Tiggy
***
Estelle is a natural investigator and diplomat! 
BBW Planet XXL - by Marlow
- Thread starter Marlow
- Start date
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Chapter 23
The hum of the measurement drone died away. Looking up from his datapad, the requisitions officer peered over, tapped the drone, and sighed. “Are you sucking in?”
“Yeah, sorry,” laughed Estelle, letting the top of her stomach relax out another inch or two. “Old habit.”
“Well, unless you plan to spend a lot less time as stuffed as a holiday space-turkey, I’d recommend you let me get a more realistic reading.”
“Maybe I should’ve eaten a big meal before coming in here, for better effect.”
The officer typed at his pad. “I was unaware there were still hours in the day when you haven’t recently eaten a big meal.”
“Are you this crabby with everyone who comes in, or only superior officers?”
“Your whole crew is constantly outgrowing whatever the tailoring AI and I can come up with. We don’t have much fabric left.” His demeanor faltered. “And you’ve made me late for lunch.”
This was something Estelle could sympathize with. “There was some work to do in stellar cartography. Anomalies up ahead, apparently. And…I got kind of a slow start this morning.” So had Lucine, some of whose honeyed lipstick was still on Estelle’s neck.
“I know. So. 56 units at the waist. Out to 63 where it…broadens. And that’s without lunch in it, I understand. About how much do you weigh now, captain?”
“Oh, I haven’t touched the bio-pak since three hundred. But that was months ago and we’re probably well beyond that. I’m trying not to think about numbers for a while.”
She looked well beyond it in the mirror. The mass of her belly had taken over her frame. Each thigh was now as thick as her waist had once been, but her legs looked almost slender beneath her stomach’s girth. Her breasts, stuffed into a long-outgrown bra and each bigger than her head, could only rest atop its upper swell. Unlike so many others aboard, whose weight had given them hips or butts or hourglass figures, Estelle stored almost everything out front.
“58 units at the bust,” the officer continued, kneeling. “I can get you the new brassiere by tomorrow, but for the full uniform…you may want to prepare yourself for something that shows a little more skin.”
“Do what you can. Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just something I can squeeze into for ceremonies and such. The robe’s been comfy enough for the rest.”
“And how long will the robe last, at this rate?”
She set her hands on her hips and pushed her gut at his face. “Just give me the swimsuit I came in for. And then go eat your lunch.”
Wrapped in her new swimsuit, Estelle rode the turbolift to the lido deck. The fabric shortage had made for a fairly skimpy string two-piece, but it was surprisingly supportive and much comfier than the metal one the courtesans had put her in. The bottoms were her favorite shade of blue, though their front was generally concealed beneath the roll of her belly.
Her communicator bleeped. She had to dig it out from her cleavage. “Go ahead.”
“Captain,” said Starling, “you wished to be notified when we entered the flux anomaly.”
She’d forgotten that. “Any signs of trouble?”
“I do not detect any forces that would endanger the ship’s systems or hull integrity. But the dimensional barriers in this region are weak and we may experience minor temporal fluctuations as a result.”
“Acknowledged. I’ll be poolside.”
A groan and an echoing belch welcomed her to the lido deck. She found her away-team at the pool, stretched out in lounge chairs or drifting in the shallow end, surrounded by plates and clutching bloated stomachs. They had started without her.
“You started without me,” she gasped.
“Relax, captain,” said Maura, peering over her sunglasses. “There’s—huck—plenty left. And if you don’t get enough, we’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.” Maura rolled over on her towel and reached for her drink. Her plump backside, clad only in a thong, flattened out with a mesmerizing ripple.
Estelle tried a lounge chair, but the sound it made beneath her weight wasn’t encouraging. “I think this might be the first time I’ve seen you two without your armor,” she mused, stepping into the pool.
Zora sat up. “It, uh, doesn’t fit anymore.” It wasn’t difficult to see why. Her posterior flowed across the slats of the chair and over the edge on both sides and her stomach bunched up into three thick rolls on her lap. She didn’t seem at all ashamed, though, and gratefully accepted another tupo-berry margarita from the service arm.
Another arm stretched out and resumed rubbing lotion along Maura’s back. Her wings, though folded, seemed somehow thicker, too, or perhaps shorter. Either way, it began to explain why Estelle wasn’t seeing the mercenaries take to the air as often.
Lucine, however, seemed to be spending more time in the air than usual. She tended to levitate down the longer corridors rather than walk and preferred to float up from chairs rather than stand. Estelle joined her at a bench in the shallow end. Much of Lucine’s body above water still looked remarkably slim, save for a fuller face. Everything below the water, though, had expanded considerably. Her bottom half splayed across the bench and when she rose to grab another salty snack she revealed her enormous, quaggy thighs. Even squashed together they were twice the width of her shoulders. Several of the glowing gems had been buried beneath flesh.
Straya lay on a chair, letting her suit’s abdominal compartment hang open in the humid, artificially tropical air. She sported a sizable belly of her own, but it seemed to have grown sideways rather than simply forward, until she was almost more lovehandle than stomach. Every component of her suit had been replaced one piece at a time. Even the helmet had been rebuilt to accommodate her second chin.
She was clearly enjoying the glow after a sizable meal—the earlier groaning had been hers—and was loosening her pelvic components to relieve more pressure. Csilla sat beside her, providing an attentive belly rub. The princess had still managed to resist the ship’s temptations. Her belly looked a little less toned and her bosom sagged with just a bit more fullness, but beside the rest of them she looked almost malnourished. She was, however, sipping at a rather tall milkshake.
