In the kingdom of Trividen, Haalis is, for the most part, not a remarkable citizen. Though she weaves enchantments from the magical energies that surround her, she can credit this to no special schooling, no wizard's university or mentorships from ancient sages; in Trividen, magic is as free as the air, all thanks to the sereliquary, a massive spherical construction of layered mirrors in which magic is captured, reflected, and resonated throughout the land. Its purpose is two-fold: to strengthen the spells of the elven mages who rule over their people and to make the simplest incantations much easier to learn and master, even for lay people like Haalis.
A humble farmer reaps and sows through the use of unseen servants, a messenger glides through the air to pass parcels into high windows, and a scribe in the city's library like Haalis uses a magehand to perfectly replicate the penmanship of new books entering their ever-growing collection. 
Trividenners are not, as some might allege, lazy or weak because of the magical convenience rife in their society. Each busy their lives with hundreds of different hobbies, projects, public works and more. The elves still bear their old traditions even in a post-scarcity world and that tradition includes a staunch work ethic and a group feeling of mutual responsibility.
Haalis, then, is something of an outlier. She spends the vast amount of her time engaged in her peculiar passion, which is by no means a rarity; in fact, most elves of Trividen do statistically spend less time working than not. Her trade, while it may not be difficult work, is still respectable in its contribution for the perpetuation of their utopia. 
What is less respectable to her peers is what this passion of hers entails.
Haalis may be described as a slave to her desires. From an early age she developed a fascination with hedonism, something of a taboo in Trividen, and yet one that is so easily enabled through the proliferation of magical power and knowledge. There was little want for anything in her homeland, simple foods and water are easily conjured, so everyone eats and hunger is foreign to these lands. 
Haalis likes to eat. More than just an appreciator of fine tastes, Haalis likes to eat to excess; she savors the feeling of complete fullness, even to the point of physical pain, not just in itself, but as a means to indulge in her truest desire: to grow fat.
It's difficult to say what planted this seed in her mind, but the facts are that since she flowered into a young woman, Haalis has been enamored with the image of her own engorged frame. Rather than becoming sharper and leaving behind the natural swaddle of a plump and happy childhood, she only grew larger as she came into her own, quickly shooting past 'curvaceous' and 'pillowy' into a category of size most around her would deem obscene. The soft swell of her waist only swelled further with each passing moon, past the point of matronly grace and into an unwieldy overhang of fat flowing down her thickened thighs, bouncing and wobbling spiritedly with her every step. Hips which once spoke to a certain element of fertility and sensuality became obstructive, blocking lines of sight and impeding movement as they barged into their surroundings and became jammed in doorways. Her cherubic features were blown out into a gluttonous parody of themselves, rounded cheeks graduating into jowls that hang from her face just above the egregious roll of her double chin.
Haalis quickly grew to twice the size of the average woman in Trividen. Then three-times the size, at which point she outgrew most clothing and needed much more than a simple mending spell to repair the ravaged robes she squeezed her over-indulged body into. She was also outgrowing simple tasks like walking, climbing stairs, and reaching her fat-laden arms over and around her growing expanse. Fortunately for Haalis, she lives in a golden age of magical accessibility; thanks to the sereliquary, she could compensate for her inconvenient size with feather spells to reduce her weight, levitation spells to travel up stairs-- for even when lighter, the sheer bulk of her body still posed logistical challenges-- and mage hands to manipulate objects rather than exert the effort to lean her massive body to and fro. As an added bonus, Haalis also found that mage hands could be used to lift food to her mouth while her true hands were busy with other matters.
Freed from concerns over her mobility, Haalis expanded even more, becoming a true unseemly blob of an elf. Her modesty was preserved by large sheets of cloth mended together, however the tent-like structure could scarcely conceal the extent of her obesity from her fellow citizens, which in itself was seen as highly indecent. Some averted their eyes from her when she waddled down the street, viewing her as a blemish to be shunned. Others stare in awe and disgust, their minds scrambling to understand how or why an elf would grow so enormous. In the beginning, when she began to crest these extreme sizes, sympathetic mages came to her to ask whether she'd been cursed somehow and offered to help restore her true form. Haalis was incredibly flustered by their assumption and took pleasure in their expressions when she told them that all they saw before them was her own doing.
The glutton found all the attention she received quite stimulating. She earned some local renown as the fattest elf in Trividen and whatever the scandalized reactions she provoked, she'd think back on those moments in the privacy of her bed, her whole body undulating, slick with sweat in the throes of passion.
