BBW Shaya (~BBW, SSBBW, ~~WG, Stuffing, Gluttony)

Discussion in 'Recent Additions' started by Benny Mon, Dec 20, 2018.

  1. Dec 20, 2018 #1

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    A story in the universe of "And Eat It, Too" and "The Invention of Ice Cream", though it stands on its own.

    ~

    Chapter 1

    Tantsam knew that this was always Shaya’s favorite moment: when the wind pushed their vessel around the last outcropping on this coast of the island of Méggóg, and her hometown of Dhahál came into view, small in the distance but still bright and colorful in all its splendor. It wasn’t that she complained about the rest of it--she seemed to take joy in even the drudgery of a sailor’s life, in hauling loads and pulling ropes--but nothing seemed to equal this moment when the work was done, and, tired and satisfied, she stood at the stern and returned to the seat of the largest and most prosperous principality in the Bight of Vhida.

    “You’ve got that look on your face again, Shaya,” he said.

    She turned back to the voice behind her, looking a little embarrassed but no less radiant. Her big, brown eyes were glowing, each round, dark brown, appley cheek on either side of her strong nose spreading to reveal her brilliant smile and press her thick double chin into her neck. Her curly hair--brown-black, but sunstreaked from her time at sea--was pulled into a rough ponytail, but it still blew gently in the wind. And as she turned at her waist, he saw her belly tug at the strictures of her overalls, a little tighter than they usually were on a job. She was just on the fat side of the line between fat and chubby, and while not curvy--her hefty belly was easily her largest feature--she still had a feminine roundness.

    Tantsam, the stocky, dark red-brown Archipelagan who had worked so many jobs with her, laughed instinctively when she met his gaze. “We have some time to rest before we come to port, don’t we?” She nodded, and they settled down on a pair of squat barrels. He noticed her belly settle on her lap and strain her overalls again.

    “I don’t understand why you say you can’t wait to retire,” he said. “You love this work. You couldn’t do anything else. It’s in your blood, Shaya; your father is a sailor and so was his father!”

    “I know, I know, I do love it,” she said, laughing a little herself. “It’s not like I’m going to retire tomorrow. It’s just that when I think of what my life will be like then, I can barely wait. I’ll be rich, living off my investments. I can travel the world--I won’t just have to work local jobs like I always do now--or I can stay home if I want, it’ll be up to me! And you know the most important thing.”

    “I do.” Tantsam smiled and nodded knowingly.

    Shaya closed her eyes and her eyebrows shot up as the fantasies flowed through her. “I’ll be able to eat as much as I want of the finest, most delicious food, and this thing”--she patted her belly a couple times and shook it a little--“will just get bigger. I won’t be able to help it.”

    “You are the oddest person I have ever met, Shaya, and I’ve met a lot of people at sea.”

    “But doesn’t that sound incredible to you?” She leaned in and looked at him earnestly. “That won’t be for years from now, and while we’re young, we work, but one day we’ll have made it. We won’t have to lift a finger, we can just enjoy the best this world has to offer. We live in amazing times, Tantsam, this wasn’t always possible.”

    Tantsam shook his head, smiling with affection and confusion. “You’ve explained this to me a thousand times and I still don’t get it. But you’re the best sailor I’ve ever worked with, so it’s all the same to me.”

    Shaya cocked her head as if to “Ok, so be it,” and as she stretched her arms wide her overalls hugged her fleshy torso as her shoulders pulled it snug. “You know,” she said, “normally I lose a little weight on a job, but this time I feel like I might be a little bigger than when I started.”

    Tantsam nodded, a tight smile on his face. “I think you know why.” His mind flashed back to so many nights with so much rum, flagons and flagons, so much indulgence and debauchery during a long but easy local job that took them through many ports in the Bight. “Yeah,” she sighed, “I guess I do.” She touched her head gingerly and groaned a little--the conversation seemed to remind her of the lingering effects of all this fun.

