it’s just routine, the usual supplicant problems: quarrels over animals and women, improved sexual capabilities, dowry dispute, lovers’ tiffs, the same old stuff.”

“We can handle it all for you.”

“Eat this cold pork, suck on the melons, even enjoy a bag or so more of mead if you want; then go back to sleep.”

Giancarla kissed Amelia tenderly and quietly withdrew. She was confident her Great Goddess would be better theatre snoring, muttering and farting in her sleep than were she awake and listening to the petty problems through her window.

Story continued in post 9


Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
Chapter 6

Giancarla had a rule that The Great Goddess must recount any dreams to her immediately on waking each day. Because, even though Amelia’s dreams were important for clients’ therapy, she’d be sure to have forgotten everything she’d dreamt immediately on tasting the first mouthful of her pre-breakfast snack.

But there was no Giancarla this morning, which was irritating because Amelia wanted to tell her this striking dream about being caught up in a vine and it twisting vigorously all around her as she watched it. (She’d also had a much more exciting stuckage dream about going to the bathroom on a Boeing 737 but she knew they wouldn’t – couldn’t – understand this one.)

Amelia learned from her handmaidens that Randy wasn’t around either. They said they’d both gone off to the spring Maidfest.

This was doubly irritating - which was why Amelia chose not hear it. It was of course a horrid reminder of her own mortality.

Everybody knew how Great Goddesses had to lead a physically demanding life that was hazardous and often brief. A fall of somekind, a fit of choking or a seizure might easily put paid to a big girl. Only in the last few moons two Fat Ladies in neighbouring temples had passed on to other lands just in their sleep.

That’s why Randy and Giancarla went off regularly to look over the plump young maids on show at the “meat market” (as Amelia called it) hoping to spot girls with the potential to grow into Fat Ladies.

Because every temple needed to keep a few Fat Ladies in reserve, just in case anything happened to the frontline Great Goddess. Though nothing had ever been said to Amelia directly, she was nevertheless very well aware of a very promising young girl they’d been fattening up as her replacement. They apparently called her Peaches. But how Amelia loathed her!

Surreptitiously Amelia had learnt by devious questioning of underlings (who could be stoned to death for leaking such classified stuff) that this Peaches had been growing fat, very fat and very fast. But it was all in her bum and belly, she’d got really tiny titties. She was not yet like Amelia, perfect as a fertility goddess in every respect.

But Amelia knew only one thing mattered in Peaches' life: when would Amelia drop off her perch?

Peaches was simply longing to get her enormously fat bum ceremonially spread across Amelia’s very own basking stone! Amelia pictured the hated fat arsed Peaches continually wobbling around fishing for compliments, asking everyone what she looked like when trying on the little abbreviated goddess skirts they all had to wear. She’d probably been getting her handmaidens to perform spells that might hasten Amelia’s passing away to other lands.

How did Amelia know all this? Because that’s how it had been for her.

Amelia had started out by getting talent spotted at Maidfest. Her mother had proudly put her beautiful daughter on display at the Maidfest just after her breasts had grown. The very last time she ever saw her mother was before she was led away to be a fattening farm probationer. As they hugged and kissed their farewells they’d cried; Amelia had to be dragged off forcibly to be marched over the hill to the secret location.

Amelia had been horrified to find herself corralled with other young girls, some so fat they could not stand. Instead they could only slide themselves around on the ground outside their cave. And it had been almost beyond endurance for Amelia to undergo that first brutal life changing transformation into a round ball of fat.

The diet at the fat farm was an uninterrupted flow of milk that the girls had to suck from gourds. Men stood over them with whips and should a spirited girl reject a gourd – continuing to resist even after being whipped - she would be held down and force-fed by the old crones who kept the place. These were the very girls, Amelia subsequently learned, who had so shocked her originally, the ones who’d become so fat they could no longer lift themselves up off the ground.

One way or another she had managed to survive those first humiliating moons of punishing forced fattening, indeed somehow she managed to end up as one of the old women’s favourites.

Only afterwards, during the intensive body shape enhancement stages that followed had she ascended through an increasingly sensuous and stimulating sexuality to a state where, spoilt and indulged, she was finally judged ready enough to qualify for her initiation.

The initiation ritual required some preparation of her intimate parts by the old women wielding stones painfully past their sharpest. Nevertheless looking back over the whole four-day long narcotics-driven hallucinogenic binge, her final makeover had proved truly exhilarating. She could still vividly recall the thrill of finding she was the last remaining initiate not to be weeded out and hauled away for handmaiden training.

She’d made it through to the big time!

Thereafter she’d spent more pampered seasons than she could remember just hanging around growing fatter and fatter … and yet still fatter … simply waiting until, at long last her predecessor had finally overdone it. She’d blown it, Amelia learnt, in a fit of bravado involving one too many sacks of nectar.

