BHM The Transformation of Midnight (Historical fantasy, BHM)

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Salacious Caitlin

Well-Known Member
Jan 29, 2020
Chapter 12
Chapter 12

I had a blessed reprieve for the next few days – at first because I genuinely was weak and ill, and the Warden I suppose did not want to risk me spewing up on himself or his friends; afterward because I made an artful pretense of still being ill. My clothes loosened a little. I could not say I minded that.

The truth was that although I knew how to fight with a rapier, I had done my robberies with pistols. I’d never experienced a real fight with blades; what a fool I would have looked having drawn upon a victim, only to find myself faced with a firearm. I had carried a sword, but only as an accessory, like the plume in my hat.

Sureshot – Melanuro – and I had sometimes fenced back and forth in laughing practice bouts. Nothing I remembered about that play was comforting: he was better-taught than I was, and faster. He would be comparatively faster now, of course, and the target I presented would be large.

As soon as I could do so without my head spinning and my gorge rising, I tried to walk about the room, to bend and stretch. It was humiliating. I could not even reach my toes.

It would be so easy to lie down on the bed, to play with my folds of fat and arouse myself and eat whatever they brought, and simply hope that first blood would be achieved quickly and with a minimum of harm.

But the part of me that wanted to do that was, somehow, weaker than the part that wanted to acquit myself with at least a shred of dignity. And so I paced, and practiced lunges and parries with a rolled-up parchment for a weapon.

It is odd how, when one most wishes a day might never come, that the time flies with winged feet.

The morning dawned. I dressed, putting on my boots, hoping nobody would actually expect me to duel to first blood in court heels.

Cass came to my door early with a sheathed rapier. “Do you have to? Can you not…”?

I had nothing to say to the worry on his freckled face. “Give me that.”

It was a good enough weapon. It would serve.


“You cannot stop it.”

“But I would if I could,” Cass said, and put his hand on mine.

“If you would,” I said, “then you would deny me the right to strike for myself. Do you think I have no grudge against him? Would you keep me pent up, coddled? Then what separates you from the Warden?”

He was hurt, and left. I could not let myself care. I unsheathed the weapon, tried its balance. Good enough. Not that it would matter.

The sun was well risen, and birds were singing, when the carriage stopped at a wide green space in some park or other. There was an audience, of course: the Warden’s fat-craving coterie, and some whom I guessed were Sureshot’s – Melanuro’s—friends. There was a smell of grass and flowers and of water from the little manicured stream that flowed behind us.

I climbed down from the carriage, clutching the sheathed rapier. Sureshot stood forth from his gaggle of admirers, pretty as ever. Goddess forgive me, that I was ever taken in by those eyes, that face.

“Now, we understand these two have terribly offended each other,” the Warden said, laughter in his voice. What a game it was after all. “To first blood only. Take off your shirts.”

What? I looked at him.

“Take them off,” he repeated. “Let us see the competition! And who will give me twenty to one on my little piglet scoring a hit?”

I threw my coat to the grass, wrestled my shirt over my head. The Warden’s friends giggled and oohed at my bared pale obesity. Sureshot followed, exposing a torso where every muscle might have been sculpted by an artist’s hand.

We faced each other, on guard. I had to re-set my feet as my belly threw me off balance. I was more or less in form as the Warden declared, “Have at it!”

I waited for Sureshot. I knew I was the slower. On guard I waited as he danced forward, made an experimental thrust, beaten down by my blade.

He tried again. Above, below. Somehow I parried him. Sweat ran down my sides. My weight threw me off balance, making me lurch as I moved.

“Pig,” he snarled. “Make a fight of it!”

I would not be drawn. I let him lunge again, beat his blade down, and stepped forward and drove my blade into his shoulder. Blood oozed. Only a pinprick, but it was first blood.

That was it, then. I stopped, lowered my blade, turned to the Warden and—

Sureshot was upon me. The tip of the blade scored across my belly, leaving a line of fiery pain. Now my arm, now my thigh as I tried, always too slow, to parry. “Stop,” someone was shouting – Cass – “Stop, you said first blood,” but the others were laughing, and the man I had trusted with my life and fallen in love with danced around me, the tip of his blade scoring bloody lines across my back, my jouncing belly, my sides. I was the baited bull, the boar at bay, the butt of all their laughter.

And fuck that. I gathered myself and rushed at my enemy with a shout and –


Something in that voice halted me, and Sureshot stopped too, red-faced and glaring.