Io floated past Estelle on a raft. Io’s humanoid features had grown—especially her pillowy upper arms and a genuinely ponderous chin-roll—but it was her tentacles that seemed to have thickened the most. Her midsection had a much greater circumference. And Estelle couldn’t be certain, but Io seemed to have grown taller.
A service arm brought Estelle a tray and puttered off to help Zora paint her toenails. She slowly drank off a warp-fuel cocktail, relaxed back, and watched Lucine telekinetically towel herself off. The communicator bleeped again. “Go ahead,” she sighed, setting the empty glass aside.
“Captain,” said Starling, “you wished to be notified when we entered the flux anomaly.”
“Yeah, you—” She looked down. Her glass was full again. Even the solar-panel umbrella she’d pulled out was back. “Temporal fluctuations. Right. Got it.”
She took a long sip from the cocktail. When she’d put it down, there was a second, untouched tray of continuum-shifted cheesecake beside the first. They were identical in every way, though mirrored.
Twice as much continuum-shifted cheesecake. “I could get used to this,” she murmured, loosening her swimsuit bottoms in anticipation.
“What the hell?” cried Csilla. Estelle glanced around; the princess was now on the far side of the pool, toweling off her thigh. Lucine found herself seated in a chair with her hands on Straya’s gut.
Io thrashed about in the pool. Her raft had vanished. It reappeared a moment later in place of the service arm, spilling Maura’s nail polish.
“Minor temporal fluctuations,” Estelle grumbled. She had just been about to take her first bite of the cheesecake, but tapped on her communicator instead. “Captain to bridge. Starling, how long—” There was a flash of purplish green light, a faint tittering noise, and then she froze.
The hum of the measurement drone died away. Looking up from his datapad, the requisitions officer peered over, tapped the drone, and sighed. “Are you sucking in?”
“Yeah, sorry,” laughed Estelle, letting the top of her stomach relax out another inch or two. “Old habit.”
“Well, unless you plan to spend a lot less time as stuffed as a holiday space-turkey, I’d recommend you let me get a more realistic reading.”
“Maybe I should’ve eaten a big meal before coming in here, for better effect.”
The officer typed at his pad. “I was unaware there were still hours in the day when you haven’t recently eaten a big meal.”
“Are you this crabby with everyone who comes in, or only superior officers?”
“Your whole crew is constantly outgrowing whatever the tailoring AI and I can come up with. We don’t have much fabric left.” His demeanor faltered. “And you’ve made me late for lunch.”
This was something Estelle could sympathize with. “There was some work to do in stellar cartography. Anomalies up ahead, apparently. And…I got kind of a slow start this morning.” So had Lucine, some of whose honeyed lipstick was still on Estelle’s neck.
“I know. So. 56 units at the waist. Out to 63 where it…broadens. And that’s without lunch in it, I understand. About how much do you weigh now, captain?”
“Oh, I haven’t touched the bio-pak since three hundred. But that was months ago and we’re probably well beyond that. I’m trying not to think about numbers for a while.”
She looked well beyond it in the mirror. The mass of her belly had taken over her frame. Each thigh was now as thick as her waist had once been, but her legs looked almost slender beneath her stomach’s girth. Her breasts, stuffed into a long-outgrown bra and each bigger than her head, could only rest atop its upper swell. Unlike so many others aboard, whose weight had given them hips or butts or hourglass figures, Estelle stored almost everything out front.
“58 units at the bust,” the officer continued, kneeling. “I can get you the new brassiere by tomorrow, but for the full uniform…you may want to prepare yourself for something that shows a little more skin.”
“Do what you can. Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just something I can squeeze into for ceremonies and such. The robe’s been comfy enough for the rest.”
“And how long will the robe last, at this rate?”
She set her hands on her hips and pushed her gut at his face. “Just give me the swimsuit I came in for. And then go eat your lunch.”
Wrapped in her new swimsuit, Estelle rode the turbolift to the lido deck. The fabric shortage had made for a fairly skimpy string two-piece, but it was surprisingly supportive and much comfier than the metal one the courtesans had put her in. The bottoms were her favorite shade of blue, though their front was generally concealed beneath the roll of her belly.
Her communicator bleeped. She had to dig it out from her cleavage. “Go ahead.”
“Captain,” said Starling, “you wished to be notified when we entered the flux anomaly.”
She’d forgotten that. “Any signs of trouble?”
“I do not detect any forces that would endanger the ship’s systems or hull integrity. But the dimensional barriers in this region are weak and we may experience minor temporal fluctuations as a result.”
“Acknowledged. I’ll be poolside.”
A groan and an echoing belch welcomed her to the lido deck. She found her away-team at the pool, stretched out in lounge chairs or drifting in the shallow end, surrounded by plates and clutching bloated stomachs. They had started without her.
“You started without me,” she gasped.
“Relax, captain,” said Maura, peering over her sunglasses. “There’s—huck—plenty left. And if you don’t get enough, we’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.” Maura rolled over on her towel and reached for her drink. Her plump backside, clad only in a thong, flattened out with a mesmerizing ripple.
Estelle tried a lounge chair, but the sound it made beneath her weight wasn’t encouraging. “I think this might be the first time I’ve seen you two without your armor,” she mused, stepping into the pool.
Zora sat up. “It, uh, doesn’t fit anymore.” It wasn’t difficult to see why. Her posterior flowed across the slats of the chair and over the edge on both sides and her stomach bunched up into three thick rolls on her lap. She didn’t seem at all ashamed, though, and gratefully accepted another tupo-berry margarita from the service arm.
