chapter 3 the empress of overindulgence

*BA-UURP*

Ashley emerged from her musements to the sound of an easy belch from across the table. She looked at her sister and smirked. That diamond-dressed blonde may have been princess of pamperdom, but Jennifer was the unabashed empress of overindulgence. Unable to decide on one main course, the greedy brunette had ordered no less than three, plus an assortment of sides. Her fork and spoon darted between dishes with a speed that belied the jiggling plumpness of the arms controlling them. So eager was Jennifer for the rich food that her forearms were working in perpetual motion: her fork shovelling in one mouthful while her spoon gathered up another and held it ready for insertion as soon as the fork descended to skewer its next payload; her chubby cheeks bulged obscenely as she chomped and swallowed frantically to make more room for the delicious treats that her cutlery constantly raised to her lips, interrupted only by the occasional need to reach for a huge glass of absurdly expensive pinot noir to wash the chunks of minimally-chewed food down into her insatiable stomach.

A stomach which, with each greedy gulp, seemed to Ashley to be expanding in real time. Her eyes widened nervously as the emerald dress encircling her sister's swelling middle stretched tighter and tighter, the outline of a petite innie bellybutton - a tiny dot at the centre of Jennifer's vast tummy - becoming clearly visible through the creaking fabric.

Yet for the second time that evening, Ashley's disgust at a scene of gluttony was tinged with envy. Ever since her early teens, all her big sister had wanted - nay demanded - was a wealthy, luxurious life. Well, she'd got that with interest. The mansion, the servants, the cruises, the cars. The handsome billionaire husband. The incredible food. What girl would make any effort to reign in her appetite when outgrowing a bespoke designer dress simply meant getting a new, even more expensive one - with even more room on it for glimmering jewels? If anything it was an incentive to overindulge.

Not that Jennifer needed any incentive. The speed and extent of her eating reflected a wider approach to life: an impatient desire to get absolutely everything she wanted as fast as possible.

Ashley was in no doubt that Jennifer had inherited this from their mother - along with her mane of stunningly lavish raven-brown hair. After an impoverished childhood, Angela Morgan had risen through sheer force of personality to become, while still in her 30s, a director and majority shareholder at a large, highly successful communications company. Like Jennifer she used her natural assets - firey-passionate green-brown eyes and jaw-dropping curves - to get what she wanted. And like Jennifer she wanted everything.

Only an inch or two over five foot, Angela made up for her diminutive height by wearing the most expensive and tall designer heels to work. She also compensated - perhaps overcompensated - by expanding sideways, though this way more a natural consequence of her hectic life. A career filled with lengthy business lunches at posh restaurants, late-night Chinese takeaways at endless board meetings, expensive treats from admiring partners and rich wines from toadying sellers all helped to swell Angela Morgan's figure, taking her from short voluptuous intern to prosperously paunchy middle-manager, to near-spherical boss lady. By the time Jennifer and Ashley were in their late teens, Angela was almost as wide as she was tall. But rather than making her appear soft, the bulging businesswoman's expanding girth only made her the more intimidating. She kept her fearsome beauty and firey eyes, and her enormously round bosoms and increasingly Kardashian-esque derriere seemed an outward symbol of her success, bouncing and wobbling importantly as she swished the office floor with her head high and her designer heels clicking.

Ashley had always been intimidated by her diminutive mom, even into her late teens. Returning from work several hours after the girls were back from school, the Morgan Matriarch would strut straight into the kitchen in one of the sharply tailored designer business suits she seemed to live in - cellphone glued to her ear. There, her husband (and Ashley and Jennifer's father) Dean, back from his shift as a builder, would be marshalling various pots and pans at the hob, desparately trying to have dinner ready for the moment his wife's ample posterior swelled into her seat at the head of the kitchen table.

Angela's attitude to food was as ruthless and rapacious as her approach to business. Hungry after a hard day's dealing, she would mercilessly shovel down whatever dishes her husband dutifully set before her, leaving not the slightest scrap on any plate. And woe betide Dean if he served up a meal that she deemed inadequate or - worse still - late. Angela would tear into him as if he were a hopeless employee, fulminating about how hard she worked and how hungry she was, and how much more work she had to do later that evening. Sure enough, the moment the final crumb of dessert went behind her lips, Angela would rise, cheeks bulging and jaw still chomping, to retire to the living room, where she would make further calls from the comfort of her (reinforced) recliner.