A new company of riders had joined us: a few men who held back, and the boy King Kerthi, who dismounted and walked between us, seeming unafraid. “What goes on here?” he demanded.

“Ah… my King, they have a grievance…” the Warden stammered.

“Well, it is settled,” Kerthi said. “This man is the winner. Melanuro de Blanco, is it?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Sureshot said, puffing himself up.

“Many congratulations. You have beaten a clerk who has never been asked to lift a weapon. It is very heroic in you. You may go.”

“I… “ Sureshot said, unsurely.

Go,” Kerthi said.

He drew back, and his friends with him.

“Come now, Magpie,” Kerthi said. “Walk with me. If you are able?”

I was able… just. Blood was running down my body from many places where Sureshot’s rapier’s point had done its work. He could have killed me. But had thought to humiliate.

I stumbled along by the boy-King’s side, leaving the Warden behind.

“Are you well? Need I call a physician?”

Every muscle hurt, I could scarcely breathe, and the blood was pooling in my folds of fat, but, “I am perfectly well, Your Highness,” I said.

“Good.” He walked along beside me, a boy who had not yet got his man’s growth. “Magpie, I take you for a man of discernment. You will have seen I am young. You will have observed the Regents.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Will it amaze you,” Kerthi said, “if I say I do not trust them? If I say that when you smiled at me the other day, it was the only expression of sympathy I had seen in many months?”

“But you are the King,” I said. The one whose seal is even now on my death warrant.

“A boy King, as they see it.” We came to the shore of the pretty stream, which ran through green banks; a little ways off a swan roused its wings, wondering if we were a threat, then settled.

“If I may speak honestly,” I said, and what was I, an outlaw, doing here with the King’s ear to myself? It was a fever-dream; it could not be credited. “Could you not do something to stop the Warden, and the other lords, turning the people out of their livelihoods in favor of sheep? And the starving soldiers, that I have seen here in the city?”

“I would if I could,” Kerthi said. “They have me in close confinement. There is only one man I trust, and that is my general of cavalry, Luko – but they have sent him away on the pretext of trouble on the border. Will you do something for me, Magpie?”

My wounds burned. I tried not to show the pain. “If I can.”

“Will you take note of what de Valeriano does, what messages he sends? I need a friend in that household. In time I will send to get that information from you.”

The poor boy had little plan what he would do, and little power to do anything, even were I to report the rankest treachery. That was obvious, yet I felt for him. “I will do everything I can,” I said, and meant it.

“Thank you,” Kerthi said, and looked me in the eye.

I bowed to him then, because he deserved it, a boy surrounded by enemies, trying his best to be a man.

He came with me back to the others. “I have gathered the information I needed,” he said. “There will be no charges laid for dueling, although as you know I have forbidden it. De Valeriano, see that your gallant clerk here receives due care.”

The Warden had no choice then but to bow.

Back at the townhouse, I said to the Warden, and I did not care who heard, “You said you would protect me.”

“You have shown away enough. Go to your room.” I wondered if he had lost money on some bet, or other – how quickly I would lose, whether I would start to cry.

“When you would have me grow fat I asked how I would protect myself. You said I need not worry, that you would protect me. I am bleeding in a dozen places. And I won, Tyto. I drew first blood. Yet you said nothing in my defense. You have broken your word to me.”

I do not know what I expected when I said that, but I was not really surprised at what I got. That was a hard slap across the face and the order “Go to your room – now.”

I went. But I went and lay awake in the dark, with a multiplicity of minor wounds burning, and I thought.


Enjoys lionfish
Jul 29, 2017
New Jersey
This chapter made me sad and aroused at the same time
It was an interesting experience

Wonderfully written as always <3 I hope things get better for Midnight :(

Salacious Caitlin

Well-Known Member
Jan 29, 2020
Chapter 13

Chapter 13

It was deep into the night, but I was not asleep – I would have tossed and turned, except it hurt too much, and my mind was too unquiet – when I heard a soft knocking at the door. I did not respond – too dazed, lost in my own thoughts – but it opened anyway. Cass came in quietly. “Midnight?”

“You need not,” I said tiredly.

He lit the lantern with a brief fizzle from the wick, then turned it down low. “I don’t care. Let me see those wounds.”

A beached whale, I pulled down the linen sheet and let him see. But then he wet a cloth, and began to clean the scratches. “No, Cass – leave me be, do not…”


“Because I don’t deserve to be cared for, and the Warden will punish you if he finds you here.”

“He will not find me,” Cass said, gently cleaning one of the deeper cuts, “and of course you do. I will no longer abide what he is doing to you.”