    Soon enough everyone was back on their feet, a dozen or more sailors scrambling over the decks, preparing to turn into the port, to dock and hoist the sails, to unload their cargo. There was always a team of dockworkers present to smooth the process, but the crew was involved in every step of the way, careful to ensure that nothing broke or cracked or slipped into the pocket of a tempted dockworker. Shaya stood in a line of sailors moving sacks from below deck onto a platform that a pulley would lift onto the dock. Tantsam glanced over at her from time and time, and below her fat exterior he could see the muscles of her arms and legs engaging as she took each sack and relaxing as she passed it on. She may have been young, but she was one of best sailors in the Bight.

    Tantasm would know: they’d work together a long time, in fact. Tantsam was a little older, the son of migrants who had relocated from the Archipelago at the End of the World to the Bight when a particularly bad drought struck their home islands. Like his parents, he had always worked on the docks and on ships--and so, remarkably, had Shaya. She came from a sailor-merchant family, and it was increasingly common for young women of that background to work the sorts of sailing jobs that had formerly been the province of young men. By now, Tantsam had lost track of the number of jobs they had worked together. Their friendship was easy and the rhythm of their cooperation flawless.

    It was late afternoon by the time everyone finished. This was contract work, so the ship’s captain and a skeleton crew stayed behind to tidy up while the hirelings went to collect their pay at the clerk’s office, a small, wide, low-roofed building at the head of the dock. They formed a line that stretched out onto the dock, and Shaya and Tantsam stood there chatting with each other and with their mates as the sun arced through the sky. At sea the breeze kept Shaya cool, but on land the sun always overheated her extra flesh, and now Tantsam saw sweat forming tiny beads on her forehead and her nose and her double chin. She wiped her brow and let the drops shake off her double chin, and she grumbled with growing impatience at the heat and the slow pace of the line. And then they both spotted not a sailor but a servant woman walk out of the building.

    Normally such a woman wouldn’t attract much notice, but this woman was fat--truly and properly fat, certainly fatter than Shaya. Fatness wasn’t unheard of in the Bight, but mostly it took the form of portly, middle-aged merchants and their wives, sailors who had moved through way through the ranks of their guilds until they became captains of their own ships, even commanders of small, personal fleets. They knew enough comfort and luxury to become soft and round, but they never reached true obesity, the kind that Shaya aspired to. And yet here was a lowly servant who was the fattest young woman Tantsam had ever seen. If Shaya was herself nearly as fat as a middling merchant, this woman was one and a half times her size and at least a hand shorter. She was a jiggling ball of flesh with a band of belly fat bulging out of the gap between her cropped, short-sleeved teal top and her long teal skirt--a standard servant’s uniform, simple, practical and cool enough for hard work, but by now far too small and tight for this woman. She strolled out of the door with short, fat, buoyant steps, bouncing as she walked slowly away from the docks and back into the city.
     
  2. Dec 20, 2018 #2

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    Chapter 1, cont'd

    The line inched ahead, Shaya stepped into the spare, cool interior of the building, and Tantsam, waiting just outside the door, let his attention wander from the conversation around him to Shaya. He could tell she was itching with curiosity. But before she could say anything, the clerk, a small man with a goatee and tiny glasses seated behind a desk, droned, “Name?”

    “Mánní-je,” she said, “who was that woman--”

    “Please state your name.”

    “Forget the formalities for once, please, can you just tell me who--”

    The clerk sighed and pulled his glasses down, staring at Shaya in exasperation. “Shanshaya, we always take care of business first. Then we can talk. So: your name?”

    Shaya sighed, too. “Yes, of course. It’s Shanshaya. Sholo na Shanshaya.”

    The clerk flipped silently through a few pages, scribbled something into a table, plopped one book closed just to open another, scribbled on another page, reached into a drawer, and drew out a bag of tiny silver coins, which he placed in Shaya’s hand. Finally, he took off his glasses, carefully placing them on the desk, and said, “Now, what was it you wanted to know?”