With some satisfaction Amelia learnt that her own capacity comfortably outstripped that of her “predeceaser” as she termed her.

There was one other present-day reserve Fat Lady Amelia knew about too. She was called Orange Blossom, because she was white and freckly with red hair - plus she was also very prickly. OB had been in the Fat Farm longer than Peaches so maybe she was on the transfer list to another temple. There were probably more girls too that Amelia didn’t know about – all this was too pressurising to her.

So she plumped herself down and demanded a second then a third breakfast – plus a few bags of nectar to help it all down.

She wasn’t going to just give everything up and wither away!


Down at the landing place opposite Fat Lady island Giancarla and Randy relaxed in the shade with gourds of cool fermented mead after doing the rounds of the Maidfest exhibits.

This Maidfest day fell right at the end of the most productive season, the best time to put voluptuous girls on show. From now on everything would be hot and dry, the most succulent foods and fruit would disappear or shrivel up (as would the islanders themselves) until after the rains eventually returned a good few moons later. The area the islanders used as a gathering ground was still carpeted with flowers; after the next moon it would be no more than hard-baked dust.

But it was hot work for a man of Randy’s bulk to have to shuffle around the broad meadow in the sun weighing up all the girls, which is why he’d proposed a drink. Catching the freshly brewed fermented mead early in the day was vital; once the sun was high and hot up over Fat Lady island, the refreshing drink would have turned sour.

But Giancarla was already sour because, as usual, she’d been left to do all the hard work. She’d had to carry out all the speculative poking and prodding, judging whether or not a girl might be a future Fat Lady worth investing in. All that great lazy slob Randy had done was simply amble around eyeballing the show’s goodies. Plus it was humiliating to witness how the Big Man from the island’s foremost temple, a leading figure in the community, had enjoyed flirting brazenly with the trashiest and flashiest of the girls’ mums. Huh! Seeking character references he’d called it.

But as regards their general strategy, the two talent scouts were united:

1. They’d agreed Amelia ought to be good for a few more seasons, time enough for them to find and enhance another young girl to emulate Amelia’s perfect figure.

2. Peaches was OK as a stopgap, were anything untoward to happen. She could play the part of a Great Goddess, no question. For like Amelia, Peaches possessed an essential attribute: a strong self belief. She had vanity in spadefuls, forever pre-occupied with how she looked. Undeniably fat – indeed astonishingly fat, she was always beautifully turned out.
Peaches nevertheless had been something of a disappointment. As she had expanded there had been none of the hoped for breast development expected of a Great Goddess in these islands. Her figure was more a Melita Fat Goddess shape.

3. On the other hand, Orange Blossom as an investment had proved totally disastrous - because of her prickly temperament. As she had grown so she had become ever more waspish – to the point now where no one wanted to work with her. That’s why she was on the transfer list, with everyone sworn to secrecy about the big redhead’s vile temper.

4. So they needed to choose someone today.

Randy was still savouring a particularly arousing encounter with a very large black lady. She’d been tall, much taller than him. Decorated with a few carefully chosen ornaments, she oozed sexuality. She’d swayed right up close, praising him for being such a Big Man. He’d enjoyed her proximity, her musk and especially the way she stayed mashing her enormous low slung boobs into the outer extremities of his gut.

During the cut and thrust of the ensuing banter she’d laughed uproariously at his saucy rejoinders. So much so that an admiring crowd had gathered enjoying the exchange. It finished with her swinging her firm great spherical hips around and up forcibly into his paunch in a jokey attempt to wind him. That very exciting rear view of her sashaying away extravagantly back to her daughter had stayed in his mind along with the further arch responses she’d called over her shoulder at him.

While all this was happening Giancarla had been conducting a detailed survey of the beautiful daughter. She’d found the precociously voluptuous girl’s name was Aubergine, which Giancarla realised described the totally naked girl’s soft smooth velvety contours perfectly. In Giancarla’s expert judgment (and rising excitement), Aubergine exhibited every potential to be gloriously enhanced.

Randy was in agreement. The mother’s clever showcasing of just how her daughter might appear with a little more meat on her bones had certainly clinched it for the Big Man.

Both Giancarla and Randy decided they should go back to close a deal.

Randy looked across to the strand to whistle up the two attendants he’d brought along to escort any purchases they might make across to their fat camp.

Watching his temple guards approach through the throng, Randy caught sight of two other men greeting one another. He’d never seen such an elaborate rite, noisily they were alternately high-fiving then grasping each other by the wrist.

Odd things people get up to these days, he thought.

Suddenly they were all startled by an agonised wailing. Randy turned to see that one of the men in the ritual was now clutching at his crotch and screaming out in terror.