“Nor will I,” I said, not having meant to; but then it was easier to go on. “I consented, without understanding, and then I regretted, but must keep my word. But now he has broken our compact. I owe him nothing. But I am not so stupid as to imagine he will let me go.”

Cass brought out a pot of salve from his pocket and began to spread it on my wounds. I tried not to flinch. “What would you have, if you could have anything? Would you be a highwayman again?”

“I…” I heaved myself up until I was sitting on the bed. “I would not. I’ve had too much time to think about it, and it seems too much of a bloodsucking existence now. I would not go back to my father – there is nothing wrong in being a small-town wine merchant, but not under that arsehole’s thumb. I would… I don’t know, Cass. I don’t know if there is a place in the world for me. I would slim a little – I’m sure that does not surprise you. I would be as I was when you were first teaching me to drive a carriage. And I want a life that means something, although I do not know what that would be.”

“That was not exactly slim,” Cass said. “But, in truth, considerably slimmer than you are now.”

“Do you think ill of me,” I said quietly, “for not wishing to be as most expect a man to be, as you are, for wanting my body to be something other than that?”

“No,” Cass said quickly, and then, quieter and more slowly, “No.” He set aside the cloth he had been using to clean my cuts. “You’re beautiful, Midnight. I’ve been afraid to say so. You were beautiful when you were a brave, starved vagabond, and you are now, when you’re round and pale like the full moon, and if you want to be as you were last spring, well, I wanted so much to reveal my feelings to you then, but I feared to put us both at risk. I want a life that means something, too. Something more than doing the Warden’s dirty work.”

I had no idea what to say, and suddenly found myself struggling not to weep. I found his hand, and took it in mine.

He leaned forward, the rough linen of his shirt brushing against my bare belly and chest. Our lips touched.

“No,” I breathed, pulling back. “It’s not safe. He’ll kill you.”

“If I find a way,” Cass breathed in my ear. “If I find somewhere for us to go?”

“Yes,” I whispered, and then we kissed, and it was a world more than any kiss I had ever daydreamed of, and my whole body came to life, and I felt the hard muscle of his back under my hands and then—

and I heard something.

I drew back.


“I thought I heard… Go, Cass. This isn’t safe. Go. We’ll plan later.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Caution. But I will not abandon you. I swear that, Midnight. We will win free together.”

When he had gone I sat for a long time, my body caught between pain and pleasure, my ears straining to hear if a second set of soft footfalls had followed his down the stairs.

When I woke from exhausted sleep the next morning, I was sore and my head ached; when I shaved my face I felt the swollen glands buried in the flesh under my jaw. Though most of the lines drawn on my body by Sureshot’s rapier-tip had been mere welts, here and there the point had dug deeper and Cass’s ministrations had come too late, so now I had wound-fever.

But it would not be severe. I’d had the like before more than once. I would not succumb to it now, when maybe, for the first time I could remember, I had hope.

A servant brought breakfast, my usual fare, which is to say enough for three, and I made myself eat it even though for once I was not hungry. I hoped to need my strength.

The servant also said, “When you are done, the Warden asks that you dress and attend him downstairs.”

The touch of cloth on my skin hurt, and bending to haul my boots on did too, and not only my wounds but every last shred of fat-burdened muscle in my body protested. Still, I dressed, and limped my way down the stairs.

“Ah, there you are,” the Warden said. Seeing me thrashed had apparently done him good. His lean face was cheerful, and his blue eyes were very bright. “Ready to go? –Oh, there you are,” he added to Cass, who came in through the front door.

I saw the lightning that ran through Cass when our eyes met. I felt it burning through my own veins. I could only hope the Warden did not notice.

“The carriage is ready, sir,” Cass said.

“Oh, no, no,” the Warden said, sounding nearly maniacal in the pleasant mood that seemed to have taken hold of him. “Call us a public conveyance.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll unharness the horses.”

“Leave it to the stable boy. You are coming with us.”

“Yes, sir,” Cass responded, managing not to sound startled, and went out to the street, where I heard him hailing a horse-cab; they were plentiful in the city.

I wondered why the Warden would have it thus. Were we bound somewhere incognito? My nerves felt like gunpowder, ready to explode. I plastered a look of benign stupidity to my face as we all three climbed into the cab – the driver gave me a glare as if he feared I would spavin his horse.

“To Tower Square,” the Warden said.

I glanced at Cass, because I had never heard of the place.

Before he mastered his expression, I saw his eyes widen, his freckles pale.