    “Who,” she said, “was that servant who walked out of here a few minutes ago?”

    “Íshár? She works for the Antim family. You don’t know her? She’s new, yes, come over from one of the villages on the mainland. I guess you’ve been gone for, what”--he flipped open yet another book--“a month? She certainly started before that.”

    Shaya shook her head. “I don’t know her. But she was huge, Mánní-je, I’ve never seen anyone in this city so big, let alone a servant! What happened?”

    “Well, I’m not normally one to talk about this sort of thing, but I must say it’s like the entire Antim family, and their neighbors, and even some others have lost their minds. They all look bigger than they were a month or two ago, and they didn’t start out small. I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”

    “You have no idea?”

    “None!” he shrugged.

    “This Íshár, does she come by here often?”

    “It depends,” he said. “They have her working in their offices, so sometimes she runs books back and forth or brings a message. But you never know. It’s all about the rhythm of the work.”

    “All right.” Shaya bit her lip, preoccupied, and tossed her bag of silver into the air a couple times before pocketing it. “Thank you, Mánní-je, for indulging my prying. I’ll see you soon.”

    The clerk simply nodded and replaced his glasses. Shaya walked out and glanced at Tantsam, curiosity and unease in her eyes. The clerk called in Tantsam, and Shaya said, “I’ll wait for you here.”

    * * *

    The sun was dipping lower now, flooding the city with the bittersweet light of late afternoon, as Tantsam and Shaya walked through the tight, winding roads of the commercial district. The coast of Méggóg rose up rapidly from the shore, and beyond the low-lying commercial district the two sailors saw more residential areas looming above them in the near distance. The lowest slopes held sailors’ collective accommodations, but the neighborhoods became more prestigious as their eyes moved up the slope, from the large houses of more prosperous merchants, through the still larger properties of the very rich merchants who served as the island’s de facto nobility, to the small palace of the Prince and his family. When the road switched back, their view took in the straights beyond the island, and in the distance the thin line of the mainland coast, a land of many small villages but no cities or principalities.

    It wasn’t always so. Hundreds of years earlier, Méggóg and the other islands in the Bight of Vhida were barely settled, and the coast was the outer rim of a great mainland empire. In time, though, the empire crumbled in a series of vicious civil wars, hemorrhaging refugees to the islands. Within a generation of two, these refugees took up a lively maritime trade, first just within the Bight, then along the whole coast and deep into the mainland, and one day even to the distant Archipelago. The Principalities grew up around this activity, and they ruled with a light hand, eager to protect the stability and security of the trade but careful to avoid the ruinous conflicts that destroyed the coastal empire. The lives that Tantsam and Shaya led were thus nothing like anything the Bight had seen in centuries: they lived in a world of prosperity and vibrance, fragile and provisional but real nonetheless. Everyone, from the lowest fisherman to the Princes themselves, knew this deeply and did their part to maintain the integrity of their world.

    But Tantsam wasn’t thinking about this at the moment. He just felt tired, ready to go home with his parents, his brothers, and his friends, to sleep. But Shaya was obsessed with the servant woman.

    “Doesn’t it just get under your skin?” she was saying.

    “I don’t see what’s so wild about it.”

    “That’s the kind of body I want one day, Tantsam, but I thought I’d have to work for years, maybe decades, to get it. How does one servant have it now? It’s like the world is upside down.”

    Her little belly, less little all the time, was bouncing with each step, but for once Shaya’s mind didn’t seem to be with her body. Her gaze was distant, her mind fixed.

    “Shaya, I’ve never seen you crazed like this,” Tantsam said. “It worries me a little. I’m confused about this woman, too, but I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

    “Maybe….” She trailed off, and then turned to look at Tantsam. “Will you help me figure it out?”

    He sighed. “Even if I wanted to, I have another job. Day after tomorrow. I need some rest.”

