Chapter 4

By her next birthday, Snow White was unrecognisable. The first thing anyone saw when greeting her was not her face, but her tremendous, distended belly, quivering with fullness as she reached for just one more slice of syrupy pie or chicken-stuffed pastry. Her arms sagged, enveloped by layers of heavy flesh, till she could barely lift them. Her legs struggled beneath her, unable to keep up with her rapidly ballooning weight. Any exercise more strenuous than waddling across the room left her gasping for breath, her failing corset struggling to hold back the avalanche of fat.

So, of course, the Queen insisted on an enormous ball and feast to celebrate Snow’s birthday, where Snow herself would be expected to dance with every eligible young man.

“Step... mother, … please…!” Snow’s knees trembled under her bulk. “Can’t I… sit out… just one… dance?”

“Now, Snow,” the Queen said, patting her wheezing stepdaughter’s cheek. “A gentleman shouldn’t be treated so rudely.”

Snow groaned as her stepmother handed her off to a local nobleman, who took her hand with barely disguised disgust. Snow suspected that the Queen revelled at seeing her wobble and wheeze her way across the floor.

The gentleman fled as soon as the song ended, eager to get away from the huffing whale of a princess. Snow swayed, abandoned in the middle of the dance floor, unsure if she had the strength for even one more step.

“May I?” the huntress asked, dressed in her finest formal uniform, extending a hopeful hand toward Snow. “Um, have this dance, I mean.”

“I… don’t… think…” Snow’s head spun, words fled. “So… tired…” Snow gasped, falling forwards. The Huntress caught her in her muscular arms as the princess’s exhausted legs went slack.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-”

“No, your highness!” the Huntress smiled, ears red. She readjusted, giving Snow even more support to lean on. “It’s my pleasure.”
Snow didn’t quite believe her, but her heart fluttered as she clung to the Huntress’s sturdy shoulders.

When dinnertime finally came, Snow was a disaster. Her forehead dripped with sweat, and she could barely speak for wheezing. Her legs twitched pathetically, clearly traumatised by so much movement.

The Queen outdid herself on food. Dozens of roast peacocks swimming in butter, a forest’s worth of fruits and nuts dipped in honey, and hundreds of finely sculpted pastries loaded down the table. The smell was absolutely euphoric. Snow’s stomach rumbled. Even without an apple, she was ravenous.

“And now, the birthday cake!” her stepmother announced.

The kitchen door swung open and four servants rolled out with an absolute monstrosity of a cake. The Queen had ordered it to be in the image of Snow, made at actual size. Every fold, roll, and bulge was executed in chocolate, caramel and thick, rich cream. Delicate icing lips puffed out from the pressure of plump ganache cheeks, rolls of expertly sculpted chins cascaded down her breast, and each fat finger gleamed with exquisite detail. The massive dessert positively exuded decadence. Snow’s eyes widened, her belly roaring at this new target.

The Queen folded a fork into Snow’s fat hand. “Dig in, my dear,” she whispered. “I don’t want leftovers.”

Perhaps if she had not been on her feet all night... Perhaps if the Queen had rolled the cake out after dinner... Or even if the cake wasn't chocolate… Maybe Snow could have controlled herself.

The guests gasped as Snow attacked the dessert with both hands, howling with hunger, double fisting moist, rich cake into her trembling jowls. But the Huntress watched Snow’s progress through her sugary self portrait with a loving sparkle in her eyes. Her heart thrilled as Snow crammed more and more chocolate into a steadily swelling belly. Oh that endless wanting. Was there anything more beautiful?

After the last agonising bite, Snow sank back with a moan, so stuffed she could barely breathe. Her breast twisted with shame at her own greed. But still… she licked a splatter of icing off her lip… a deep part of her, too deep to be reached by the apples, still wanted more.

As if reading her thoughts, her stepmother whispered in her ear: “Don’t worry, piggy. I’m sure next year’s will be twice as big.”