Another arm stretched out and resumed rubbing lotion along Maura’s back. Her wings, though folded, seemed somehow thicker, too, or perhaps shorter. Either way, it began to explain why Estelle wasn’t seeing the mercenaries take to the air as often.
Lucine, however, seemed to be spending more time in the air than usual. She tended to levitate down the longer corridors rather than walk and preferred to float up from chairs rather than stand. Estelle joined her at a bench in the shallow end. Much of Lucine’s body above water still looked remarkably slim, save for a fuller face. Everything below the water, though, had expanded considerably. Her bottom half splayed across the bench and when she rose to grab another salty snack she revealed her enormous, quaggy thighs. Even squashed together they were twice the width of her shoulders. Several of the glowing gems had been buried beneath flesh.
Straya lay on a chair, letting her suit’s abdominal compartment hang open in the humid, artificially tropical air. She sported a sizable belly of her own, but it seemed to have grown sideways rather than simply forward, until she was almost more lovehandle than stomach. Every component of her suit had been replaced one piece at a time. Even the helmet had been rebuilt to accommodate her second chin.
She was clearly enjoying the glow after a sizable meal—the earlier groaning had been hers—and was loosening her pelvic components to relieve more pressure. Csilla sat beside her, providing an attentive belly rub. The princess had still managed to resist the ship’s temptations. Her belly looked a little less toned and her bosom sagged with just a bit more fullness, but beside the rest of them she looked almost malnourished. She was, however, sipping at a rather tall milkshake.
Io floated past Estelle on a raft. Io’s humanoid features had grown—especially her pillowy upper arms and a genuinely ponderous chin-roll—but it was her tentacles that seemed to have thickened the most. Her midsection had a much greater circumference. And Estelle couldn’t be certain, but Io seemed to have grown taller.
A service arm brought Estelle a tray and puttered off to help Zora paint her toenails. She slowly drank off a warp-fuel cocktail, relaxed back, and watched Lucine telekinetically towel herself off. The communicator bleeped again. “Go ahead,” she sighed, setting the empty glass aside.
“Captain,” said Starling, “you wished to be notified when we entered the flux anomaly.”
“Yeah, you—” She looked down. Her glass was full again. Even the solar-panel umbrella she’d pulled out was back. “Temporal fluctuations. Right. Got it.”
She took a long sip from the cocktail. When she’d put it down, there was a second, untouched tray of continuum-shifted cheesecake beside the first. They were identical in every way, though mirrored.
Twice as much continuum-shifted cheesecake. “I could get used to this,” she murmured, loosening her swimsuit bottoms in anticipation.
“What the hell?” cried Csilla. Estelle glanced around; the princess was now on the far side of the pool, toweling off her thigh. Lucine found herself seated in a chair with her hands on Straya’s gut.
Io thrashed about in the pool. Her raft had vanished. It reappeared a moment later in place of the service arm, spilling Maura’s nail polish.
“Minor temporal fluctuations,” Estelle grumbled. She had just been about to take her first bite of the cheesecake, but tapped on her communicator instead. “Captain to bridge. Starling, how long—” There was a flash of purplish green light, a faint tittering noise, and then she froze.
(23.2)
“Is she alright?” grunted Straya, sitting up.
“It’s not just her,” said Csilla, turning away from their motionless captain. The cheesecake-topped fork was still poised inches from her lips. “The water features have stopped, too. And look…”
The water that Io’s thrashing had kicked into the air was still suspended there in sparkling droplets. Zora poured out some of her drink; it began to spill, but slowed and froze.
Lucine floated over and tapped Estelle’s communicator. It sent a ripple through the captain’s flab, a ripple that paused halfway down her belly. “Lucine to bridge. Are you reading? Lucine to engineering. Lucine to security. Nothing…they must be frozen, too.”
They gathered at the bar. The service arms were motionless. “Oh, this is definitely bad,” they agreed.
“Why are the six of us unaffected?” asked Lucine.
“Well, it’s just a theory,” said Straya, trying to squeeze her midsection back into her exo-suit, “but the six of us have been stuffing our faces with continuum-shifted cheesecake all afternoon.”
Csilla huffed. “I haven’t.” Her stomach gurgled. “I had a very reasonable serving.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Maura, zip me up. Ow. Remind me to rebuild this thing again. Well, the lights are still on…there’s power. I say we get up to the bridge and see what we can do.”
“The bridge,” breathed Zora, “on the other end of the ship?”
“At least it’s on the same level. We won’t have to fit your fat butt in the emergency access hatches.”
They turned as the central water feature—a nude figure guzzling water from a fountain—suddenly vanished.
“Come on,” said Csilla. “Let’s get up there before life-support disappears. Hurry…or do whatever constitutes hurrying at your size.”
“Oh, I had too many margaritas for this,” moaned Maura.
The corridors were filled with crewmembers stopped in place, mid-stride, mid-conversation, often mid-bite or mid-spoonful, and, in one case, mid-hiccup. The ensign’s doughy gut was frozen on the upward heave and Straya gave it a poke as she passed.
They stopped at a security locker for weapons, but otherwise continued through the ship in their beachtowels and tiny swimsuits. Maura and Zora occasionally took a few perfunctory flaps to take the weight off their legs. Lucine levitated almost the whole way. Io and Straya could only lumber behind, huffing and puffing. More statues and paintings disappeared before their eyes.
Csilla stopped them outside the bridge and listened at the door. “Someone’s in there, moving around. More than one. I don’t recognize the language.”