As much as they may condemn her lifestyle, even they cannot say that Haalis is lazy or contributes nothing to society. She has a job, a job which she can preform while seated and use magic to increase her productivity, and sneak a few snacks here and there, but a job nonetheless. 
And so, despite what one might think when looking at her, this massive elf is able to live independently on the bottom floor of a small housing complex. Each day she casts a spell to raise her blubbery mass from her bed, uses mage hands to cover the cascading rolls and bulges of her body in a modest robe, casts a long lasting featherweight spell to make her commute to the library, does her work with the help of her spells, makes the occasional stop at the farms to procure as much food as she can carry (magically, of course,) and returns home where she spends the rest of the day glutting, groping, and engorging herself to even further heights of fatness. It's a simple, pleasurable life, and it's perfect for her.
But this all comes to an end one morning.
In the early hours of the day, a terrible commotion breaks out on the streets of Trividen. The clamor is such that it rouses Haalis earlier than normal.
The bed she lay in is enormous, large enough for four grown elves to lay side by side, and yet her mountainous bulk creeps ever closer to the extreme ends of its width. It should go without saying that it is not the first bed that she has had to herself.
In the privacy of her bedchambers, Haalis sleeps in the nude, the pale expanse of fat shielded from the night chill by an equally expansive quilt. Her body creates a mound atop her bed, her belly rises up from her torso and falls down between her trunk-like thighs, like a glacier that flows between two mountains. Each one of her legs could outweigh a skinnier elven maid on their own, rolls upon rolls creating such a large spread as to impede her locomotion-- even with magic, the sheer amount of flesh gets in the way of simple movement. Her arms, splayed uselessly to her sides, are also impressively round and hefty. Her biceps are large enough to serve as pillows, though she obviously lacks the flexibility to actually rest her head upon them.
No, her head lay on a proper pillow as her eyes flutter open. She yawns, a little shake of her head makes her plump cheeks and chin-rolls jiggle as she wrinkles her nose up and grumbles quietly to herself. "What is all this noise...?"
As she does each and every day, Haalis waves one of her heavy hands around-- really just rotating her wrist, not needing to exert the effort of moving her entire arm to cast this spell-- to call upon the magic that flows all around her and weave a featherweight enchantment on herself. Usually, she'd feel a tingle run across her entire frame as her tremendous weight was lessened to a more manageable task for her muscles, but this morning, she felt nothing.
Still, a creature of habit, Haalis begins to rock her body, reveling in the sheer weight of all her fat rolling to and fro for a moment before making an earnest effort to roll onto her side. But that considerable weight feels a lot more considerable today, and she finds herself growing breathless before she even gets to the proper attempt to roll over. This is the moment she realizes: the spell didn't work.
Huffing in annoyance, she rolls her wrist again and makes the motions with her pudgy fingers, but this time she's in her right mind enough to notice the lack of any sensation. She tries again with similar results.
Haalis whines quietly. "Oh in the name of... come now, why is this... hff why isn't it..."
It's at this point that her pointed ears perk up to the noise outside her window once again. She finally recognizes the unfamiliar racket for what it is: panic.
Sympathetically, panic starts to set in for Haalis as well.
"Wha- haah, w-what's going- haah- o-on?!" She wheezes, trying and failing to project her breathless voice. Her pointed ears make out the clamoring of some large crowd of people. She detects a note of urgency, a few words here or there, 'keep moving,' 'make way, make way,' 'to the tower.' In all her years she's never heard this kind of fear and terror from her people. It's clear that something's happened to the sereliquary. What exactly, she has no idea, but from the sound of things she needs to move as well.
Just one problem... she can't.
"HELLO?! Hff, hff, CAN ANYONE Hhhaah...!" She cries, struggling to lean up and shout over the monolith of her belly. Haalis is trapped, not by some stroke of ill fortune or the machinations of an enemy, but by her own gluttonous stomach, by years upon years of wanton self-indulgence that have turned her body, once so elegant and noble, into a bulging, sagging prison from which she cannot escape.
Against all sense, she still tries to fight against what she's wrought. The massive maid grunts and strains to roll onto her side, working her weak muscles to twist the hips that have been buried under hundreds of pounds of flab and rock her blubbery body side to side. The vigorous motion, at least by her standards, sends her fat rolls clapping against one another, a sardonic applause for the piggish girl's exhaustive efforts, the greatest show of self-preservation she can muster.
