It was dusk in the Levite Buckle. The red rays of the suns withdrew from the sandstone cliffs and hills, over the shimmering waters of the Seabelt. To the north were the great mountains and forests of Zaprovov, growing cold and dark as the light abandoned it. To the south, the great savannas and deserts of Yavorov were bathed in pink and red. The main sun, Ceres I, had already vanished behind the great, blue planet which loomed large in the sky. Only the dwarf star Ceres II remained above the embrace of Calric, the gas giant about which the planet orbited. It provided a trickle of twilight upon the land, upon the withered vineyards and drying hills which the cold winds danced about. The suns light had been growing dimmer and dimmer as Calric ventured further from them on its wobbling, erratic orbit. The season of warmth and bountiful harvests was at its end. The Growing was giving way to The Fallow. The wind was chilly, and would only grow chillier, until at last the spell of cold was lifted as Calric drew back to the warmth.

	Nestled among the foothills, painted red by Ceres’ last lights, was a city built over a river delta. It was a great city, built of stone and marble, and it saw trade from all corners of the globe. Chocolates and sugars from the warm Islands of Shcazzar, whose shores hardly felt the frosts of the Fallow. Silks and fish from the Pivic islands, sorted into containers bearing the golden seal of Her Godly Immensity Queen Yamatoma. Enchanted trinkets and charms from the northern Gustalov kingdoms, where stout blonde smiths toil in enchanted forges built into the peaks. Even rare items from the far-off City Spires, whose technology and magic was the awe of the world. All made their way through Levis. But while the city was well-known for its wealth, it was even more well-known for its debauchery and vice. It was known far and wide as Levis the Decadent, and nowhere was this title more apparent than during the Feasting Frenzy.

	Through the streets and halls of Levis, a great, constant commotion pulsated through the city. Men and women of all races and species reveled in the streets, pouring wine and passing out food. Lots of food. Many in the crowd were quite fat, particularly the women. And many were underdressed; indeed, the fatter the woman, the less clothes she wore. This was partially due to the insulation their blubber provided, and partially to show off their accumulated girth. The biggest people in the mob seemed to be getting the most attention, with revelers gleefully massaging and playing with fat bellies and bouncing tits. Some groups, in the throws of pleasure, openly fornicated upon the ground, unashamed of their public setting.

	The commotion and revelry only grew more intense the closer one got to the Royal Palace. Banners flew from it’s marble heights, as the grounds were covered in massive tables laden with food. The air was warmer, as the palace seemed to radiate heat and light. Glowing orbs, suspended in the air, drifted over the courtyards, illuminating the thongs of people filling themselves with food and drink. Naked women, their round bellies wobbling, grabbed handfuls of fluffy pastries to pack into their fluffier bodies. 

	But despite the revelry happening outside the palace, it was nothing compared to what was happening inside! The most elite, selective group, personally invited by the Prince himself, had gathered in the great hall.

	It was a massive space of golden-hued marble, veiled with smoke from countless hookas. All around was a great writhing, opulent mass of men and women of all sizes, races, and species!

	Leaning against a pillar, an obese woman popped a chocolate into her mouth with one flabby hand. She was completely naked, her soft white rolls visible for all to see. Her white wavy hair hung down to her shoulders. Clutched in her other hand was a leather leash, attacked to the collar of a thin woman in a red and gold bikini. The thin girl lounged on the fat woman’s immense belly like it was a cushion, gently playing with the soft, billowing body of her partner. She took a huff of hooka, and reclined further into her lover’s bulk.

	Nearby, a stout Gusiv woman was bent over a marble table. She was a merchant, who was quite well to do and respected. At the moment, she was utterly degrading herself. Her ivory midsection oozed over the counter, like a great ball of soft, warm dough. She was stuffing rich chocolate cake into her mouth at a frantic pace, making great moans of pleasure. A slender man thrust into her wobbling pale behind, gripping her rolls of belly fat. 

	“nmph, yeees. Stuff your big, fat pig” she moaned, and then pointed her finger at a small tart. The treat leaped into the air, and the woman directed it into her eager mouth. 

	Her lover gave a final thrust and she gave a final moan of satisfaction. 

	On the ground by the degraded merchant a chubby woman was on her knees. Her ears were long and pointed, and her eyes glowed with magical energy. From a glance, one could tell that she was naturally thin: her arms and legs were still lithe. A large man with strong muscles was behind the elf, his left hand caressing her face while his right held his erect penis. The elven woman tilted her face up and opened her mouth as the servant girl in front of her lowered a cluster of grapes into her eager mouth.

	To the left of the threesome was a massive Pivic man on a sofa. He had cream-colored shin, shining black hair, and narrow eyes. He was a warrior and athlete in the sport of Pivic Grappling, and was surrounded by a throng of adoring fans. As he took a great bite of roast meat, a slender auburn-haired woman rubbed his belly. Another girl was nuzzled in his muscle-dense arms. She had two soft, fuzzy ears on her head, poking through her pink hair. A furry tail swished back and forth as she alternated between eating and cuddling. A chubbier girl brought the Pivic man another plate of food, carved fresh from the roast mammoth near the center of the chamber. 

	A sharp crack of leather broke through the air, and the Pivic and his girls turned their head. About ten feet from them, an immensely fat woman was on the ground on all fours. A metal trough had been placed in front of her, from which she greedily guzzled thick cream and pastries. Another girl stood over her, yelling commands and smacking her moon-sized behind with a whip.