To be continued


Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
Chapter 7

“It’s him!” Giancarla and Randy exclaimed together.

“Who?” the others asked.

“That guy sprinting off hell-for-leather, it’s the Shrinker!
Get after him!” Randy shouted, pushing one of the temple guards in the back so violently he nearly fell forward on his face before he took off, to race away hard along the strand after the guy rapidly receding in the distance.

The other guard (thickset and slower than the other guard) finally homed in on the right wavelength. “OK, right! I’ve got you now. You mean the fella who shriveled that guy’s big pecker off the other day don’t you?”

“That’ll be his mate there.” Randy pointed to a bent old man, “Look! He’s just about to start chatting up the poor guy who’s screaming.”

“Him? You mean the old timer with the knobbly stick? Well. . .” The slow guard zoomed in with his usual time delay. “. . . we’ve been standing right beside him and his mate for sometime. Almost all the time we’ve been waiting around for you to decide about the Maidfest. They were talking in some funny tongue, maybe from over the sea.” He gestured towards the faint coast of Africa.

Giancarla took control.

“OK Randy. You’ve had your two young temple lads down here under orders to look out for these very guys for a day or two now haven’t you? So where are they?”

“I’ve already seen them this morning,” Randy replied. “They’ll be down by the boats sponging off the fishwives as usual."

“Right, I’ll go find them, you two stay here. Don’t move!” Giancarla commanded and scuttled off.

Randy and the guard ambled over and joined the crowd gathering around the old man and the sucker to listen in. You had to admire his patter. Full of consolations for the poor guy, the old guy leaned on his staff working the crowd. He brandished the shriveled beets, swinging them before them, his eyes a piercing intensity. Finally the victim summoned up the courage to take his hands away from his crotch and the crowd gasped.

It was all true!

no dick!

In modern parlance: it was like it had been airbrushed out.

Giancarla returned with the two fat boys, red raspberry stains all around their chops, down their fronts and over their hands. Obviously they’d been doing well scrounging.

Randy and the thick guard, turned around to Giancarla away from the crowd, full of what they’d just witnessed. “Its scary!” they moaned in unison, “the poor guy’s tackle’s completely gone.”

“That's a load of bollocks!” Giancarla hissed dismissively. “Now stop eavesdropping and come over here.” She continued, “The Great One has proved to me it’s definitely not true. You’ve been tricked, made to believe it by the old man. His eyes are black magic.”

So saying she pushed the two boys forward saying “Listen to me. Whatever you do, do not look at the old man; just take a look at the guy who is panicking – now tell me: is his willy still there?”

“Of course” said one; “and it’s circumcised” said the other, adding: “I bet that hurt!”

Randy rubbed his eyes hard and looked again. “Yup! The little fellas are absolutely right! I can’t believe it.”

As for the slow guard, he was taking no chances. He chose not to look around again.


Still acting as officer commanding, Giancarla said “Right! So this is what we do. We leave the boys here keeping an eye on the old fella. With that stick he won’t be going anywhere fast. Number one priority: Randy you me and the guard need to go back and do the deal on the girl – if no one else has already snapped her up that is. Then the guard can take the girl over to the camp. I’ll have to run back and report to ‘The Great One’ while you, Randy … you get back to the two boys and wait. I’ll get some others to come down.”


“What took you so long Big Man?” Avocado’s rubbery mum jounced across to them as they arrived. Looking Randy straight in the eye, once again she smashed her enormous knockers into his gut. “Ooh! Aren't you such a lovely Big Man?”

Giancarla noticed that mum’s breasts now looked uncomfortably distended with all the veins standing out. Trickles of the woman’s milk dribbled down Randy’s lower belly where she’d mashed her nipples up against him. Could she really be still breastfeeding her daughter?

The girl lay on her side asleep, her perfect plump bottom towards Giancarla.

The mum continued, “Everyone wants her, she’s so beautiful. But I say to them WAIT. I tell them I keep her for No 1 temple.”

That opening gambit ensured that, right from the start, Randy and Giancarla were under pressure. They were obliged to end up conceding a lot more than they had bargained for.

Giancarla gave strict instructions to the guard to be gentle in escorting their new recruit. He should also wait while mother and daughter completed their leave-taking.

One of the things they’d conceded was that mum might come to visit her daughter. It turned out the mother’s milk was for her younger daughter who, during the transaction, had toddled out to hug Mum around the thigh before starting to suck at a great hanging teat.

Watching this, an ulterior motive had occurred to Giancarla: the mum would prove an excellent wet nurse. Wet nurses were always in demand, yet difficult to keep at the fat camp. Plus it might even end up a two for one deal if in due course the younger daughter joined the temple.