Although Jennifer didn't quite have the gall to insult her dad if the food was late, she immitated her mom's rapacious speed-eating, eager to get back to her computer and continue messaging her friends or to beautify herself for a date with whatever poor college guy she currently had wrapped around her finger.

But where Jennifer took after the mother, Ashley was more like their dad. With the two brunette members of the family long gone from the table, the blondes - Ashley and Dean - would grin at each other as two people in the know, before continuing with their main courses.

For unlike her mom and big sister, Ashley had learned to appreciate food. Throughout her early teens she often helped her dad in the kitchen, adding spices to curries, breaking eggs into pans and most importantly - and most enjoyably - taste-testing his excellent recipies. Thus she developed a refined palate, and an appreciation for art of food - and for how much work went into preparing it.

But the most satisfying thing about all this for Ashley came later. Around nine o'clock, she would tiptoe quietly down the stairs and into the living room. There she would see her mom and dad cuddled up on the sofa: him leaning back easily; her lying asleep with her head in his lap and a hand on his leg, the buttons of her expensive blouse undone to allow his hand free access to her full, bulging middle, which clearly needed soothing after a non-stop day of heavy indulgence. Dean would turn and wink at his daughter, and Ashley would smile, pleased that she had contributed, in some small way, to calming her mother's impossibly stressed life.

*Buuuurp!* Jennifer's fork finally clattered to an empty platter, ending Ashley's reflection. No sooner had it touched the surface two impeccably dressed waiters materialised and began to remove the various emtpy plates and bowls and prepare the table for dessert, their sharp, precise movements a stark contrast to the two sisters, leaning back sleepily full in their comfortable seats.

All sleepiness instantly departed when the waiters reappeared just moments later with dessert

Ashley sat up to get a better look at the four golden platters the waiters carried, balanced expertly in their hands as they glided in. On one stood the tallest trifle she had ever seen, encased in an ornate glass and spiralling skywards as if attempting to touch the restaurant's huge crystal chandeliers. On another platter was an impossibly rich black forest gateau, a colossal slice sided with raspberries and bulging with thick layers of buttercream filling. The third plate boasted a four-layer chocolate fudge cake, in a sea of much double cream so thick that the fudge cake floated on its surface, bobbing tantalisingly. On the last platter was the chef's signature strawberry swirl cheesecake: a vast slice of pure creamy-light delight.

Two sets of eyes widened as the treats were placed expertly before them. Jennifer's sultry hazel-green peepers bulged with an eager greed; Ashley's deep blue eyes widened in awe - but also in apprehension. Gazing down at a six inch high "slice" of strawberry swirl cheesecake, she silently cursed herself for having eaten such a big main course. A hand strayed to the curve of her middle, which was pushing out her red designer dress. She really didn't have any more room. Perhaps she should pass.

And yet, it just looked so good. The layers of strawberry so bright, the cream impossibly soft and inviting, the elaborate pattern on top so intricate that it it seemed to come alive, curving and writhing before her like the letters of some ancient mystical script written in an ornate hand. The effect was almost hpynotic: like Alice in Wonderland Ashley found the pattern seeming to morph into the words "Eat me".

She picked up a fork. It'd be a sin not to try a little. She may never get the chance to sample such perfection ever again.

Besides, Jen's dress might not withstand a fourth pudding.

Carefully she annexed the slimmest sliver and lifted it to her lips.

The moment the mystical dessert touched her tongue, Ashley was transported to another dimension: one of swirling, shimmering sugary ecstasy. Her tastebuds crackled as she swilled the smooth cheesecake over her tongue. When at length she finally, reluctantly swallowed, she realised she had moaned out loud, and was relieved that Jennifer's noisy gobbles and burps meant no-one heard. Flicking back her honey-gold hair Ashley squirmed excitedly and cut herself another piece - rather larger than the first.

For the next hour the two stunning sisters relished their exquisite desserts, blissfully unaware that they were being watched.