    She nodded, and her gaze drifted again. Tantsam didn’t know how to feel--their intimacy, normally so easy, had vanished in a matter of minutes, and it left Tantsam a little panicked. Why did he need her attention this badly? Why did he miss it so soon? Shaya was just a shipmate, right?

    He didn’t have time to untangle these threads: they’d come to stop in front of her home, a two-story building that had her father’s offices on the main floor and their residence on the second. A dusty, faded sign above the door read, “Sholo na Uchér.”

    “All right,” Shaya said resolutely, as though finally responding to her friend. She went in quickly for a hug, and he found himself surprised, and a little slow to return the gesture. Her belly pressed and spread against his own pudgy, muscular middle, and then she pulled back. “Good luck with your next job, Tantsam. How long are you gone?”

    “A week, maybe less.”

    “Ok. I’m here for a while, so I’ll see you when you’re back. Safe sailing.”

    He smiled and thanked her, and he watched her walk through the front door of the building, her curly hair bouncing as she walked, her buttocks jiggling slightly, stiffly with each step. Suddenly he felt a little unnerved, and as he looked up he spotted Shaya’s father in the upstairs window, mostly shadowed but clearly watching Tantsam. The Archipelagan laughed a quiet, nervous little laugh to himself and waved, a gesture Shaya’s father returned. And then Tantsam turned and walked briskly up the street, heading home.
     
  3. Dec 24, 2018 #3

    Rondeurs

    Rondeurs

    Rondeurs

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    Well done. Looking forward to the development of the story.
     
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  4. Jan 11, 2019 #4

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    Ch. 2

    Sweet peppers, coarsely chopped, danced in the deep frying pan over Uchér’s stove. He stoked the fire inside and took a step back, just for a moment, watching the peppers glisten and sizzle in the heat and the low, orange light. He poured in a bowl of pale yellow beans and a bit of rice, seasoning it with spices and squeezing half a citron over the pan. He added stock he had prepared overnight and let the whole thing simmer.

    Uchér pinched a piece of bread off a loaf on his table and nibbled on it absently, mesmerized by the slow roil of the stew, until a faint noise caught his ear: conversation, outside. He eyed to stew to see that it wouldn’t boil over and then stepped out of his kitchen, passing through the central rooms of his house and moving to a window in the small foyer of the front of his house. Pushing the window open slightly, he saw his daughter, Shanshaya, his beloved Shanka, chatting in the street with one of her frequent shipmates. Tassam, was it? He knew the boy, but not well. Shaya was at sea more and more these days, and her mates rarely spent time in Uchér’s house when she was home with him.

    Shanshaya and her friend embraced, and Uchér felt a twist in his stomach like a growling dog. He checked it, held it by the scruff, but he wasn’t sure whether to pull it back or let it loose. He fancied himself a liberal father, and these were liberal times, but there was a difference between liberal and libertine. That sort of public affection would have been scandalous when Uchér himself was young; he had barely held his late wife’s hand before they were married. But that was then. Now, with trade busier and more lucrative than ever, the merchants had found migrants from the Archipelago and the Continent insufficient to crew all their voyages, and they had begun to hire women. Shanka had practically grown up on her father’s ships, so it was an easy transition for her to take on this work as she grew up. Some women, the children of more middling merchants, were poised to inherit their fathers’ businesses when they retired. Shanka was certainly one of these: neither she nor her father had any brothers, and she knew the business like no one else.

    The embrace faded, and the boy (Tannam?) furrowed his brow and looked straight up at Uchér. Uchér resisted the urge to scowl but lacked the will to smile, so he just continued to stare at the boy, impassive. The young Archipelagan began to sweat, said his goodbyes, and walked off down the street.

    Uchér greeted his daughter with a long, tight embrace and a kiss on the forehead. “You know how it warms my heart to see you after a long voyage. How are you, my Shanka?”

    “Exhausted, papa,” she sighed, “but really, really good.” She strolled into the foyer, her boots clacking on the wood floors. “It’s been so long since I saw the whole Bight. Lately I’ve been back and forth to Deik Batta so many times I get sick thinking about it. But I saw almost everything this time, everything but Parna!”