She noted how Randy was happy to agree to the mum calling in at the fat farm. Giancarla realised they would see a lot more of Randy at the farm if she did so.


Having completed the transaction, Giancarla hurried off to the temple. She arrived back breathless to hear The Great One was in a foul mood. She hadn’t budged all day, they told Giancarla. She’d stayed inside keeping them all running while she just gorged and gorged herself.

“Did anyone mention the Maidfest by any chance?” Giancarla demanded. The Handmaidens admitted they might have done.

“So it’s obvious. That’s why she’s so pissed off. She thinks that we think she’s on the way out. I’ll go and talk to her."

The Great One lay on her litter in the dark, facing the wall, her rump towards Giancarla. She lay in just the same pose as the girl down at the Maidfest Giancarla thought. Only here the rump on The Great One rose as high as Giancarla’s shoulder.

Giancarla received no more than an ill-tempered grunt in return for her greeting.

Addressing the monstrous cliff of warm backside blubber Giancarla said, “We’ve just found those two con men down at the landing place on the strand. You said you wanted me to be your legs coordinating the two parts of the operation. Remember?" For added effect she deliberately tried to sound more breathless.

Sure enough the blubber cliff quivered. It had clearly registered interest.

So Giancarla pushed in to lean deep into The Great One’s vast arse in order to stretch her arms around what she could reach of her Goddess’s rings of neck fat. She whispered conspiratorially in The Great One’s ear. “They were pulling another con. Just like you said they would Oh Great One.”

There was definitely more interest at that, so Giancarla added, “You need some more to eat?”

The Great One murmured a response.

“OK I’ll get another sack of nectar for you – oh - and should I send some guards down to the landing place as reinforcements? There’s only the two little lads down there.”

Ordering the nectar and dispatching two more guards, Giancarla returned with Handmaidens to roll The Great One onto her back. But Amelia declared emphatically that she wished to be moved outside. News of developments in the Case of the Vanishing Dicks had clearly revived her.

The bearers were summoned but try as they might they could not get her to stand. Everyone found how impressively she’d expanded after all yesterday’s excesses. They decided on drawing her out on her litter, but at the opening cut through the middle of the great stone they saw she was too wide.

With enormous effort they moved her off the litter then all began carefully feeding bits of her luxurious body through the opening. With one breast and one vast buttock safely through, next they started doing their best to push her belly through.

For several minutes everyone was grunting with the exertion of attempting to cope with overflowing handfuls of her flood of bellyfat. Finally with a triumphant guffaw Amelia pronounced herself stuck. Well and truly stuck. All had to agree – they’d been getting nowhere trying to stuff her through; they were just uselessly pushing into all her unruly soft blubber. In fact this had only made things worse; she was wedged solid. Utterly stuck!


This triggered the dream about 737 bathrooms. Amelia felt so horny!

“Never you mind about getting me through Giancarla, I’ve remembered this dream about Boeing doors. Let's enjoy it! Oooh! Aah!"

Giancarla could not help but join with The Great One in sharing a climax brought on by the exciting stuckage. So too did at least two of the Handmaidens and the bearers seemed pretty energized too - after all this was probably what everyone was doing this job for.

But after they had regained their composure, Giancarla felt she ought to make a special effort.

“Bowindoors Oh Great One? Would they be animals?”

“Listen I need to tell you. I had two sexy dreams last night.” Amelia was chuckling now, any fears about impending mortality long forgotten. “The first foretold of me getting stuck just like I am now in the temple’s Great Doorway stone; the other one I had was more drawn out and sensuous about a grape vine twining around me. Its given me an idea - when is that poor Dick guy coming back?”

“Tonight Oh Great one.”

“With all his women?”


“Then we need lots of grapes. Tell everyone to fetch in loads of grapes.”

to be continued


Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
Chapter 8

Down at the landing place Randy hung around in the shade and watched as the old man continued stitching up his victim. At first he’d been overawed by the old man’s powers, now Randy was being impressed by his expertise in trussing his victim up rather as a spider might deal with a fly – especially as the poor guy still continued misguidedly to believe the old man was doing his best to help.

But the two fat boys had quickly grown bored with all the hanging about and had gone back to shuttling to and fro wheedling snacks out of the women around the fish landing place.

The guard who’d run off in pursuit of the younger of the two con artists returned dejectedly to admit that his man had escaped in a boat across to the island, though not before he’d been able to get a closer look at his face. He said he’d had to stop himself plunging into the water after the boat – because, he confessed shamefacedly, he couldn’t swim. Even though Randy was so enormously fat as to be unsinkable, he considered this guy’s heroics a dangerously reckless gesture. Slow-witted guards were so much more dependable.