Straya studied a panel. “The door’s been…hff…rigged with a…plasma trap…”
“There’s a back entrance from the officers’ lounge.”
“Perfect. More…walking…”
In the officers’ lounge they found a group of crewmen frozen in the middle of raucous applause. They were gathered around the kitchen steward. She had a mostly-drunk pitcher of beer pressed to her lips and her chest had just popped open her blouse. The button was suspended in mid-air a few feet away.
Csilla moved the button aside so it wouldn’t hit the comms officer in the eye. Straya unsealed the door. They raised their weapons and charged—or hobbled—onto the bridge.
Starling and Lieutenant Caelius were frozen in their chairs. Two shimmering seven-legged creatures scuttled freely about, tittering. One pointed a glowing wand at Estelle’s chair. It vanished.
“That’s the captain’s!” growled Straya. The creatures turned.
“Stop whatever the hell you’re doing,” said Csilla.
Maura and Zora cocked their pistols. The nearest creature pointed its wand at them and in an instant the pistols were replaced by a pair of embroidered throw pillows.
Csilla tossed her weapon aside and strode forward, cracking her knuckles. “You have no idea how annoyed I am. This interruption—do you have any idea how hard is to get an even tan with shapeshifter skin?”
The wand pointed at her. Her bikini top disappeared; her breasts fell with a little bounce.
She recoiled, but so did the creatures, checking their wands, as though they’d expected the rest of her to disappear. The first chittered something and the second threw a metal ring on the floor. The ring sparked and crackled with electricity and a third creature began to climb its way through the portal, hissing. It was longer, wilder, and covered with far, far too many legs. It was chained by a spiked collar to something on the far side of the portal and the other creatures were struggling to control it.
Csilla covered herself and turned. “Io, do your thing.”
“After that,” said Maura, turning on some music, “they didn’t put up much of a fight. Surrendered their little devices and helped us reset things. Took most of the day, but I think we got it all back where it belongs. That cheesecake really saved the day.””
Zora lit a candle. “They’re inter-dimensional time thieves, apparently, using these temporal anomalies as cover. They steal things they find historically significant. They must know something we don’t about the Goose. Something encouraging to think about, eh?”
“They were actually super friendly, once we got to talking. Gave us a lot of new recipes from other time periods. And they treated us to one hell of an interdimensional feast.” Maura slipped off her robe, revealing a short, sheer negligee. It also revealed a stomach still very full from their feast.
Zora undid her own robe in turn. “That might’ve actually been why it took so long to get everything reset, now that I think of it.”
Estelle sat back in her bed and frowned at the ceiling. “So I sat there frozen the whole time. Twelve hours without a bite to eat. Never even tasted that cheesecake. No wonder I’m in such a mood.”
“Well, captain…” said Zora, holding up a continuum-shifted cheesecake.
“That’s why we’re here,” said Maura, holding up a continuum-shifted cheesecake.
“About time,” grunted Estelle. She smiled, though, and put her hands behind her head. Maura and Zora climbed into the bed, cuddled up to either side of her, and alternated feeding her from each plate.
--
NEXT WEEK: PIGS—IN—SPAAAAAAAAAACE
“Is she alright?” grunted Straya, sitting up.
“It’s not just her,” said Csilla, turning away from their motionless captain. The cheesecake-topped fork was still poised inches from her lips. “The water features have stopped, too. And look…”
The water that Io’s thrashing had kicked into the air was still suspended there in sparkling droplets. Zora poured out some of her drink; it began to spill, but slowed and froze.
Lucine floated over and tapped Estelle’s communicator. It sent a ripple through the captain’s flab, a ripple that paused halfway down her belly. “Lucine to bridge. Are you reading? Lucine to engineering. Lucine to security. Nothing…they must be frozen, too.”
They gathered at the bar. The service arms were motionless. “Oh, this is definitely bad,” they agreed.
“Why are the six of us unaffected?” asked Lucine.
“Well, it’s just a theory,” said Straya, trying to squeeze her midsection back into her exo-suit, “but the six of us have been stuffing our faces with continuum-shifted cheesecake all afternoon.”
Csilla huffed. “I haven’t.” Her stomach gurgled. “I had a very reasonable serving.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Maura, zip me up. Ow. Remind me to rebuild this thing again. Well, the lights are still on…there’s power. I say we get up to the bridge and see what we can do.”
“The bridge,” breathed Zora, “on the other end of the ship?”
“At least it’s on the same level. We won’t have to fit your fat butt in the emergency access hatches.”
They turned as the central water feature—a nude figure guzzling water from a fountain—suddenly vanished.
“Come on,” said Csilla. “Let’s get up there before life-support disappears. Hurry…or do whatever constitutes hurrying at your size.”
“Oh, I had too many margaritas for this,” moaned Maura.
The corridors were filled with crewmembers stopped in place, mid-stride, mid-conversation, often mid-bite or mid-spoonful, and, in one case, mid-hiccup. The ensign’s doughy gut was frozen on the upward heave and Straya gave it a poke as she passed.
They stopped at a security locker for weapons, but otherwise continued through the ship in their beachtowels and tiny swimsuits. Maura and Zora occasionally took a few perfunctory flaps to take the weight off their legs. Lucine levitated almost the whole way. Io and Straya could only lumber behind, huffing and puffing. More statues and paintings disappeared before their eyes.
Csilla stopped them outside the bridge and listened at the door. “Someone’s in there, moving around. More than one. I don’t recognize the language.”