Nothing good, then.

Of course.

Salacious Caitlin

Well-Known Member
Jan 29, 2020
Chapter 13, Part 2
Tower Square was wide, an expanse of cobblestones, with the gray bulk of the city jail looming on one side, and the height of the city guards’ barracks on the other. The guards were everywhere, but so were many people, of all degrees from beggars to nobles. In the center – but I did not want to look at that, the gallows which could hang six men at once, and even now held two rotting, raven-pecked corpses, and even less did I want to see the stakes on their soot-blackened platforms. The stench of death and old burning caught at my throat, fighting with the smell of wet dirty cobbles and horse dung. The ravens cawed, and the guards changed watches with a shouting of sergeants and a pounding of old-fashioned spears upon the cobbles.

It was exactly the place where someone like me would never wish to go. But the Warden cheerfully bade the cab-driver to take us to the jailhouse gates, and the driver did so, seeming to think nothing strange – and indeed there were other well-dressed parties alighting from carriages and going in, curtseying and tipping hats to one another. Perplexed what they were doing, I glanced at Cass as we followed the Warden in – but his jaw was set and his face like stone.

“Come in, come in,” a guard announced, waving his arms theatrically. “Come and see the worst robbers, the most depraved criminals! It is most morally instructive – and, gentlemen –“ here he winked hideously – “there is a lady among them!”

It was a show. A show of lawbreakers, about to be hanged or burned.

I’d known of cruel laws, of harsh watchmen, pitiless judges; of the gallows and the stake. They had all been near to me as a blade might slice my skin. But I had never heard of anything like this. I walked in among the others, and our grotesque guide led us to the first in a row of five cells. The jailhouse housed easily hundreds, and I realized that these were the prizes, like rare beasts in a menagerie. “Here he is,” the guide declaimed. “Blackbird the Robber!”

Of course, this was why we were here.

I did not know the man who crouched, grimy and bruised, behind the iron bars. We were too far out of my territory. As the guide embarked on a list of thefts, the prisoner stood up, with an angry, gap-toothed grin, swept off his stained hat and made a mocking bow. The ladies in the crowd screamed with feigned fear. A wave of feverish nausea raced over me, and I swayed on my feet. The guide noticed. “Oh, yes, my well-fed young clerk. This rogue would have your pockets emptied in a trice! But he’s to be hanged tomorrow morning. Dancing a jig on the end of a rope. How will you like that, Blackbird, eh? Do you think you’ll be able to fly?”

I tried to meet Blackbird’s eyes as we crowded past, to convey some message, that I had not come here willingly; but all I saw in his gaze was mindless anger and despair.

There were four more exhibits in this ghastly show – two murderers and a horse-thief and a woman, a small middle-aged woman, who had made potions of herbs and sold them to other women who did not want to fall pregnant. That was against the Goddess’ holy law, of course, and the guide made a great noise about her. “An evil witch! Stealing men’s sons from out of their wives’ bellies!”

Nobody’s acknowledged sons, more likely, or those of ravishers, and the wives perhaps simple tavern girls who might take a coin for a tumble, or women for whom one more child might mean not enough money to feed those already born. But the woman, alone of those here, would burn.

There was nothing I could do but keep my face blank and be grateful at least there had been no male lovers on show today.

We came out into the open air. I was limping, my deeper cuts chafing and sore and the fever clamping down on my temples like a vise. I did not dare look at Cass, in case our exchanged glance might betray something.

“Good,” said the Warden, still with that ugly, edged hilarity in his voice. “Our business here is nearly done. Wait here.”

We waited, while he made his way into the crowd, nodding and smiling at other of his kind.

“Are you well?” Cass asked in a low voice.

“Let’s go,” I said. “Now.”

“What?” Cass stared at me.”Midnight, you’re fevered – I can tell you can barely stay on your feet – and we have no plan.”

“I care not. This bodes ill, Cass, he has something in mind, let’s go…”

Cass nodded. “Take my arm. Walk, do not run.”

I did, and we turned to disappear into the crowds, and we both heard the Warden’s voice say, “There! That is the man, there, with his hands upon my clerk!”

Guards came toward us, pistols ready in their hands, and the crowd parted for them. “My servant, who betrayed me,” the Warden shouted. “A vile seducer! Breaking the Goddess’ law! Take him!”

“Run,” I told Cass. “Run!”

And I pulled away from him, let out a scream, and threw myself at the guards as if I were fainting.