Sweat begins to pour from her like a sponge; she can feel her whole expanse growing hot and sticky, she can see the glistening of her skin as her quilt is jostled off by her belly's motion, and hear the wet slapping that has always accompanied her most frenzied and euphoric moments. She's breathless, hot, wet, and utterly immobilized... even with the specter of fear gripping her mind and her heart pounding with dread, she can't help but feel the same heat in her core, the rush of ecstasy that she's always received when the world reminds her how fat she's made herself. She flops uselessly against her bed and moans, relishing the feeling of her fat continuing to jiggle after she's stopped moving.
Taking a reprieve to squirm and whine to herself, the noise outside her window suddenly reaches a fever pitch. Haalis no longer hears the nervous cries of evacuation, she hears screaming, stampeding, and a bellowing war horn. She hears a mix of new voices on the street just outside her home. Barbarians. A cold chill travels up her spine and her heart sinks even deeper into her chest. This is an invasion, and she's trapped here.
All the sudden, rather than making noise, she's trying to be as quiet as she possibly can; a nigh impossible feat, she's still breathing heavily from her earlier attempts to move, and at this point she lacks the strength to even lift a hand to cover her mouth and nose. She screws her eyes shut, admonishing herself in a fit of panic. They were right about her-- her family, her peers, everyone who looked to her with pity and disgust. How could she do this to herself??? How could she grow so fat, so lazy, so weak and undisciplined that without magic, she's nothing more than a blob?
She doesn't have long to dwell on these sentiments before she hears heavy footfalls near her door. Her eyes bulge out of her flabby face. She gropes for her quilt as though modesty would be of any use, but finds it's fallen just out of reach. Unable to even hide her shame, she prays to all her ancestors that somehow, someway, someone will whisk her away from this bed and keep her safe.
Her door caves in and splits in two, one under foot and one with the head of an axe driven through it. The culprit is a barbarian woman with short-cropped brown hair and sparse leather armor, which did little to obscure her rugged physique.
Yera, the head of the three-woman looting party who are searching for any valuables in the abandoned homes, lays eyes on the corpulence of this elf and is, for a moment, at a complete loss.
These barbarians, known to themselves as the Goetra, are a largely nomadic group of humans who populate the neighboring wilds beyond Trividen. Excess is not a foreign concept to them; they have known times of plenty and none of them could ever be described as 'temperate,' but it should come as no shock that Haalis dwarfs the fattest woman Yera has ever seen by several orders of magnitude.
If it weren't for her sweating and poorly restrained wheezing, Yera may not have even identified her as a person. It was difficult to see her face from this angle, the rising hill of her gut and her wide, tear-drop shaped breasts almost totally obscure anything from the neck roll upward. But upon a second look, the bloated facsimiles of limbs could be seen jutting out from this indistinct blob.
Eyes wide and jaw agape, the warrior whispers to herself. "By the teeth of Gor..." She steps into Haalis's room, the floorboards creaking after years of abuse under the tall woman's lesser, but by no means inconsiderable weight. Two feet taller than Haalis and much more heavily muscled, even counting her equipment and the sack of plunder she'd already found, Yera was still a hair shy of half the elf's weight.
For her part, Haalis was frozen in terror. She could barely lay eyes on the intruder and to tell the truth she was scared to. If she could reach it, she'd be hiding under her quilt at this point, praying she'd wake up from this nightmare.
Despite herself, she lets out a shrill scream when she feels Yera's calloused hand press against her belly. Flinching away only results in more senseless jiggling, though this time the spectacle has an audience.
"Setri! Kor! You've got to have a look at this one!" The barbarian shouts over her shoulder, and Haalis can hear the cruel smile on her lips.
In short order, Yera is joined by her battle-sisters, two similarly chiseled warriors with fair and deep blue hair respectively; not that any of this is immediately apparent to Haalis, who only hears their intimidating footfalls along with arms and loot dropped on the floor.
"What!?" Setri exclaims as she lays eyes on the rolling hills of flab that cover the elf maid's body head to toe, her eyes tracing the creases as if they'd spell out an answer.
"Oh my... is that one of the elves?" Kor questions, almost expecting her leader to explain it's some rare sort of slime.
"Well, let's have a look, shall we~?" Yera saunters around Haalis's oversized bed to see past her oversized body, and the two lay eyes on each other's faces for the first time.