Straya studied a panel. “The door’s been…hff…rigged with a…plasma trap…”
“There’s a back entrance from the officers’ lounge.”
“Perfect. More…walking…”
In the officers’ lounge they found a group of crewmen frozen in the middle of raucous applause. They were gathered around the kitchen steward. She had a mostly-drunk pitcher of beer pressed to her lips and her chest had just popped open her blouse. The button was suspended in mid-air a few feet away.
Csilla moved the button aside so it wouldn’t hit the comms officer in the eye. Straya unsealed the door. They raised their weapons and charged—or hobbled—onto the bridge.
Starling and Lieutenant Caelius were frozen in their chairs. Two shimmering seven-legged creatures scuttled freely about, tittering. One pointed a glowing wand at Estelle’s chair. It vanished.
“That’s the captain’s!” growled Straya. The creatures turned.
“Stop whatever the hell you’re doing,” said Csilla.
Maura and Zora cocked their pistols. The nearest creature pointed its wand at them and in an instant the pistols were replaced by a pair of embroidered throw pillows.
Csilla tossed her weapon aside and strode forward, cracking her knuckles. “You have no idea how annoyed I am. This interruption—do you have any idea how hard is to get an even tan with shapeshifter skin?”
The wand pointed at her. Her bikini top disappeared; her breasts fell with a little bounce.
She recoiled, but so did the creatures, checking their wands, as though they’d expected the rest of her to disappear. The first chittered something and the second threw a metal ring on the floor. The ring sparked and crackled with electricity and a third creature began to climb its way through the portal, hissing. It was longer, wilder, and covered with far, far too many legs. It was chained by a spiked collar to something on the far side of the portal and the other creatures were struggling to control it.
Csilla covered herself and turned. “Io, do your thing.”
“After that,” said Maura, turning on some music, “they didn’t put up much of a fight. Surrendered their little devices and helped us reset things. Took most of the day, but I think we got it all back where it belongs. That cheesecake really saved the day.””
Zora lit a candle. “They’re inter-dimensional time thieves, apparently, using these temporal anomalies as cover. They steal things they find historically significant. They must know something we don’t about the Goose. Something encouraging to think about, eh?”
“They were actually super friendly, once we got to talking. Gave us a lot of new recipes from other time periods. And they treated us to one hell of an interdimensional feast.” Maura slipped off her robe, revealing a short, sheer negligee. It also revealed a stomach still very full from their feast.
Zora undid her own robe in turn. “That might’ve actually been why it took so long to get everything reset, now that I think of it.”
Estelle sat back in her bed and frowned at the ceiling. “So I sat there frozen the whole time. Twelve hours without a bite to eat. Never even tasted that cheesecake. No wonder I’m in such a mood.”
“Well, captain…” said Zora, holding up a continuum-shifted cheesecake.
“That’s why we’re here,” said Maura, holding up a continuum-shifted cheesecake.
“About time,” grunted Estelle. She smiled, though, and put her hands behind her head. Maura and Zora climbed into the bed, cuddled up to either side of her, and alternated feeding her from each plate.
--
NEXT WEEK: PIGS—IN—SPAAAAAAAAAACE
bigboy1992
***
Yay!! Io coming in clutch! I wonder what could so historical significant about the ship? I guess time will tell. Also I wonder if they will get lucky and find a tailor.
Tiggy
***
I had a brief moment where i thought due to the random fluctuations that the already eaten cheesecake would duplicate inside Estelle's tum for a moment
Absolutely love this so far!
Absolutely love this so far!
ColonelSanders
***
Oh man. One of my favorite chapters yet. People really starting to get chubby now, and your descriptions are perfectly on point. The storyline is excellent too, with so many good ploy points. Well done sir!
Chapter 24
Estelle arched her back, pushing her bloated paunch against the kitchen steward’s beer-gut. She unhooked the steward’s bra; the steward took Estelle’s lower lip in her teeth. The bra began to slide away.
“Captain,” breathed the steward.
“Captain,” called Starling.
Estelle pushed the communicator off the bed and went in for another kiss. “Not now, Starling.”
It buzzed again. “I apologize, captain, but you are needed on the bridge.”
“Starling, I’m full of pasta and wine and I’m—mm—very busy.”
“Captain, we are under attack.” The ship shuddered and the mood-lights flickered. Alert lights took over.
The steward rolled off and pulled the bedsheet over her bosom. “Go save the day,” she laughed. “I’ll wait.”
Estelle sighed and sat up. “Just don’t eat all the tiramisu without me.” She looked at the steward and reconsidered. “Well, at least have a fresh plate ready for when I get back.”
“Status,” she groaned, one hand to her gut, carefully making her way to the captain’s chair.
“It is a battlecruiser of Confederation design,” said Starling. “However, all Confederation markings have been painted over and replaced with…skeletons.”
“Space pirates,” grumbled Lieutenant Caelius.
Estelle turned and pointed. “Where’s the comms guy?”
“Indigestion. Lucine is…attending to him.”
“Oh, but we can interrupt my date? Stars.” She tied her robe. “So, a battlecruiser. Assessment?”
The ship trembled under a phaser blast. “It carries the standard armament for its class,” Starling continued, “plus a number of contraband weapons which appear to have been grafted on from other starships.”
“So…successful space pirates,” grumbled Caelius.
“With our limited arsenal and without the Sphrigon escorts, it is unlikely that we would survive a pitched engagement. Our evasive maneuvers are nearly exhausted.”
Estelle rubbed her head. “We run for it, then. Back to that Nebula we spotted. And keep it smooth on the yaw, helmsman. We’ve got some full bellies on board. Reserve power to aft shields.”