The two additional guards Giancarla had dispatched also turned up. They too were keen to pitch in and Randy was obliged to forcefully restrain them from joining with the other guard in seizing the old man. This confirmed Randy’s prejudice; these guys were totally unhinged. He remembered his exchange with the Great Goddess: stay away otherwise they could all end up getting bewitched.

Eventually the same boat though with a different boatman, according to the guard, crossed back from the island to ferry the old man across after he’d hobbled down to a stone at the water’s edge to embark.

After his departure, Randy dispatched the two boys to intercept the conman’s victim, now stumbling mournfully away. The victim was a tall fellow but try as he might - plying him lavishly with the fermented mead (now way past its best) – Randy could not persuade the guy he was actually still well hung. Quaffing the sour tasting brew, the two got more and more squiffy. However, despite his increasingly slurred words, Randy did manage to successfully deliver a sales pitch, persuading the guy to come up to the temple.

While in Randy’s eyes they seemed unnecessary reinforcements, the two additional guards now proved indispensable in joining with the others to virtually carry Randy (along with the victim) back to the temple.

Randy wrung the maximum out of his hero’s return, stressing his bravery in holding the surveillance operation together. Thanks to his plucky vigil they’d established without a doubt that the conmen were holed up on Fat Lady island.

Fine. Good job done down at the waterside.

Except everyone was scared witless by Fat Lady island and of the people who lived there – some of the men were even rumoured to run on three legs, so it was said.


Because later that night the original supplicant was to return with all his women, the temple staff were busying about preparing for the rituals.

Fires were lit at sundown, and into the early evening were goats butchered in preparation for roasting. Fresh loads of the potent temple nectar had to be portered in and, as the Great Goddess had ordained, tonight was being supplemented with grape vines they’d been gathering. The succulent heaps of grapes accumulating in the outer temple area were intended to play a vital part in the rituals.

But try as Giancarla might to shoo marauders away, everyone was sneaking in and filching the grapes. Replacements had to be fetched repeatedly; the two temple boys, Giancarla noted indulgently, managed to consume far more than they brought.

Lying in her inner chamber, Amelia felt exultant. In managing to get stuck fast in the doorway through the great stone she had truly excelled. Its square dimensions were already greater than the tallest known inhabitant of the island. So not only was she fatter than every one of the skinny preceding Great Goddesses but now she was far wider than anyone had ever been high!

Oof - she experienced another thrilling climax at this thought.

This brought Giancarla hurrying in to see what the Great Goddess was making all the noise about. She found the Great One in ebullient mood and Giancarla bore the brunt of a torrent of instructions.

First off, the Great One was starving. Why had no one brought her any of the grapes she had heard them collecting? They should know she had to feel fat and happy to perform well as the oracle. At the moment she was racked by pangs of hunger. Giancarla sighed and said she would hurry off to attend to the Great One’s needs.

“But before you go, let me tell you what to do with the grape vines.”

“You’ve already told me Oh Great One – it should be like in your dream.”

“Exactly! So don’t let anything go wrong. Oh – and another thing, don’t bother getting the stone masons in to enlarge the doorway tonight. I’m too tired and hungry to go outside now. Tomorrow morning will be fine.”

“Yes of course, Oh Great One.” In fact Giancarla, harassed, coping with all her other problems, hadn’t given the doorway issue another thought.

“And by then I’ll need a much stronger new litter to be moved about on outside. I don’t reckon I’ll be doing much walking from now on, do you?” With that the Great One’s fat began to heave violently. It was the precursor in fact to Amelia breaking into gales of uncontrollable laughter – uproariously, long and loud, coughing and spluttering with the exertion.

Observing the Great One so manic, wobbling about alarmingly like a giant jelly fish, Giancarla became convinced her Goddess was about to suffer a paroxysm. She recalled this morning’s talk with Randy about a successor. They might have been over optimistic in estimating how long they had to fatten up the ideal replacement.


The Evening Star had dipped from view some time ago and rising in the night sky the moon, now only several nights old, shed little light. In the velvety dark beyond the temple the fires were a comforting focal point. Around the fires the temple team stood, fully prepared, awaiting their important client and his entourage. The delicious smells of roasting lamb with rosemary herbs were impossible to resist and small boys kept creeping up and picking the small pieces off leg and other cuts that otherwise would have burnt off to cinders.

Tonight was the big night.

to be continued


Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
Here is the big pay off chapter, much of it very sexually explicit in imagining Stone Age ritual involving the cult of Fat Goddesses. You have been warned!

Chapter 9

The visitors arrived in silence and with heads bowed; clearly the supplicant expected nothing from the evening’s rites. The dejected entourage seemed resigned to its fate.

Giancarla stepped forward in welcome. Flanked by two other Handmaidens, she genuflected demurely then made way for Randy to commence his over-the-top flow of commanding oratory.