    “No wonder you were gone so long! I’m just glad you’ll be back for a while, though sadly I won’t be here the whole time.”

    She looked surprised. “No?”

    He shook his head, his shaggy, peppery hair flapping. “I’ll have to command a voyage myself in a few days.”

    “Don’t you have captains you pay to do this?”

    He shrugged. “They’re all out on other trips! And this is a big one, worth a lot. I have to make sure everything goes smoothly. Anyway, you’ll need to watch the shop while I’m gone, but it shouldn’t be more than a week all told.”

    “All right.” Shanshaya sniffed, and a grin spread across her round face. “Did you make limbubíj?”

    He just smiled back, and they both moved to the kitchen. Shanka traded her boots for soft, quiet slippers and sat down at a small table in a nook at the back of the room. Uchér served the stew in two wide, low bowls with a hunk of bread for each. Even before he’d settled into his chair, Shanka was already testing the stew, wincing as the hot broth scalded her pursed lips. But his hungry daughter couldn’t be stopped: she worked her way hastily through the limbubíj, sipping and slurping to cool what she could and stoically enduring what heat remained. She dunked her bread as she ate, gulping down soaked hunks, sopping up the dregs with the crust. When she finished, the bowl was clean as a whistle, and she looked up again as though a trance had been broken and asked, “Is there more?”

    Uchér was blowing on a spoonful of stew, merely his third or fourth, but he placed it back in the bowl. “Of course,” he said. “A little.”

    She pushed out of her chair and came back with what was left, about half a bowl, and the rest of the bread, almost half the loaf. She scarfed down the limbubíj even faster this time, dunking and sopping until every drop was gone, and then she sat there picking at the bread, popping little pieces into her mouth and masticating them into a watery pulp that slid down her throat. She worked in silence: Uchér’s daughter had always eaten in silence, quietly and fiercely driven to consume all the food in front of her and whatever else she could find in the vicinity. He let a little dismay creep into his brow: Shanshaya’s hunger had only grown broader, only deeper with time, and this was the most gluttonous he had ever see her. Her eyes searched the room as she munched, turned to his and flitted away again. She could not hold his gaze.
     
  5. Jan 11, 2019 #5

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    Ch. 2 cont'd

    She sighed and seemed to try to relax. “I’m surprised you never hire anyone to cook for you. Your servant who comes to clean, she’s a wonderful cook. She could do this for you.”

    “I like to cook,” he said, “and I love to make you your first meal when you come back home. It’s not a burden.”

    “You have a lot going on. I’m just saying, she could give you a break.”

    “You’re just saying you’d be able to get her to make you more food more easily.”

    Uchér’s daughter flushed and frowned, but she held her tongue. “Of course not,” she mumbled. “You had seconds, and bread. There was plenty of food.” She was lying. He knew she was still hungry.

    He stayed quiet a moment, but then he couldn’t help himself. “Don’t you normally lose weight at sea? You look bigger than when you left.”

    Shanshaya’s eyes flashed, and she exhaled sharply, but still she held her tongue. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Both of those things are true, papa.”

    He couldn’t stop himself. “Shanshaya, you need to get yourself under control. Your appetite is getting out of hand.”

    She finally slipped, too. “This isn’t about my appetite. You just can’t handle the fact that I’m more independent than mom ever was. Every girl now is more independent than mom ever was, and you’re stuck in the past.”

    “You will not,” his tone sharpening, “invoke your mother like that.” He stopped, caught the dog by the scruff, pulled it back, still itching to let loose. “You’re absolutely right that I ‘can’t handle’ your behavior. But it’s not your independence: you will inherit my fleet one day and take it to new heights, I have no doubt. But only if you can control yourself. What will everyone think of you, fattening up like an old, rich merchant while you’re only 21? Every day you slide a little deeper into that greed, that impertinence. Do not let you ambition show like that, my daughter. You must know your place and put in the time it takes to reach that point. Now is not the time to grow fat and entitled. Save that for your middle age.”