The Golden Goose swung around and fled. The pirate starship made a surprisingly nimble turn for its size and settled in for the chase.
Estelle diverted more power to the engines, shutting down the exercise deck and several of the relaxation decks. It was enough to keep them ahead of their pursuer for a couple of hours. A service arm brought her coffee and quite a bit of cream.
The pirates drew slowly but inexorably closer. “They are exceeding engine outputs that would be unsafe aboard most ships of that construction,” reported Starling. “They will overtake us in forty-seven minutes.”
“Modifications? Or desperation?” Estelle was about to bite into a biscuit when the pirates began trying their long range-cannons. They weren’t very accurate, but they were frighteningly powerful.
By now the crew had dragged themselves to battle stations. A very disheveled comms officer returned to his post. The away team reported themselves ready, though there was some giggling in the background of their call. Estelle knew that ‘ready’ could only be a relative term: Maura and Zora were only in half of their armor, Lucine had just eaten a whole pot of Yirga fungal chowder and was supporting her lower back like a pregnant woman, and Straya was still fumbling with the upper-arm segment of her exo-suit. Io had not appeared; Estelle knew not to ask.
Another blast struck the ship. Estelle reached for her chair’s safety belt, but it wouldn’t close over her. “Torpedoes,” she huffed.
The torpedoes had little effect. The pirates blasted the Goose again and again and drew even closer. There was nowhere else to run and the shields began to fail.
“Shields have failed,” announced the tactical officer. “Life support still functioning on all decks.”
Estelle hung her head. “Full stop. Hold fire and power down the weapons systems.”
They listened as the engines went quiet. The enemy ship stopped firing and came to a stop alongside.
“Captain, we are being hailed.”
The speakers burbled. “Resistance is pointless,” croaked a voice. “You will deactivate security systems and allow your ship to be boarded. All your property is ours, as sacrifice to the Goddess of Plunder.”
Estelle stood. “Wait—wait. We won’t fight you. We’re traveling in peace. We just want to get home.”
“Inconsequential. Your property will be ours, as sacrifice to the Goddess of Plunder.”
“But…you need to know that we’re carrying very, uh, dangerous cargo. You could hurt yourselves.” The bridge officers gave her a quizzical look. She shrugged.
“Inconsequential. Your cargo will be ours, as—”
“Yeah. Look, I just…we should talk this over. We’re friendly. We can cooperate. We can give you what you want. But let’s talk, first, alright? Come over and have dinner with us. You can save yourself a lot of effort. Please.”
“We resent deception. We resent entrapment. If you wish to negotiate for the lives of your crew, you may come aboard our vessel. You will come aboard alone and unarmed. You will be immediately sacrificed to the Goddess of Plunder if we detect any power surges or shuttle launches from your ship.”
“I accept,” said Estelle. The channel closed.
“What do you want us to do?”
She spread her hands. “Just…wait. And be ready. Dock with them, get me over there and I’ll—I’ll talk to them. Yeah. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
“You’ll think of something.”
“I’ll follow my gut.”
Estelle arched her back, pushing her bloated paunch against the kitchen steward’s beer-gut. She unhooked the steward’s bra; the steward took Estelle’s lower lip in her teeth. The bra began to slide away.
“Captain,” breathed the steward.
“Captain,” called Starling.
Estelle pushed the communicator off the bed and went in for another kiss. “Not now, Starling.”
It buzzed again. “I apologize, captain, but you are needed on the bridge.”
“Starling, I’m full of pasta and wine and I’m—mm—very busy.”
“Captain, we are under attack.” The ship shuddered and the mood-lights flickered. Alert lights took over.
The steward rolled off and pulled the bedsheet over her bosom. “Go save the day,” she laughed. “I’ll wait.”
Estelle sighed and sat up. “Just don’t eat all the tiramisu without me.” She looked at the steward and reconsidered. “Well, at least have a fresh plate ready for when I get back.”
“Status,” she groaned, one hand to her gut, carefully making her way to the captain’s chair.
“It is a battlecruiser of Confederation design,” said Starling. “However, all Confederation markings have been painted over and replaced with…skeletons.”
“Space pirates,” grumbled Lieutenant Caelius.
Estelle turned and pointed. “Where’s the comms guy?”
“Indigestion. Lucine is…attending to him.”
“Oh, but we can interrupt my date? Stars.” She tied her robe. “So, a battlecruiser. Assessment?”
The ship trembled under a phaser blast. “It carries the standard armament for its class,” Starling continued, “plus a number of contraband weapons which appear to have been grafted on from other starships.”
“So…successful space pirates,” grumbled Caelius.
“With our limited arsenal and without the Sphrigon escorts, it is unlikely that we would survive a pitched engagement. Our evasive maneuvers are nearly exhausted.”
Estelle rubbed her head. “We run for it, then. Back to that Nebula we spotted. And keep it smooth on the yaw, helmsman. We’ve got some full bellies on board. Reserve power to aft shields.”
The Golden Goose swung around and fled. The pirate starship made a surprisingly nimble turn for its size and settled in for the chase.
Estelle diverted more power to the engines, shutting down the exercise deck and several of the relaxation decks. It was enough to keep them ahead of their pursuer for a couple of hours. A service arm brought her coffee and quite a bit of cream.
The pirates drew slowly but inexorably closer. “They are exceeding engine outputs that would be unsafe aboard most ships of that construction,” reported Starling. “They will overtake us in forty-seven minutes.”