∻∻∻

Snow knew this day would come eventually. For weeks she had struggled to walk, each step an exhausting torment. Every time she sat down, it was a gamble if she could rise again without help. But here was the final nail: she could not rise from her own bed.
Her swollen breasts heaved as she fought for breath, her soft body still wobbling from dozens of failed attempts. She kicked her aching legs, just to prove to herself that she still could. The movement sent waves up her mountainous body.

Don’t bother, the truffles at her bedside whispered to her.

It’s so hard, the cookies on her dresser agreed, just lay back and let it happen.

Her belly rumbled, begging her to just give in to her addictions, to eat, eat, eat until she wasn’t good for anything else. The delicious smell of roasted meat wafted up from the kitchens, preparation for another monstrous breakfast. Snow whimpered and turned away, as if she could dodge the smell.

She gasped as she felt her massive body move. That was it!

Mustering her strength, Snow rocked back and forth, slowly gathering momentum. Her blubbery body wobbled in protest, begging her to let it settle back into its comfortable horizontal position, but she would not let it.
Slowly, slowly, her bulk shifted, turning, turning- no, wait, she was going too fast!

She put out an arm to stop herself, but her immense mass ploughed forwards, trapping her arm and pinning her to her side.

Snow squirmed, her flab jiggling and quaking, desperate to pull herself upright.
Her heart raced, wide eyes shining with panic over her suffocating breasts. She was trapped. Trapped, trapped, trapped and vulnerable in this monstrous new body her stepmother had created. With her free hand, she clawed at her breasts, fighting gravity to give herself more space to breathe. Good, air was coming in. But still, she felt tight, terrified, claustrophobic. Her hands shook.

Her belly roared. This time, she could not resist the call of the chocolate at her bedside.

∻∻∻

“Your highness? The Queen wonders why you’ve not come down for-” The Huntress’s breath caught in her throat. Snow White, sagging, exhausted, and hanging half off the bed, was using her one free hand to shovel chocolate into her mouth. Fresh new stretch marks were already emerging, adorning her swollen belly.

The Huntress sucked her breath in through her teeth. Exquisite.

Reminding herself that duty came before desire, she leapt forward to lift Snow out of her obviously uncomfortable position. “Are you alright, your highness? How are you feeling?”

Snow’s belly rumbled. She whimpered with longing and shame, clutching her flab. “Hu… hu… hungry!” She leaned against the Huntress, too tired to sit up on her own.

A shiver went up the Huntress’s spine as that mountain of soft flesh pressed against her. What she wouldn’t give to massage that bloated belly until it was no longer so red and tight, then feed it up again. To caress those dimpled thighs and wrap her arms around those wide, shaking shoulders- wait…

“Your highness, are you crying?”

Snow White pushed herself away, wiping at her face “I… I just..” the tears came faster and she grabbed a handful of cookies to smother the sobs. “I tried so hard to stay out of my stepmother’s way, to just be invisible, but…” Her lower lip wobbled as she swallowed. “...What did I do to make her hate me?”

A knife stabbed through the Huntress’s heart at seeing her beloved so miserable. “Your highness, I-”

“My dear darling stepdaughter,” the Queen said, floating into the room on a cloud of silk. She smiled, the smirk of a cat toying with her prey. “We’re missing you at breakfast.”

Snow trembled, her wide, round buttocks quivering with fear.

The Huntress stepped protectively in front of her. “Apologies for not coming down sooner with the report, your majesty,” she said, saluting the Queen. “The princess has been unable to rise from her bed this morning. I believe she is feeling ill and cannot make the journey downstairs.”

The Queen looked over Snow White, rubbing the top of her bloated belly, wheezing from the struggle of sitting up. The Queen’s mouth stretched in a triumphant smile. “Of course,” she said, gliding a sharp-nailed hand over Snow’s fat belly. Snow shuddered, the tremors rocking her whole body. “I’ll make sure to send up plenty of breakfast,” the Queen said. “You need to keep up your strength, after all.”

Snow White whimpered as her stepmother swept back down the stairs.

The Huntress stilled Snow’s jiggling, daring to give her belly a few comforting strokes. “Don’t worry,” she reassured the princess, handing her the plate of chocolate. “I know people who can help.”

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