Yera sees a round, heavy visage, a pair of plump lips agape between two full and flushed cheeks. The amount of flab burying her natural features is so great that it makes her up-turned nose and eyes seem small in comparison, even as she looks on in shock and horror. Yera grins, and Haalis can now see that she is tall, fit, and excessively handsome. She has the sort of grin that makes the elf weak in her over-burdened knees, and the black war-paint brings out a special glint in her flame-colored eyes.
In another display of Haalis's incredible self-preservation instincts, she looks up at Yera like a lost puppy, lips parted, still sucking in air. Against all common sense, the fear she feels now is tempered by a healthy dose of arousal.
She lets out another small yelp as the warrior reaches in toward her face; she jerks her head to one side, sending her jowls and second chin jiggling. This inadvertently serves Yera's aim quite well as she brushes her sweat-slicked blonde hair aside and looks at her ears.
"It's an elf alright." Yera observes, her battle-sisters closing in to get a better look themselves. "See there? These must be the last sharp parts of it." The remark elicits some laughter from the two even as they still look to be wrapping their heads around this discovery.
The introduction of another two beautiful warrior women does little to help Haalis get a hold of herself. Especially when they're teasing and laughing at her.
Haalis squeaks when she feels two more hands probing against her soft and delicate skin; Setri is pressing her fingers against her upper belly and observing with thinly veiled horror as they sink deeper and deeper into the fruits of all these years of gorging, while Kor runs her hand across the apex, stretchmarks against her fingertips. Haalis begins breathing heavily again; she screws her eyes shut, screaming internally at herself to stop getting flustered by these dangerous women. It's just something about the way they're amazed, horrified, disgusted, and intrigued at her sheer immensity that activates the oft-indulged part of her brain that gets off to it.
"This- this isn't normal for them." Setri says, stating the obvious. Haalis shivers a bit, fidgeting with her cumbersome legs.
Kor laughs. "I should hope not. I don't care what magic they have here, if they were all as fat as this one, they'd eat themselves into starvation." Her pointed ears are burning up. She needs to get a hold of herself, these women are here to rob her, to kill her- they must have something to do with the sereliquary failing, this isn't a social call, she's their hostage. Their fat, helpless hostage, beached under the consequences of her reckless indulgences.
"Does it have a name?" She's roused from her self-flagellation by a finger on her double chin, her eyes flying open to see Yera smiling down at her.
'Oh Ancestors, forgive me,' Haalis thinks sincerely for the first time in her life. She whines and stutters. "H-H... Haalis..."
Setri frowns. "She sounds exhausted... and she's sticky too." She tries to shake the sweat off the hand she used for that experimental prod. "After just waking up? I knew these people were weaklings, but this is..."
"She?" Kor looks to her battle-sister. "How do you figure that?"
"Don't you have eyes?" Setri insists, suddenly groping Haalis's left tit. Haalis whines and shrinks back, screwing her eyes shut once more as the rest of her flab jiggles softly from the motion.
Kor rolls her eyes. "Men can develop breasts as well. It's not as though its are especially big... for its size." One part of the elf prays they'd stop talking and leave, the other, much more prevalent part of her psyche demands more, more, more.
"If either of you were listening to Haalis, you'd know she's an elf-maid." Yera quips, her voice oozing with confidence. She moves her hand around to cup one of her cheeks, it easily fills the warrior's large hand. Haalis shudders and leans into it without thinking, panting out a submissive whine.
"Using her name? Don't tell me you're getting attached to... this." Setri grabs a hold of some excessive breast fat and jiggles the whole thing around, starting a cascading effect that moves throughout Haalis's whole body. Like throwing a stone into a pond, the lightest jostle billows out to affect her belly, her lovehandles, her hips, thigh rolls, even her calves jiggle.
Yera blows out a small chuckle. "I just might..."
Haalis feels like she's going to go mad.
"It does have a certain... novelty to it." Kor runs her hand down the huge sagging mass of her gut, from up to where her waist starts all the way down to where it droops between her legs. Haalis huffs out a few hot breaths, worked up knowing that Yera is looking right at her face when she does. "Like gold or silver. They're useless, can't be tools, can't be armor... but folk still like to have them, to look at them, if nothing else."
"I wouldn't say I like looking at her... I mean, what a waste, all the food to make her this fat." Setri turns her attentions toward the elf's hip, eyes running down the stacks upon stacks of her thighs to her feet. "Gor's blood, can she even walk?"
Kor laughs, hands pressed into Haalis's fat as she leans over her like a table. "Do you think she'd have stayed in bed if she could?"