If Randy was still nursing one hell of a hangover, he wasn’t showing it. He stood vast and imposing in his robe, his monstrous well-oiled belly thrust forward gleaming in the firelight.

In temple rites there could be no room for choice. Randy was in total control and supplicants had to obey. In the course of a lengthy bullshitting preamble he required the visitors to sit and partake of the roasted meat, and to wash it down with the temple’s nectar.

With the intoxicating nectar flowing freely and the fireside ambiance working its potent magic, in due course the woeful visitors had begun to loosen up. Now as they moved around replenishing drinking gourds, the Handmaidens were beginning to sway gently and rhythmically. With the atmosphere gradually becoming more relaxed, the Handmaidens stepped up their movements and soon they began chanting. Sure enough, in the fullness of time the synchronised dancing and repetitive mantra was achieving a mesmerizing effect.

Now the temple Handmaidens were inviting the supplicant’s women up onto their feet to join in the dancing, skilfully stressing the need for mourning the lost endowments of their Alpha male. A manifestly erotic wailing and dancing built up amongst the grieving women, then Randy gestured that it was time for the Handmaidens to draw the stricken overlord up into the midst of the dancing women.

With the potent temple nectar as a lubricant, the mesmerizing dancing escalated. The supplicants, in their reverie, allowed the temple Handmaidens to loosen their garments until all were dancing naked. With complete abandon the enraptured women were flaunting the charms of their curvaceous bodies. It now became obvious just how well-to-do the stricken supplicant was within the community: for whether old or young, all his dancing women were without exception beautifully fat and voluptuous.

With well judged timing, Giancarla introduced the second victim recruited by Randy down at the landing place, into the dance. Now the naked women in their giddy twirling dancing tightly encircled the two incapacitated men, nudging their hips up against them wailing and moaning.

At a sonorous sequence of instructions from Randy, the temple Handmaidens began herding the entranced dancers along a ceremonial way, marked by the temple bearers holding flaming torches. They arrived, still dancing in the outer enclosure of the temple complex. The two men in a daze were then led out and up on the great flat stone that Amelia most days used for relaxing.

Laid down, stretched out side by side in the flickering torchlight, the two could not be more different, the hugely endowed powerful Alpha male thick dark and swarthy, the other tall, pale, gracefully proportioned and slight.
Once in position, the Handmaidens began encouraging the grieving women to gather up grapes from the surrounding piles and heap them around and upon the men’s bodies.

Obeying another deep-throated command from Randy, the naked wailing women now threw themselves upon the grapes, sucking them up noisily and feverishly off the recumbent men. Fueled by drink, the ritual had turned into an orgy of writhing fat female flesh.

Within the temple’s inner sanctum, Amelia, lying on her side in her customary position watched through her little viewing port with baited breath.

Any moment now should be the pay off!

And sure enough the wailing was changing into squawks of surprise then into excited squealing and finally prolonged shrieks of delight. Exactly as Amelia had transposed from her dream, the sucking of the grapes off the men’s bodies by the writhing women proved so arousing as to overcome and burst through the mass hypnosis that had held them in its grip.

Even in the faint moonlight, the outcome was clearly visible: a hugely erect shaft sprung upwards from the loins of the original supplicant. Amelia, remembering the words from last time “When he was really pleased with me, he could get this big,” could see this was no exaggeration.

The words, Amelia recalled, had been spoken by a soft young beauty, a delicious little fat ball, seemingly still in her teens. “The fatter I got, the more he needed me; we had so much fun together,” she’d added sorrowfully. And now here was that same young girl being urged on by the other women - they called her Blissie - to climb up onto the stone. Standing above the others for a moment, a lusciously short fat pear, she was lost in wonder as she gazed upon her master’s restored manhood. Then Blissie began manoeuvring her feet up along his body until she’d reached the forceful head of his penis. Nudging into her and pulsing upwards it was setting the loose pendulous apron of her soft tummy fat all of a quiver.

Uttering a whoop of pure joy she dropped down onto him. She squirmed around and then began licking and caressing the high and mighty phallus. All the while urged on by the others, she eventually stood up, having made the monstrous column wet and glistening with her saliva. Stretching upwards, she skilfully positioned herself until the head was insistently pushing the dripping labia walls of her vulva apart. Slowly now, gasping with the multiplicity of sensations, she carefully began to work herself down onto the shaft, expertly drawing the colossal organ all the way into her. Sitting down astride her man, it was astonishing how totally she had coped with ingesting his massiveness.

Now to the chanting of the others she began to ride. She rode him slowly at first, moving with long deliberate strokes up… and… down. But then the action stepped up, until finally it was an increasingly frenzied bouncing, bumping and thumping. With her torso arched, her face upturned to the night sky she could have been stargazing.

But her eyes were screwed tight shut.