    Shanshaya bit her lip and shook her head in bottled frustration, but she exhaled, nodded, let the rest of the bread fall to the table and sit there. She was a headstrong girl, always had been, but Uchér knew the depth of her love and respect for him. She would never cross him, not really, not deeply. He could lean on that to keep her worst instincts from getting the best of her.

    At least, that had always been true before. Every day now Shanka was fiercer, fatter, hungrier for food and for fortune. As she stared defiantly into a corner, he saw that the rolls of her belly pushed snugly against overalls that had been a little loose before she began this voyage. Her body would soon burst the bonds of her clothes like she wanted to burst the bonds of Uchér’s authority. The tides of time were carrying her away from him, just like they had taken his wife so many years ago, before Shanka was even old enough to remember her. She wouldn’t be his little girl much longer, and then what would he have left?

    Shanka finally picked another corner of bread, popped it into her mouth, and looked back at him. “Since I know you worry about this so much,” she said, “have you noticed that servant girl from up the hill? Íshár?”

    “What? Who?”

    “Íshár is her name, Mánní-je told me. A new servant girl for the Antim family. Round as a bubble.”

    Now Uchér understood, and he remembered seeing this girl bustling about town, cheerful and quick and yet somehow a little rounder every time he saw her.

    “Yes, I know now. Short, fat girl whose belly keeps poking above her skirt? She even came by here on some business once, running some notes back and forth and paying a debt.” He could see her waddling away now, symmetrical roles of mahogany-brown backfat peeking below her top and jiggling slightly with each portly little step. “By my father’s fathers, she is a mystery.”

    “You really don’t know how she got so big?”

    Uchér shook his head. “I don’t. Especially with all the walking about town she does. A sign of the times, I suppose?”

    Shanka rapped her knuckles on the table and nodded in satisfaction. “So this is why you’re so worried about me. You see this girl and think we’re all going to look like her by next week. You think she’s the harbinger of cultural degradation. She’s made you anxious!”

    “No, no,” Uchér frowned, pushing away even the possibility that his daughter was right. “You’ve been reading too many stories again, talking like that.”

    His daughter just smiled and nodded. Finally she shoved herself up from the table and said she needed to change. “I’m going out to see my friends at Viar Square.”

    To eat more, he thought, but he said nothing and just assembled a pile of dirty pots and dishes while his daughter retreated to her room. He drew his finger along his frying pan and popped it into his mouth, savoring the flavors as they clashed and harmonized on his tongue. Did Shanka enjoy her food like this? Did she even know how? She was right, of course, none of this was really about her appetite, but that was the easiest thing to see and to control. Or maybe it wasn’t--and an image flashed through his mind of his daughter, a year older and half again as large, wearing overalls warped and distended by her massive body, her deeper, heavier belly piling outward and spreading wide, her muscle having faded and given way to flabby flesh, softening her and ballooning her, encasing her neck and her face in soft rings and rolls, lining her body in layers so thick that no one had a right to them, no matter how hard they worked or how old they were--

    “Papa?”

    The daze broke, and her turned back to his daughter, much smaller in fact than in his daydream but bigger than she had ever been. His stomach squirmed as it sought to square his fears with reality, but it was just his Shanka, now wearing a simple, sleeveless white top and a beautiful red knee-length skirt whose gold-trimmed waist sat most of the way up her belly. The fabric draped on the outermost expanse of that belly and then billowed beyond and below it, loosing her from the tightness of her workday uniform.

    “Yes, Shanka?” Uchér blinked.

    “I’m going to the Square. You’ll see me before bed tonight.”

    “Ok. All right.” He approached her and embraced her, held her tight, and she held him back with the same warmth. It was easy to let his fears get the best of him while Shanka was away, but she was his only daughter, almost his only family. Everything he did and said was out of love, but he had to remind himself of that sometimes. He squeezed her once more and let her go.
     
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