Two or three of them caught me, falling to the cobblestones under my weight. I hit the ground hard, trying to thrash as if taken by a fit, tripping anyone I could. Through blurring eyes I saw Cass leap aside, snatch the gun from a guard’s hand; heard the explosion, saw the burst of flame at the gun’s mouth, and then Cass shouted something, and fled into the crowd. A guard reeled to one knee beside me, clutching at his shattered shoulder.

I looked up. The Warden stood among the chaos, face twisted in rage, unharmed.

I’ll come for you, Cass had shouted to me. And the Warden had heard it.

Then I did faint.

Somehow, I endured a carriage ride back to the townhouse, and then I lay, aching and feverish, not fighting back when the Warden pulled down my breeches and thrust himself into my belly, incoherent, clutching at my flesh.

It was not time to fight yet.

I would wait.

fat hiker

Oct 25, 2005
Ottawa, ON
When you said this would be a slow burn, I wasn't expected a novel.

But the novel you're writing is great, and highly engaging!

Salacious Caitlin

Well-Known Member
Jan 29, 2020
Chapter 14
Osprey, who had gone off on some business of his own while the Warden was at Court, and his watchmen accompanied us out of Anthusbourne, with one of the men grumbling under his breath at having to serve as coachman. Before we left, the Warden spoke with them at great length about Cass, and his deceptions, and the price that had now been placed upon his head.

Cass had vanished. None knew where. I had gathered that much from half-heard conversations between the city guards and the Warden.

Osprey goggled. “Really?” He stared at me. “Really, the scoundrel attempted to seduce Magpie?”

“It was horrendous,” I said virginally, not having to feign my shaking chills and ghastly pallor. “He said he would do such vile things to me.” The Warden cleared his throat and started to speak. I made sure not to be looking at him and went on, “I did not even know a man could wish to put his organ… there. How very faint I feel at the mere thought--”

“Yes, enough, Magpie,” the Warden said. “Come, let us away.”

The night before, he had left the townhouse and not returned until the early hours. I wondered what he had been about. Conspiring, or spending his lust upon one of his friends’ pets, or both?

Most of my wounds were only scratches and were healing, but in one place on my side Sureshot’s point had caught me and torn out a gobbet of flesh. In the mirror that morning the injury had looked red and sore, and it stung when I put salve on it. And I was still feverish. This was all nothing out of the ordinary for wounds.

Still, it made for a spectacularly unpleasant journey.

When we reached the manor at last, I was glad to rediscover my room, its relative spaciousness; the mastiffs, who ran up to jump and drool despite all of Heron’s shouts; the cleaner air of the countryside. I washed, and changed into comfortable clothes that hadn’t made the journey to Anthusbourne, and before long Aithya brought a huge dish of duck breasts cooked with sweet berries. Along with her came the Warden, with apparent intent to watch me eat.

But I did not touch it, though the aroma made me ravenous. I waited until Aithya had gone, and then I stood before the Warden, looked him in the eye, and said, “You broke your word to me. In this very room, when I asked how I would protect myself if I grew fat to your desires, you said I would not need to, that you would keep me from harm. But you did not protect me. You let my enemy draw my blood and shame me…” Here he tried to interrupt, but I went on, “So the compact between us is broken. I no longer consent. Give me a horse and a gun, which are the least you owe me, and let me go.”

I had not forgotten what I had promised Kerthi. It was only that my own survival seemed to take precedence.

The Warden laughed, loud and long. “You great blubbery fool! Melanuro would have exposed you, had I not promised him he could satisfy his honor. You were scarcely scratched…”

“That is not the point…”

“Mere flesh wounds,” he went on, full of amusement. “And such a lot of flesh, too, between your vitals and any harm. Now stop this nonsense and eat.”

“Did you not hear me say I no longer consent?”

The anger that always waited under de Valeriano’s humor flashed out. “And do you not hear me when I say I wil give you to the priests and see you burn?”

“Oh, truly? And what do you think I’ll say to them before they light the torch? I know more than enough of your doings, my lord – and of your friends’ as well. Will you risk it?”

In truth, I expected him to strike me, then – perhaps to try and kill me. But he only began to laugh again.

“They would not listen to you, Midnight. To a highway robber? To a man of lowly birth, son of a mere tradesman? People like you have no voice. You belong to people like me, to use as we will. Do you hear me? I own you. By right of birth I own you, scum. Now eat, or the next thing you hear will be your own fat sizzling in the flames.”


I could not say he had not made his position clear.