Blissie was totally internalised, immersed, squealing and crying out in her elation.

And from the great Alpha male’s perspective this was something nothing less than totally miraculous. Not only had the Great Goddess fully restored him, he truly was experiencing the most profound moment of his turbulent life. For here was his current young favourite, all the way down on him, giving her all. His entire universe seemed filled with her soft belly and huge breasts blubbering and bouncing over him.

He could hold back no longer; he had to let go. He exploded. It was as if the top of the great penis he was so proud of was blown off in the eruption. Amidst howling and screaming, floods of his semen pumped into the young girl. He was aware of her screams in response as she too plunged into the ecstasy of a gloriously fulfilling climax. All was now utterly perfect in their world.

And now he could hear more shrieking. It was the screams of delight from the rest of his great flock of women. The big man they idolised was back in business, completely restored to full working order!

Not that the second victim lying alongside the great man was entirely forgotten. Overshadowed he obviously was, but Giancarla had taken pains to ensure that he too should experience the exhilaration of redemption. She’d selected two temple Handmaidens to give his restored equipment a full working test.

While not of the same order as the tsunami of excess alongside, nevertheless it was proving not unrewarding for the participants. Both Handmaidens were heavy and required some assistance from their slimmer sisters in positioning themselves not only on the stone but also in settling themselves down to attend to the supplicant.

Surfacing to find himself being worked over by two of the most generous temple Handmaidens, the young man was quite unable to contain himself.
The Handmaidens too were happy. Not only was he a tall good looking boy, but in responding to their charms he was more than adequate.

So, all in all - even for the onlookers - this sideshow was also a pleasurable minor orgy.


Amelia, horny from witnessing the spectacle in her inner sanctum, had enjoyed a climax herself at the sheer success of her scheming. Then, after all the hard work, she heard herself crying out for sustenance. It had been a tense evening, and now she was hungry.

Giancarla and Randy arrived to find their Great Goddess demanding vast amounts of further refreshment. Never mind she had been kept well supplied and had been snacking all through the proceedings. So it was fortunate that by this time only a few of the revellers were still conscious. It meant the hard-pressed Handmaidens and bearers could be diverted to work overtime fetching and carrying to stuff the Great Goddess. They fed her further joints of roast meat, then grapes that she sucked up impatiently while waiting for her nectar funnel to be erected.

That night it took three bags to send Amelia to sleep.

to be continued


Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
Chapter 10

It quickly became clear that all the women (though in strict pecking order) wished to check out their great man’s restored manhood. So stimulated were the supplicants that the festivities lasted for three nights. For The Big Man and his women it amounted to an unprecedented display of joyful virility.

Small wonder the celebrants spent the intervening days in a semiconscious daze, just snacking, sipping nectar and maybe catching up on a little sleep until sun down when the fires were lit and the chanting and the serious festivities resumed in earnest.

The Big Man had been resigned to forfeiting the fattest most beautiful women of his entourage in the forlorn hope of having his genitalia restored. But carried away with gratitude at being able to keep his best women, he enthusiastically made over to the temple far more of his stocks than the conmen had demanded. He ordered his own nectar to be brought down to augment the temple’s dwindling reserves and many more of his goats (or were they sheep?) were herded down for butchering to maintain the prolonged feasting.

And the young man, for his part, even offered to give them the dowry intended for the girl he should have collected the day he was duped.

Having lain side by side on the altar stone, the two victims discovered they knew of one another. What they shared in common was Fat Lady Island. The Alpha male had originated there while the tall elegant young man had just arrived from there to meet his girl.

When they learned the conmen were from the island too it began to make sense: it had to be vendetta.

The well-endowed Big Man was from the hunters, the infamous three legged men of legend who’d invaded from Sicily. Years ago he’d crossed over from Fat Lady island and stayed on amongst the peaceful temple folk to eventually build up his proud domain.

The young man was one of the original islanders, who were from the same stock as the temple people. When the men with three legs had seized the seaside locations, the young man’s ancestors were driven up into caves around the top of the island.

Gentle and refined, he had an air of being artistic. And this was confirmed when The Big Man learned that the young man was the son of the man who had covered the walls of the hunters’ caves with drawings of the legendary men with three legs. He’d been enormously impressed and told everyone of the artists’ reputation.

Now fully restored, both men wished to pay their respects to the oracle.

The Alpha Male saw things simply: he just thought he should give the Great Goddess a good rogering. Until even his Alpha male’s loins were beginning to ache after the sun went down on the second day, the Big Man kept offering repeatedly to pleasure the Great Goddess as a mark of his gratitude.
Giancarla had relayed this to Amelia who, sorely tempted, had chuckled while speculating about how she might cope.