“Modifications? Or desperation?” Estelle was about to bite into a biscuit when the pirates began trying their long range-cannons. They weren’t very accurate, but they were frighteningly powerful.
By now the crew had dragged themselves to battle stations. A very disheveled comms officer returned to his post. The away team reported themselves ready, though there was some giggling in the background of their call. Estelle knew that ‘ready’ could only be a relative term: Maura and Zora were only in half of their armor, Lucine had just eaten a whole pot of Yirga fungal chowder and was supporting her lower back like a pregnant woman, and Straya was still fumbling with the upper-arm segment of her exo-suit. Io had not appeared; Estelle knew not to ask.
Another blast struck the ship. Estelle reached for her chair’s safety belt, but it wouldn’t close over her. “Torpedoes,” she huffed.
The torpedoes had little effect. The pirates blasted the Goose again and again and drew even closer. There was nowhere else to run and the shields began to fail.
“Shields have failed,” announced the tactical officer. “Life support still functioning on all decks.”
Estelle hung her head. “Full stop. Hold fire and power down the weapons systems.”
They listened as the engines went quiet. The enemy ship stopped firing and came to a stop alongside.
“Captain, we are being hailed.”
The speakers burbled. “Resistance is pointless,” croaked a voice. “You will deactivate security systems and allow your ship to be boarded. All your property is ours, as sacrifice to the Goddess of Plunder.”
Estelle stood. “Wait—wait. We won’t fight you. We’re traveling in peace. We just want to get home.”
“Inconsequential. Your property will be ours, as sacrifice to the Goddess of Plunder.”
“But…you need to know that we’re carrying very, uh, dangerous cargo. You could hurt yourselves.” The bridge officers gave her a quizzical look. She shrugged.
“Inconsequential. Your cargo will be ours, as—”
“Yeah. Look, I just…we should talk this over. We’re friendly. We can cooperate. We can give you what you want. But let’s talk, first, alright? Come over and have dinner with us. You can save yourself a lot of effort. Please.”
“We resent deception. We resent entrapment. If you wish to negotiate for the lives of your crew, you may come aboard our vessel. You will come aboard alone and unarmed. You will be immediately sacrificed to the Goddess of Plunder if we detect any power surges or shuttle launches from your ship.”
“I accept,” said Estelle. The channel closed.
“What do you want us to do?”
She spread her hands. “Just…wait. And be ready. Dock with them, get me over there and I’ll—I’ll talk to them. Yeah. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
“You’ll think of something.”
“I’ll follow my gut.”
(24.2)
She hadn’t had time to wrangle her bulk into her uniform, so she went across in only her underwear and the robe. It was still comfortable and smooth, but was having difficulty staying closed over her middle. She fidgeted with the knot while waiting for the airlock to open.
A dozen lean frog-like beings greeted her, swords and pistols at their sides. They looked at her with some hesitation, seeing that she was a foot taller than them, but were gratified when she put her hands behind her head and obeyed their commands.
More frogs crept out from doors and tunnels as she was led down a long torchlit corridor. She wasn’t walking as quickly as they liked and they prodded her backfat every few steps. Estelle kept up what pace she could and concentrated on keeping her robe closed.
They passed grottos that must have opened into their ship’s galley. Delicious aromas wafted up: smoked meats, sizzling vegetables, heady spices, pungent rum, baking breads. Estelle slowed, instinctively turning toward the smell, but they prodded her onward.
By the time she reached the central chamber she was crowded by what must have been a hundred frogs. They spilled out into the enormous room, leaping over one another, and in the better lighting here she saw they were wearing stolen naval uniforms from species all over the galaxy. The room was lined with tables and set for a feast for hundreds. The frogs squeaked something about “sacrifices” and “bounty from the goddess.”
A taller, even leaner frog stepped out from the shadows and hopped onto a table. He swept his cloak aside, raised his sword, and tipped his pirate hat. The other frogs grew quiet.
“Welcome,” he croaked. “You are prisoner of the Jolly Ribbiter. Step forward and bow before the Goddess of Plunder.”
They shoved Estelle forward. Her robe promptly fell open and billowed out from her belly.
The frogs fell back. Their captain dropped his sword. His mouth hung open and his eyes bulged. A frantic murmuring filled the chamber. Estelle glanced around and saw their heads turning in panic and awe, looking back and forth from her to something at the far end of the room.
She followed their gaze. Standing against the wall was a colossal statue in the shape of a pig-woman. The statue’s paunch was identical to her own, down to the faint crease below the navel, the stretchmarks, and the curve where her belly met her lovehandles. The statue had the same flabby bosom, the same pillowy arms, and even the same bulging double chin, creased in just the same place. With the exception of the snout and the ears, the statue was her.
The frogs looked at her, looked at the statue, and looked back at her. They dropped to their knees. The captain stepped down from his table and offered her a chair.
The away team gathered at the Golden Goose’s airlock. They were by now restored and prepared for action. Straya’s suit was fully sealed. Io was mobile and looking angry. Much of the crew stood in the corridor behind them, armed to the teeth and eager for a fight.
A light flickered. The crew inhaled. A hundred weapons powered up. Straya stepped forward, waited for the count, and unsealed the door.
Estelle fell out and into her arms. The captain was naked, covered in a variety of sauces, and as bloated as they’d ever seen her.
Maura rushed forward to help Straya support her. Estelle was conscious, but hanging almost limp, hands clutched to her swollen gut.
“Get the medic. Captain, are you hurt?”
“Moi?” Estelle hiccupped. “No. Yes. Hurts in the best…best way.”