When I had finished eating, and drinking two tankards of chocolate, he gestured me to the bed, and I undressed obediently, and placed myself there on hands and knees: great rounds of softness sagging downward. He set about me eagerly, his slim hips slamming into the pillows of my buttocks, his calloused hands grasping at folds. He could not get very deep, now, because of the size of my arse – he could not reach my pleasure – but the sway of my billowing flesh aroused me as ever. My breasts slapped against my arms, my belly against my thighs, my lower pad of fat against the quivering flesh that encased my cock. I pressed down into my chins to look between my heavy arms and down my body: everything in motion, almost liquid under my skin, and my belly brushing the coverlet.

“You’ll… never leave this room,” the Warden growled, thrusting into me. “You’ll stay here… fatter and fatter… on this bed, filling this bed, a mountain of belly, say it, say it…”

“Yes,” I gasped, breathless. “Yes, do that to me, make me too fat to walk, too fat to move..”

He exploded into me with a shout, and I felt my own hot wetness, deep under my belly.

When he had left, I cleaned myself, and thought.

The next day, he rode out on some business. I saw him go from my window. Once Aithya had left my breakfast, I poured half of the chocolate down the garderobe. That was where the potion was, according to what Cass had told me and my own experience suggested. I ate the rest of the food. Then I got down on the ground and tried to do press-ups; used the bedstead to raise and lower myself; took up the poker from the hearth and pretended to fence. I was soon exhausted, sodden with sweat. But it was a start.

The Warden was away a great deal over the next month.My wounds healed. I discarded much of the chocolate, though soon I felt a desperate craving for it; I continued trying to strengthen myself, and I watched out the window for any sign. Whenever he came home, de Valeriano pleasured himself upon me, and repeated his promises to make me so fat my toes would barely peep out from under my gargantuan belly.

Certainly, nothing I was doing had seemed to make my girth shrink, though I was hungry all the time. I did feel stronger, or so I told myself.

Mindful of what Kerthi had asked me, I offered to resume my clerk’s duties. I approached the Warden bashfully, eyes down, making sure to waddle and pant for breath. But, “No, no,” he said, smiling indulgently. “You have nothing to do but get fatter. Lie down and rest.”

Whatever his plots were, they were keeping him very busy. Only occasionally did he take the time to watch me eat. Down the garderobe went a third of the chocolate, then half. Hunger tore at me, but I persevered.

I heard nothing from Cass.

The Warden would proclaim it to me, gloating, if he had news that Cass was captured. But he might not know about it…

Several more weeks passed. I paced the room, not having left it since we returned from Court. The Warden had just left me. He’d had me suck him, then pleasure myself. It had been easier to reach my cock than previously, not because the soft bulk of my belly was any less, but because my arms were stronger and I could lift it out of the way. I was not sure he had noticed.

A knock on the door; it would be one of the servants, since the Warden never did me that courtesy. I opened it to find Aithya with a tray of food. Nothing unexpected. Except that when I lifted up a bowl, I found a piece of folded paper underneath. It was stained and torn. It read, “Am in the village. Dark of moon in three nights. Get to the manor gates and I shall meet you.” No signature, and of course it could be a trick.

I burned the paper and started to pace again, my heart beating hard with hope.

Salacious Caitlin

Well-Known Member
Jan 29, 2020
Chapter 14, Part Two

Perhaps it was because of this that I was not careful enough that evening; I tossed a tankard-full of chocolate into the fire, where it hissed and steamed and smelled very ill, without listening for footsteps outside the door; without hearing until the door slammed open and de Valeriano said, “I thought so.”

I stood and waited.

“Aithya,” he called down the stairs. “The pig is hungry. Bring more food.”

In a moment, she hurried up the stairs with more. “Set it on the floor,” he told her.

“My lord?”

“On the floor.”

She set it down and hurried away, with a worried glance at me.

“Take your clothes off,” the Warden said.

I did, for it suited my purpose to have his eyes fixed on the swaying pale curves of my nakedness. He opened his breeches and began to touch himself.

“Down on the ground,” he then commanded me, even as he excited himself with a busy hand. “Crawl with your belly dragging and eat this. All of it.”

“My lord, I will explain,” I said, not moving. “There is a limit. I do not wish to be unable to walk, or so fat that everything chafes and I’m forever sweltering…”

“You have begged me for it over and over.” Anger was distracting him from his self-pleasuring, but he left his clothing open, his half-erect cock twitching at me.

“Name of the Goddess,” I burst out. “Do you not understand the difference between imagination and real life? I wanted to be fattened. I did not want to be made so fat I’d likely die of it. There is such a thing as a fucking happy medium!”