"Now you two are making me curious..." Yera says, pulling back her hand- an action which leaves Haalis looking up at her with a dopey look of longing- and standing straight up. "What say we give it a try? See how far she can get. It's only sporting, isn't it~?"
"I came here to haul treasure!" Setri protests. "Not some overgrown pile of fat!" Haalis can't help but let out a whine, fat thighs slapping together as she tries to create any friction between her pillar-like legs. This actually gets Setri's attention. "What was that??"
Yera laughs boisterously, leaning back down to run a hand through Haalis's hair. "She likes it, isn't that right, Haalila?" The whining wobbling girl confirms this with more futile squirming. She can't help herself, even if these women are dangerous, even if they could kill her. It's like she's some indolent creature who only knows grazing and gorging, satisfying her base urges; like livestock, she's always been penned off from anything that could ever harm her or even stand to make her life the least bit uncomfortable. When she sees the predatory grin on Yera's face, she doesn't see mortal danger, she sees herself, a pile of helpless blubber, through her eyes, and the thought of all the things she could do to her only stands to make her tremble.
Kor laughs at the elf's reaction. "Perhaps it would be a compliment to someone like this, to hear what an overstuffed hog they are..."
That one word sends euphoria racing through her brain, Haalis makes no attempt to restrain her moaning this time. Breathlessly huffing and puffing from the exhaustion of grinding up against her own underbelly, she can't voice anything, only think to herself 'more, please, please talk more about what a pig I am!'
Stroking once more through her hair, Yera laughs along with Kor. "I think you're right... she's definitely more fit as a pig than an elf."
Suddenly, a sharp smacking noise rings out as the warrior swings her firm hand down onto Haalis's upper belly. The elf-maid squeaks and looks up at her, desperate pleading in her eyes. She wants more.
The leader of the trio laughs heartily, pulling away much to Haalis's sorrow to confer with her battle-sisters. "Setri, you must admit that she's a far greater prize than gold or silver! Those things just sit around, whereas she could entertain us for hours upon end~"
"She's a unique gem, if nothing else... I've never seen anyone so... hungry." Kor grins down at Haalis's red sweaty face, punctuating her double entendre by teasing her hand up her top thigh roll, inching closer and closer to the damp dark of her underbelly where its obvious they'd find the heated core of her desperate lust. Her whining reaches a fever pitch, her belly, hips, and legs wobble as she jostles them around. There's scarcely a thought in her head right now, just manic begging for release.
Setri still appears skeptical of the elf's value to them. "Seriously? Any one of us could have our pick of women to play with, and you want to toy around with this blob?" The fair-haired warrior watches the dance of Haalis's quivering blubber, up from her belly to her face, and their eyes meet. Setri sets a frown on her face, she almost recoils in disgust. "Quit staring at me, hog!" Of course, the elf takes this rejection quite well; any reminder of how unacceptably fat she's grown is more than welcome, an exotic taste for some, a curious novelty for others, and a repulsive sight for most.
"You're outnumbered, sister." Yera says, laying down the law quite simply. "So lend us your strength, let's lift her to her feet."
To her credit as a sworn sister, Setri does as she's commanded, taking hold of Haalis's left hand while Kor takes hold of the right, meanwhile Yera leans over the bed to push from behind, aiming to get the overfed elf in an upright position. With a count of three, the women heave, grunting but nevertheless quite easily accomplishing what Haalis had struggled in vain to do for herself.
Now sitting up, her pooling breasts and belly sagged forward, pulled toward the bed by gravity. Likewise, great pillows hung from her biceps, but the most startling change was the revelation of her shelf-like rear end, no longer pinned beneath the rest of her bulk.
Yera let out a low whistle, being the first to lay eyes on the twin moons of cellulite that bounced briefly behind her as her flab found its new equilibrium. "Ferga's member, look at the size of those... you could fit four heads to each cheek..."
Kor and Setri take a moment to gawk as well, meanwhile Haalis pants as though the act of sitting up had anything to do with her own exertion. Feeling hands sinking into her ass, she shivers with pleasure, relishing her role as a stuffed doll to these barbarians. But then, she remembers how they wanted to lift her to her feet... she couldn't let that happen. At her size, without magic, that could be seriously dangerous.
"Alright, let's see all of this in motion..." Yera says, cuing her sisters to now help Haalis to the foot of her bed.
Mustering all her breath and all her willpower, she lets out a hoarse cry. "WAIT!!" She wheezes. "PLEASE hff! DON'T!"