Csilla shook her head. “Cancel the medics.” She frowned at the captain’s bleary smile. “What happened?”
“I have success…full…ly…successfully neg—huck—gotiated our release. There was a…then a…then we…hic! I think they liked me. Do you like me?”
Straya touched the stomach. It was packed solid. “Of course, captain. So…we’re safe? We can go?”
They waited as she rolled out a double belch. “Ow. Yeah, sure. If you—hic!—if you wanna. But might wanna…not wanna.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, they made a big dinner. Still lots…lots left. You’re all invited. I made sure of it. So go on over. I’m just gonna—hulp!—have a little nap, since I worked so hard today, and then come back for—huck—for…what’sit. Seconds.”
She tried to step away, but didn’t get far on her own. Two of the stronger crewmen took hold and guided her back to her cabin. They poured her into her bed and rushed back to join the others at the pirates’ feast.
Estelle looked down at her stomach, rising in her vision like a moon over a strange planet. She called for the service arms and demanded a belly rub.
They obliged. Her stomach gurgled happily. The crew feasted. But before heading over herself, the kitchen steward did peek into the captain’s cabin to drop off a fresh plate of tiramisu.
--
NEXT WEEK: AI Constructs and Cyborgs First
She hadn’t had time to wrangle her bulk into her uniform, so she went across in only her underwear and the robe. It was still comfortable and smooth, but was having difficulty staying closed over her middle. She fidgeted with the knot while waiting for the airlock to open.
A dozen lean frog-like beings greeted her, swords and pistols at their sides. They looked at her with some hesitation, seeing that she was a foot taller than them, but were gratified when she put her hands behind her head and obeyed their commands.
More frogs crept out from doors and tunnels as she was led down a long torchlit corridor. She wasn’t walking as quickly as they liked and they prodded her backfat every few steps. Estelle kept up what pace she could and concentrated on keeping her robe closed.
They passed grottos that must have opened into their ship’s galley. Delicious aromas wafted up: smoked meats, sizzling vegetables, heady spices, pungent rum, baking breads. Estelle slowed, instinctively turning toward the smell, but they prodded her onward.
By the time she reached the central chamber she was crowded by what must have been a hundred frogs. They spilled out into the enormous room, leaping over one another, and in the better lighting here she saw they were wearing stolen naval uniforms from species all over the galaxy. The room was lined with tables and set for a feast for hundreds. The frogs squeaked something about “sacrifices” and “bounty from the goddess.”
A taller, even leaner frog stepped out from the shadows and hopped onto a table. He swept his cloak aside, raised his sword, and tipped his pirate hat. The other frogs grew quiet.
“Welcome,” he croaked. “You are prisoner of the Jolly Ribbiter. Step forward and bow before the Goddess of Plunder.”
They shoved Estelle forward. Her robe promptly fell open and billowed out from her belly.
The frogs fell back. Their captain dropped his sword. His mouth hung open and his eyes bulged. A frantic murmuring filled the chamber. Estelle glanced around and saw their heads turning in panic and awe, looking back and forth from her to something at the far end of the room.
She followed their gaze. Standing against the wall was a colossal statue in the shape of a pig-woman. The statue’s paunch was identical to her own, down to the faint crease below the navel, the stretchmarks, and the curve where her belly met her lovehandles. The statue had the same flabby bosom, the same pillowy arms, and even the same bulging double chin, creased in just the same place. With the exception of the snout and the ears, the statue was her.
The frogs looked at her, looked at the statue, and looked back at her. They dropped to their knees. The captain stepped down from his table and offered her a chair.
The away team gathered at the Golden Goose’s airlock. They were by now restored and prepared for action. Straya’s suit was fully sealed. Io was mobile and looking angry. Much of the crew stood in the corridor behind them, armed to the teeth and eager for a fight.
A light flickered. The crew inhaled. A hundred weapons powered up. Straya stepped forward, waited for the count, and unsealed the door.
Estelle fell out and into her arms. The captain was naked, covered in a variety of sauces, and as bloated as they’d ever seen her.
Maura rushed forward to help Straya support her. Estelle was conscious, but hanging almost limp, hands clutched to her swollen gut.
“Get the medic. Captain, are you hurt?”
“Moi?” Estelle hiccupped. “No. Yes. Hurts in the best…best way.”
Csilla shook her head. “Cancel the medics.” She frowned at the captain’s bleary smile. “What happened?”
“I have success…full…ly…successfully neg—huck—gotiated our release. There was a…then a…then we…hic! I think they liked me. Do you like me?”
Straya touched the stomach. It was packed solid. “Of course, captain. So…we’re safe? We can go?”
They waited as she rolled out a double belch. “Ow. Yeah, sure. If you—hic!—if you wanna. But might wanna…not wanna.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, they made a big dinner. Still lots…lots left. You’re all invited. I made sure of it. So go on over. I’m just gonna—hulp!—have a little nap, since I worked so hard today, and then come back for—huck—for…what’sit. Seconds.”
She tried to step away, but didn’t get far on her own. Two of the stronger crewmen took hold and guided her back to her cabin. They poured her into her bed and rushed back to join the others at the pirates’ feast.
Estelle looked down at her stomach, rising in her vision like a moon over a strange planet. She called for the service arms and demanded a belly rub.
They obliged. Her stomach gurgled happily. The crew feasted. But before heading over herself, the kitchen steward did peek into the captain’s cabin to drop off a fresh plate of tiramisu.
--
NEXT WEEK: AI Constructs and Cyborgs First