He only stared at me. “Down,” he said. “Down on your belly and crawl, slave.”

I saw no gun or blade about his person. “Make me,” I retorted, “you irredeemable arsehole!”

He strode toward me, face scarlet, fist raised, and as he closed upon me I hooked my foot behind his, blocked his fist with my forearm, and fell upon him with all my weight. He hit the floor hard, and I crashed down on top of him. It knocked his breath out. I clamped one hand around his neck, but I hardly needed to squeeze: he could barely fill his lungs under my weight. I was kneeling over him, my feet and lower legs solid on the floor, my belly covering him and overlapping his body on both sides, and I heard his ribs crack. “Get… off,” he wheezed. “I’ll… have you… hung.”

“That’s not much of a bargain.” I rocked forward, pressing harder, driving the air from his lungs. His face was almost purple.

Still, I felt the hard length of his cock crushed against my lower bulges.

He flailed his arms, unable to reach my face past the bulwark of my breast, but pounding and scratching at my arms and sides until I put a stop to that by raising my weight up a little and then dropping down again, hard. He stopped thrashing then. His lips were turning a satisfying shade of blue.

“It’s what you wanted,” I breathed into his ear, “isn’t it? Wanted to feed me until I was huge…” I rocked back and forth on him with every word. My own arousal rose. “Drowning in fat… waddling, barely able to walk. You did this. You made this.” I rocked and thrust, bearing down hard, fucking him with my fat. His eyes rolled back in his head. I felt his bones creaking, but his cock was still hard. “Do you like it? Feel it. Feel how you’re crushed under my quivering lard. Do you like what you made? Do you?”

He gave a strangled cry. I felt the flood of his seed into my folds, and his head sagged to one side. The tide of pleasure overcame me then so that I thrust my hips hard, convulsively, grinding into his bones.

He had fainted. Or… no, the pulse still beat in his throat.

Good. Humiliated, he might keep quiet. Dead, he would occasion a hue and cry.

I got off him – no small effort to raise my bulk – dressed, and quickly threw together clothes, anything I thought I could sell – the brooch off his collar, I’d certainly worked hard enough to earn that – checked that he was still breathing, and fled down the stairs.

It seemed nobody saw me. If Aithya or any of the other servants knew, they chose to stay silent. I hurried across to the stables, where Grip and Queenie met me with drooling enthusiasm. I saddled Trueheart as fast as I could, hauled myself aboard, ignored the gelding’s martyred groan, and fled into the night. The dogs ran at the horse’s heels.

I was two nights early. I thought I knew who in the village might rent out a hayloft and ask no questions.

Cass would simply have to ready himself.


Grabby Hands Sr.
Supporting Member
Nov 3, 2017
Absolutely love this story, decided to spend some of my extra time in lockdown painting a cover - I tried to make it appropriately romance novel-esque ;P


Here's the image hosted on tumblr since posting it in the forum kills the resolution 😅 :

Plus a version without text if anyone wants to get a better look at... you know, whatever:

Thanks for posting this story to the forums! 👍

If anyone wants to see slim Midnight's lineart in all its glory... plus the jerkin I referenced for his outfit. It was fun trying to squeeze Midnight into the thing 😆

Salacious Caitlin

Well-Known Member
Jan 29, 2020
Wow, neat! You read the story and got that Midnight has long black hair, etc which I have to say not all professional cover illustrators do. Thanks so much!

Salacious Caitlin

Well-Known Member
Jan 29, 2020
Chapter 15 and Epilogue

The moonlight shone in through the part-open barn door, casting a wedge of blue-white light onto piled hay, and the greatcoats laid atop it. My lover stood there naked, the moon glinting from his outline, the planes of his muscles, the shine of his eyes.

I lingered for a moment in the darkness. I had taken off my clothes. But now I found my courage suddenly falter.

I could hear his breath; I could see the upthrust hunger of his cock.

Gathering my courage, I stepped out of the shadows and into his arms. He was just a little taller than I, but I was so much softer and broader than he, and I was shy to let my belly press against him, until he gently pulled me close and kissed me and…

and I had never been kissed before. The taste of stolen whiskey on our tongues, honey and fire. The entirely unexpected softness of his lips. The sounds he made in his throat, growls of desperate desire, and the pressure of his calloused hands on my arms, then on my sides, waking shivers of pleasure across my body as I forgot that I had ever feared I would be too fat for his liking.

