chapter 3 - in which kara gets into it

********* Tour 1. Orient night 9 *********

“Oof!” Kara lay back on the sofa while Marcelo went to close and lock the door. Dante lidded the incense, and the harpist (whose name had, after 4 days, turned out to be Aurelie, not Amelie) rubbed some life back into her hands, pushed the instrument into a case, and stowed it behind the bar.

Kara cradled her belly in both hands. God, she was full. Dubai has too many posh restaurants. Too many. And it had felt like everyone on the damned Whale had gone out and brought back at least half a meal for her. In reality it had been, what, 8? 12 people? But ‘little somethings’ really add up.

“Last show!” crowed Marcelo “They can’t drink down there, but we can drink up here! Party in the crew mess? Aurelie? Une petite peut de booze pour vous?”

“Hey,” Kara opened her eyes. Dante had turned to her as Marcelo and Aurelie stepped out through the crew hatch. “Sorry about earlier.”

“That’s ok. Just…don’t let him surprise me like that” Kara thought for a second and added “Did she really…you know…want that?”

“Every night. Towards the end, pretty much every minute.”

“Huh.”

Dante stepped out, leaving her alone with her thoughts. What are our main thoughts, other Kara? My main thought, other Kara, is that tonight got out of hand. Out. of. fucking. hand.

It had been when they all started to queue up. And when she’d abandoned utensils, and just started shovelling food in with her hands. That had certainly kicked things up a notch.
There had very definitely been moans. They may have been gasps. For all she knew, there may also have been grunts and squealing. She had felt her skin tingling with tightness.

“Servants!” she had said. Are we ok with having called them servants? Ah whatever, the crowd had loved it. “Massage me!”

Instantly, there had been four strong hands on her, on her arms, on her legs, but mostly on her bloated middle. Dante and Marcelo had known exactly what they were doing. They had touched her firmly, deeply, helping her pack in more and more. Mehalabiya, shwarma, ghuzi, various types of chocolate had filled her. Chew chew chew. Swallow. Feel the belly grow.

Mouthful after mouthful. Each morsel making her bigger than she’d ever been before. And again, with the next bite. The script had gone out the window as she ate for the pure exhilaration of it. Her legs wide open, her mouth wide open. Her heart pounding and her cheeks flushed. Eating for the pleasure of experiencing the best food that these rich assholes could find. For the pleasure of enjoying more than they ever could. The room had gone kinda fuzzy.

And then Marcelo had changed the mood in an instant.

“Do you want to come now, Goddess?” he’d asked in her ear, running the very tip of one finger inside her waistband.

Instantly, it all felt wrong. She snapped her legs closed, hating the loud SLAP they made in meeting and the way they wobbled a bit afterwards. What was she doing, stuffing herself like a pig in public? She ought to be ashamed. She was ashamed. Forget ‘sharing pleasure’, these people were just coming in to see a freak-show. Ugh.

Dante had grabbed Marcelo and moved him away.

“What!?” she’d heard him protest. “Joanne used to want…”


The show had to go on, of course. And, after the last 8 days of training, she had been able to put on a passable impression of enjoying food, even feeling awkward as hell. But after that moment it hadn’t been mouthful after mouthful of bliss, it had been mouthful after mouthful of thinking: Fuck. This is calorific. This is going to make the bikini too tight to wear. Ugh. We’re going to get so fat. Too late, Kara bear. We’re going to get even fatter. Stop. Please. We’re done. Can’t you see we’re already too fat.

But still morsels had kept coming. She hadn’t been able to help imagining how she’d look if she kept this up. She imagined her thighs swelling up and forcing her knees wide apart again, her belly surging forward onto her fattened lap, and huge heavy breasts sitting on top of the whole bloated mess. All covered in food from people continually ramming it her mouth every time she opened it to protest.

And then it had stopped.

The last guest had walked out. Hovered at the door. And hit the green button. Ping!

And now Dante would be dancing with Marcelo in the crew mess, possibly wearing more than their stupid gold pants, possibly not. Aurelie would be drinking white wine. And Kara was here. By herself.

On the second try she managed to haul herself up. She kicked off her heels and padded across the room to pick up her cloak and then turned…and stopped dead.

There, reflected in the window, was a goddess. THE Goddess. With nobody else in the room, letting it all hang out, she looked…amazing. Jesus, is that really us, Kara? It all feels so different from inside. Could have sworn we were enormous. Felt like we looked stupid. Like we’d let ourself go. But that person in the reflection hasn’t let themselves go. The belly is round, yes, but so far beyond full that it can’t look accidental. It looks deliberate. Like artwork in prize of place. And the outfit was clearly made to show it off. It framed her gluttony just as much as her hair framed her face.

She put the cloak on and deliberately let it fall open around her belly. The reflection was a fertility goddess. A deliberately constructed monument to pleasure. Her heart regained some of its previous tempo as she climbed up the stairs back to her little cabin.

Kara locked the door and further inspected the Goddess in her mirror. There really was a sort of sexuality to this. She explored it. Letting her mind recapture the knowledge that she could have more than the richest guest on this whole ship. Letting her pounding heart rekindle the fire that had raged through her as she’d through about every single mouthful was deliberately making her rounder than she’d ever been before. The slow swelling of her belly, and even slower swelling of her breasts, hips, bottom, were, in their own ways, a mirror of the much faster swelling happening between her legs. The throbbing heat around her clit, a perfect reflection of the overwhelming warmth coming from her bellyful of calories.

But the time she let herself slip a hand inside, she was ready to burst.