Chapter 2 - an afternoon snack - pt. 2

After eighteen pastries, Delia was fit to burst. Her dress, already tight, was now constraining her bulging belly, adding to the horrible pressure that was building up inside of her. She slouched low in her seat, conscious clouded by her gluttony. Hot, shallow breaths were interspersed with instinctive gulps whenever she felt the painful mass in her middle begin to roil and bubble. Her whole focus was concentrated on not being sick all over her mistress. How different this was from her old life, she thought drearily. It didn't seem real that her only problem would be having too much to eat!

In England, her father had supported five children with a factory job, and there was little to eat but cabbage and water each night. By the time Delia was sixteen, the two eldest children had moved away to seek their fortunes, and the two youngest had died, leaving Delia alone with her father. When he had fallen ill and followed his youngest to the grave, she sold everything to buy passage to the new world. But everything hadn't been enough - she'd needed to sell herself as an indentured servant to gain passage. Nine years she would be pledged to the Wellington family until she would finally have her freedom.

She had come from the old world ready for hard work, harsh conditions, and cruel owners, but she couldn't have been prepared for . . . whatever this was.

"Delia, dear, you've stopped. Do you not like lemon? They were brought in fresh all the way from Florida. Do you know where that is? Probably not. You've so much to learn." Catherine was chattering. "Perhaps I can teach you some geography when I'm not busy. It's good to know about the place where you are living now. Would you like that?"

Delia struggled to respond. Her mouth drooped tiredly as her cloudy mind struggled to make sense of the situation. Realizing, finally, that Catherine's eyes were upon her, she snapped her mouth shut and gulped carefully, stammering "Y-yes, miss Catherine..."

Catherine kept smirking, her alert green eyes skimming Delia's condition. Her eyes were dull and vacant, with dark pouches forming under them. Her pretty brown hair was done up in a fancy weave, but some pieces had come loose and ensnared themselves in the sticky jelly and icing that had been smeared around her lips. Her skin had turned pale and sweaty, and her slender little neck was looking a bit green. Every once in a while she would hiccup violently, and one hand would fly to her stomach, the other to her mouth, as if she were trying to keep her heavy load down. Her hand-me-down dress was even tighter than ever, and Catherine could see through the glass tabletop how it strained against Delia's tight middle. Biting her lip, Catherine forced her eyes up to her dressing-maid's face.

"Well," Catherine said, "if you don't like lemon, I guess i'll have to eat it. It's my favorite. Though if you're struggling with my corset tomorrow, you'll have only yourself to blame." The dainty daughter deftly snatched the tart from Delia's plate, consuming it in three quick bites.

"But now you've ruined my diet," she complained as the last bite disappeared down into her slender stomach. "I truly can't have any more - I'm feeling quite overfull. There were what, twenty pastries? What a pig I've been!" She giggled girlishly. "No, I insist, you have the last one. The whole thing, go on."

The last delicacy on the platter was a cinnamon roll, big as two fists put together and swimming in icing and molton cinnamon. Delia shook her head gently. She remembered back in England, when grimy boys would snitch a pig's stomach from the butcher's and blow it full of air. They'd kick it around the streets like a ball. She figured her own stomach must resemble that - so big and smooth and taught. Sometimes, they'd overfill the stomach, and it would pop at the slightest provocation. The thought made her feel even sicker.

"Come on now, Delia. You wouldn't want me getting fat. My father wouldn't be pleased." Catherine stood, rounding the table until she was standing behind her young maid. Looking down, Catherine could barely control herself. Delia's breasts were small and pert, but the tiny dress couldn't properly cover them anymore, and a tiny, teasing sliver of black cleavage was visible from above. Below them, her formerly flat stomach was round and bloated, a tall hill pushing out past the gentle bulge of her breasts. The material was stretched smooth over Delia's turgid flesh, so tight that Catherine could see the indent of her belly button clearly through the fabric.

Resting her hands reassuringly on Delia's shoulders, Catherine murmured, "Come now, love, I'll help you."

Reaching over her maid's shoulders, she cut a large piece of the roll. She forked it, and moved it slowly to Delia's lips. The girl struggled weakly, trying to turn away from the incoming morsel, but realized that she had no choice. Catherine was her mistress, and she could not disobey. She opened her mouth, and quickly found it filled with the sickening taste of sweet cinnamon. She chewed as slowly as she could. Her stomach gurgled ominously as she swallowed, and she loosed a small moan.

"There we go. Just a few more."

Delia's breathing became quick and desperate as the second bite went down. Her face was hot and sweaty. It felt as if her stomach was a second sun, burning mercilessly inside of her. She hiccupped, and felt something begin to force itself up her esophagus. Panicking, she gulped it back down, leaving a burning taste in her throat.

"Too full..." she murmured quietly as a third forkful was raised to her lips. "Please, I'm going to be sick. I can't fit any more..."

"No? Are you sure?" the heiress asked playfully as she lay down the fork. "I think you can. Let's see..."

"Oh!" Delia gasped as Catherine's hands crept lower and lower until they were resting on her sensitive stomach. She clenched her teeth as her mistress pressed gently against her taut belly. "C-Catherine, please..."

Delia felt Catherine's fingers slowly press against her hard belly. "You are rather full. But I think we can make a little room. Let me just try a little something..."

Those delicate fingers then began to massage the packed mass of food inside of Delia. The pain was unbearable, and she yelped loudly, trying to swat the stinging hands away. It was no use. She felt them move and press and poke, and the pressure in her stomach began to increase. There was a deep, guttural rumble from inside of her as the outside pressure shifted the heavy mass of food about. Delia felt something rise in her throat, she gulped instinctively, but it kept coming. She realized that she may just be sick all over her mistresses' table, the carpets, the chairs-

"HURRRRrrrrp!" A belch, wet and rumbling, surged out of Delia's prim mouth, so violent that it caused her middle to tighten painfully. She immediately flushed red, crossing both hands over her mouth. She was so embarrassed at her outburst that she said nothing as Catherine continued to prod and push on her achingly full stomach, loosing more heavy burps. After a minutes, there was nothing but a few petit belches. Delia's stomach still was queasy and achy, but significantly calmer than it had been before.

"Now," Catherine said, leaning over Delia so that her blond curls just brushed the skin of her neck. "Let's finish that roll, shall we?"

And she did. Catherine fed her the last two bites slowly, and she forced the lump of heavy dough down. When it was finally done, Catherine smiled calmly, gently rubbing the small mound that had been so flat just a half-hour before.

"Oooh. Mmph." Delia scrunched up her face as her stomach began to grumble and churn unhappily. It would not be a fun time dealing with the aftermath of this feast.

Catherine still stood behind the chair, almost forgotten in Delia's half-conscious mind. The young heiress' eyes were ablaze as she eagerly drank in the sight before her. She would need a bath drawn, she thought. And quickly.

"You are excused from your duties for today, Delia. I'll have Loianne dress me for tonight." Catherine said, leaning low to her servant's ear. In in softest voice, she murmured "Same time tomorrow."

Delia cringed, both hands caressing her bloated belly. She hiccuped, causing her belly to grumble angrily.

Same time tomorrow.




*Authors Note* This is my first story here on this site. It's currently just a one-shot feeding session, but I could turn it into something longer if there is enough interest. Comments and criticism are welcome!