I was no longer shy. I pulled him over to the coats and we lay down together, touching, tasting each other. “I want,” he said, “Midnight, I want you in my mouth. May I?”

“Yes,” I said, and could not breathe with wanting. I lay back and opened my legs, and used my hands to move my belly out of his way, baring my hidden parts, exposing my desire. He approached me gently, stroking and kissing folds, then rubbing with a sure hand so that even the part of my cock that was drowned under soft flesh hardened and throbbed. And then his tongue, circling the head of my cock and running down its length, as I cried out, and then the wet heat of his mouth until I thrust my hips uncontrollably and screamed his name and lightning ran down my spine to explode at my core.

I lay, sweating, limp with pleasure. “Cass,” I said.

“Yes, my love?”

“I only wanted to hear the sound of it.”

He chuckled, and took me in his arms. Perhaps it was as much as a few minutes before I had regained my vigor. “Tell me true,” I said. “You actually always wanted to be ravished by a dashing highwayman.”

“I did.” He was hard as iron against the softness of my thigh.

“You dreamed of it secretly.”

“While touching myself. Yes.”

“Well, now, sir, is your chance. If you will take it.”

“Yes…” I could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

There was a little pot of oil, not the sickly rose-smelling stuff, but a clean scent. I anointed him with it. He pushed back against my fingers, making sounds deep in his throat. I knelt between his legs, lifted my belly to let it spread over his muscled lower back, and entered him. At first, desperately tantalizing, hindered by my flesh and not quite deep enough. And then Cass drew up both his legs and I was…

Deep. Hot. Our voices crying out together.

My last thought, before pleasure drowned me, was that I could feel like this forever.


Six Months Later​

“And I say, Wat, there ain’t no robbers.”

The coach and six, strongbox held securely within, rattled down the road in the late evening.

“And I say you’re a fool, Mig. Why wouldn’t there be? Eh? Tell me that. What about that one I heard tell of? You know, the fat man? They say he was hanged but it couldn’t kill him, and he brought back hounds of hell to run at his side, and…”

“Drunkard’s tales that only a fool like you would listen to! Ever since the young King…”

“Bless his soul.”

“Right. Well, ever since the Other assassin got to the young King…”

“Which them rebels don’t believe, and I ain’t sure I do neither. One Other? Where’s the rest of them then? You see any pointy-eared bastards coming for us? No, you don’t, and I don’t neither. If you ask me…”

“I don’t, Wat, but if you talk like that somebody will ask you. Somebody, like the Commission Against Treachery. So shove a cork in it. The Regents put a stop to crime. There’s the rebel army, up north, and there’s the Regents’ army, here. This is safe country. Warden de Valeriano’s country.”

“Still wouldn’t have said no to guards. Whoever’s land it is. Warden may walk with a diamond-studded cane, but he ain’t here, and wouldn’t be no good if he was, most likely. What we need is…”

“Stuff it,” Mig hissed.

“What we need, on consideration of us having this particular cargo, is a few…”

“Stuff it! Shite!” Mig pulled the horses to a trampling stop as they came around a bend. The road ahead was blocked by a wagon, with two horses hitched up.

“Oy,” Wat yelled. “Out of the way!”

The horses raised their heads, reined by an unseen driver; the wagon swung round, still blocking the road.

In the gathering dusk, a very large man in a black greatcoat stepped down from the driver’s seat and strode toward them. They couldn’t see his face, under his broad-brimmed, plumed hat, or behind the black mask that shadowed his eyes. They could see the blunderbuss he carried, its flared muzzle gaping, promising hell. They could hear the deep growls from the brace of huge dogs at his heels. They heard his command: “You know what this is. You know who I am. Get down from the carriage and run, if you value your lives.”

“Hell,” Mig gasped, and started reining the horses around. And stopped again, at the sharp sound of a pistol fired into the air.

A second masked rider now blocked the road behind them, a pistol in each hand. “Must you really be told twice?”

The men scrambled from the coach and ran into the night with as much speed as they could muster, leaving behind them the strongbox holding the entire pay, in gold coins, for the Regents’ Special Coast of Storms Grenadiers.

The end…

For now​

Clandy Caine

Aug 22, 2016
Although I sensed that we were approaching the end of the story, I’m glad that you’ve left the door open to a sequel. I’d love to read the continuing adventures of Midnight and Cass as a highwaymen duo! Congratulations on a very well written work that manages to explore the darker, more realistic aspects of feederism from an empathetic perspective. You have a real talent for developing characters that are complex and engaging. I hope you continue writing no matter what!

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