But Randy and Giancarla were vehemently against such bravado. It would totally destroy the aura of mystery that surrounded the temple and its Great Goddess (plus, they’d decided privately, it might well destroy the Great Goddess too).

Thus it fell to Randy, as ever, to have to cope with the Great Goddess’s frustrated sexual aspirations.

To show his thanks the young artist proposed making a carving of the Great Goddess. This offer was accepted very enthusiastically and all spent a lot of time discussing how the Great Goddess should best be portrayed.
Randy thought she looked at her most majestic when standing. All agreed though there were practical difficulties: since the artist carved from life he had to have time to work on the piece.

But the Great Goddess was quite unable to remain standing even for a short time now. So it was settled; he should sculpt her in her characteristic position: lying on her side. This way there would be no limit to the amount of time he could have to create the work of art that all desired. It could extend over several sessions - indeed Amelia considered the whole collaboration with the young artist to be loaded with potential

The extent to which the Great Goddess’s mobility had been markedly affected by her recent gain in weight had come as some surprise to the temple team. Though of course all been proud she had grown so fat that she’d wedged in the great doorway of the inner temple; somehow they hadn’t put two and two together about the consequences.

Giancarla had brought in the stone masons as she’d been instructed to enlarge the opening. But using even their sharpest flints it had taken quite a few days for the masons to open it out wide enough to ease the Great Goddess through.

When at last it proved possible for the bearers to squash the Great Goddess through the widened opening, her litter was drawn across to the great flat stone and she was helped off. This was the first time since her growth spurt that they had attempted to set the Great Goddess upright.

Her feet planted wide apart, some way ahead of the stone with her belly hanging down below her knees, Amelia concentrating hard and breathing heavily, commenced a slow turn to position herself for sitting. Too late she discovered she’d underestimated the sheer volume of her overhanging back end as her pendulous giant buttocks mashed up into the stone.

Frantically her Handmaidens gathered up handfuls of soft billowy buttock fat to bundle up over the edge of the stone so as she could ease her great bulk onto its surface. But they were too late. The short delay proved too much for Amelia’s legs. Down she came; cascades of blubber engulfing them all.

Amelia ended up with her gigantic arse end ballooning up spectacularly behind her to near shoulder height. Still all of a shimmer from the impact, it flowed around either side to form hips so vast they were pushing her arms up sideways. Ahead of her, cascading rolls of belly fat fell down to the ground. They were oozing around, ebbing and flowing as she breathed. And the stupendous mass of her belly fat mounded up so high ahead of her that her two enormous breasts lolling around atop completely blocked her forward vision.

All Amelia could see, just a hand span in front of her face, were the ceaselessly quivering walls of the deep cleavage between her great breasts, lazily wobbling as she inhaled. Because of the sheer volume of breast fat that flooded out sideways over her arms, all she could move now were her fingers.

While the Handmaidens were wriggling themselves free from under her bulk, all Amelia could do was to sit there and laugh at her unparalleled achievement.

Unsure at first how to respond, eventually all around joined in with her - the laughter and applause mounting as all acknowledged the unprecedented fatness and wisdom of the Great Goddess. News of these feats ricocheted around all the other temples. More than ever they were being outstripped and overawed by the triumphant achievements of the greatest temple.

Some weeks later the young artist finished his sculpture of Amelia lying on her side. So pleased with the result were they that the temple persuaded the artist to stay on in residence. He’d managed to complete the delayed deal about his girl, so she too was invited in to join their community. Andy’s reasoning was that a happy artist would be a creative artist.

And so it proved: not only had the artist accurately portrayed an outstandingly beautiful goddess, but 5500 years later his piece remains one of the greatest works of figurative art of all time.

Keeping to his word, the Big Man continued to rain down lavish food and drink on the temple which Amelia continued to enjoy while at the same time insisting that her staff must benefit too. She was adamant in maintaining her demand that Giancarla’s once slender petite figure be buried under an accumulation of undulating, gelatinous, quivering, delicious blubber. It gave Amelia huge personal satisfaction to watch as bossy little Giancarla’s mincing gait slowed first to a purposeful plod then eventually to a heaving waddle as the weight piled on around her haunches.

All were in agreement, especially the Handmaidens (under Amelia’s supervision also being enhanced) that growing Giancarla had made her a much nicer calm person.

Truly the temple had now become the most richly endowed the world had ever known.

So, “all's well that ends well” - except that silhouetted against the sun across the short strait, no more than twice the distance a man could throw, Fat Lady island remained a menacing threat to the contented temple people’s Fat Goddess cult.

Might as well end by keeping the door slightly ajar


Aged Member
Feb 8, 2007
I have posted a couple of illustrations of the story in Fine Art here. One is of the Great Goddess posing for the young man's carving of her, the second is of the young man's other work.