The warriors freeze and look at her, Yera smiling. "Ah, so our pila has more to say?" She leans down to meet the elf's eye, chin resting on her pillowy shoulder. "What's the matter, hmm?"
Haalis sucks in air, heart pounding as she tries to compose herself. "You... hff mustn't make, pff, m-me stand..."
Setri scoffs. "Lazy pig, we'll make you do whatever we like!" Even as Yera raises a hand to silence her, the elf bites back a whimper.
"And why not?" Yera asks, her voice gentle and soothing, but laced with cruelty. "You want us to take you with us, don't you?"
Haalis nods with a concerning lack of hesitation, having already resolved to give up her freedom to these gorgeous women. Her higher thinking only kicks in afterwards, and her round face burns with shame at her lack of convictions. She realizes from the broadening grin on Yera's face that this is exactly the purpose of her asking these questions, she wants the elf to debase herself even more. "I-I, hff, I just..." Now she's flustered, she's too embarrassed to admit the truth. That being said, whether the barbarian actually believed she could walk, she's not sure. It could be that this whole thing was a charade to shame her.
Haalis isn't sure what's turning her on more, the fact that she'd surrendered by moaning and whining like an animal, or that she's about to be forced to admit her gluttonous incompetence in her own words.
"What's the matter, Haalila?" That honey-soaked name again, it's so sweet it makes her feel hungry. "Surely you can walk..." And with that glint in Yera's fiery eye, Haalis knows, on a primal level, that she's a wolf who just saw her teeth around a fawn's neck.
She whines, and that should really be all the response Yera needs, and yet she waits, an innocently expectant expression on her face as Haalis screws her eyes shut in embarrassment. "Mnnn... haah, nnn... n-not without... m-magic..." She says, as if that makes it any less mortifying.
Kor laughs, Setri wrinkles her nose up in disgust, but Yera maintains her sweet, unassuming expression that runs so counter to her warlike appearance. "And why's that...?" The other two immediately recognize this killing blow. As if this elf-maid wasn't already theirs by obvious physical right, this would shatter whatever dignity and self-respect that remained in her lust-clouded mind.
Haalis, however, looked at her like she'd been stabbed in the back. She whined and turned her face away. Isn't it enough to see her? To look at what a bloated mockery of an elf she is and know that it's her own greedy gut that has deprived her of something so basically essential to a natural life? Does she really need to admit it? Can't she just go on in blissful avoidance of the truth?
Silence. Yera is still waiting. After long enough, she reaches in and clamps her hand around what passes for a jawline for Haalis, forcibly turning her head around to face her. "Go on... tell us. Why can't you walk?" Her voice sent a shiver down her spine and her wicked grin made her feel so powerless. Because she is powerless. Because she's made herself powerless.
"Hnnn... b-because I'm, hah, t-too fat..."
"And why's that?" Yera continues the line of questioning.
Haalis answers obediently, albeit pouting and whining. "Because... mmmnn..." She huffs, self-consciously gripping the side of her belly. "I'm a pig..."
Yera loosens her grip on her jaw and slides her hand down to her 'throat,' or at least the roll of fat that now encases it. "Good girl~" Her other hand reaches around to grab a fierce hold of as much ass fat as she could manage, fingernails digging into her delicate skin. Haalis whines, releasing short whimpering breaths as she tilts her chins up to present her throat, a display of submission for her new mistress. "Don't worry, pig... Kor knows magic, she can get you down to our wagon... and once we're done looting this place, we're sure to have a great feast... you'll like that, won't you, Haalila?"
Haalis nods urgently. Her stomach even growls, much to the amusement of the barbarians. She hasn't had breakfast yet, after all, and all of this writhing and wobbling has worked up a tremendous appetite.
Yera dips in and plants a kiss on her lips, then against her first chin, and then lets her teeth sink into the pliant flab of her second chin. Haalis squeals, twitches of arousal sending her lower body wobbling in its place on the bed.
The love-bite makes it official, Haalis now belongs to Yera and her battle-sisters. Once a spoiled pig, she's now a spoil of war, though that's not to imply that her days of hedonism are behind her, far from it. If anything, she's going to be indulging more than ever, or at least never working another day in her life. Why should she bother with toil or deep thinking when all she need provide her new society is her overfed body? From this day forward, Haalis will be fed, fondled, and fucked by these barbarians, and for a simple creature of comfort like her, this is all the life she could ask for.