	Nearby, a crowd had gathered around a slender woman who seemed to have swallowed a cow whole. She had red hair and dark skin, and her tattoos marked her as one of the Zymic peoples. The woman’s belly was a massive sphere, which had to weigh more than the rest of her body. And yet she continued to wolf down bowls of soup and strips of mammoth. A team of men and women massaged her stomach, awing at its vast girth. Many had never seen a Glous, as this strain of mutants was known. She had been eating all day, and would continue eating well into the night, her belly swelling even further.

	As the woman downed another bowl of soup, Prince Zelon smiled. He sat in a golden throne, hard and unyielding. He preferred it that way, to contrast with the softness of his women. His pink hair indicated his ancestry lay in the Spire-Cities to the west, as such striking hair colors resulted from the generations of genetic and magical tinkering that their Scientist-Priests had conducted on the population. Prince Zelon’s line had been unscrupulous merchants and privateers, exiled from the Spires for some long-forgotten crime. Several generations ago, they had ousted the former dynasty of Levis and taken control. 
The Prince picked up his goblet of wine. The Glous girl he was staring at was one of his concubines, and he had a special fondness for her gastronomic feats. 
 But she didn’t put on weight well. Unlike Zula…

	The Prince turned his attention back to the woman in the center of the room. She was massive in girth and height, a great blob of adipose-rich rolls. Her skin was fair and silky soft, courtesy of the legion of servants who tended every inch of her body. Her orange hair was held back by an ebony hairband, and hung down in shiny strands to her chest. Her feet hung helplessly from her fat-swollen legs. She sat upon nothing but her immense posterior, each cheek the size of a sofa. Her belly, two great oozing rolls of flab, spilled across the floor. Her bare breasts, each the size of a large man, drooped down. Her arms were engulfed by fat. Even if she could move them, her wrists were shackled with gold manacles, which hung them in the air (at the Prince’s own request, as he found it arousing)

	Even if she was not so immensely fat, the woman would have been massive. She was a Gargant, a breed of giant people from the north. When she had married Prince Zelon she had towered above him, his face barely coming to her fluffy breasts. She had still be quite fat then, much to the Prince’s delight. 

	Zula wiggled her fingers, and the smears of blueberry pie around her face were wiped off as if by an invisible hand. They hovered in the air for a moment, before the crumbs and jelly compacted into a little ball and floated to her mouth. She giggled, causing her massive body to wobble.

	“C..careful my lady!” called a voice from her right breast. Perched perilously upon her bulk was the Royal Feeder Darus. One of Prince Zelon’s lessor cousins, he was a slender, muscular man with cyan hair and tanned skin. His bony knees were poking into the soft pink cushion that was her right thigh. His chest was splayed across her breast, as his arms held the plate of pie. “Don’t burn through your energy while we’re still bulking you up.”

	The Princess giggled. “Darus, look at me. I’m already the size of a whale and there’s still so much more food to go! I can burn a few calories doing some magic tricks. I mean, I am already keeping the building warm.”

	As if to illustrate her point, Zula sends a glowing stream of energy through her shackles and into the stone of the building. 

	The Prince watched on as his wife devoured the pie, grinning lustfully. During the Growing Zula insisted that she remain mobile and at a relatively small size. But during the Fallow, like most others, she would gain weight in preparation for the long cold. But she wouldn’t gain just the coating of fluff that most commoners would. As part of their wedding vows, Prince Zelon had got her to agree to be fattened to immobility during the Fallow. 

	Darus carefully brought another slice of piece to the Princess’s mouth, which she greedily began eating. Getting enormously fat during the Fallow was what most rulers did. After all, they needed immense amounts of energy to cast the spells which allowed their people to survive the Fallow. Her aunt, who had been a queen in one of the major northern kingdoms, would get so fat during the run up to Fallow that she had to be rolled into the great hall by a team of 12 servants. Gargant servants at that! And yet, every time the Fallow broke, she’d come out rail thin, her adipose tissue burned away by spellcasting.

	Princess Zula swallowed the mouthful, feeling it slide down her throat into the gurgling mass of digesting food buried deep under her fat rolls. Prince Zelon looked on, transfixed by her enormity. He was sure to drink in every last detail: the way the Princess’s rolls slapped against each other. The beads of sweat that dripped down her supple skin. The great roll of fat that framed her head, her neck buried by her flab. He wished to leap up from his throne and sink into her great jelly belly, thrusting into her endless soft rolls.

	The Royal Feeder had reached the last slice of pie. Perilously perched atop her right breast, he lifted it closer and closer to her mouth. Zulas eyes were focused on the sugary sweet treat. Her mouth opened: it was large enough to fit the entire slice in whole!

	Darus slide the slice between her lips, feeling her hot, moist breath pass across his hand. However, as soon as his finger had finished pushing it into her mouth, his knee slipped against Zula’s well-oiled and sweaty skin. 

	Darus tumbled forwards, landing on Princess Zula’s upper belly. He slid down, frantically trying to find some hold. His hands scrabbled across her warm dough, but she was too slippery to find purchase on. Darus rolled off her belly and fell towards the ground. But, just as he was about to hit the hard, cold marble, he stopped in place, frozen in the air.

	Princess Zula gently lifted him into the air, sparks of magical energy dancing about his body. “Now now Darus, be careful! How am I supposed to plump up if my Royal Feeder breaks his neck?”

	With that, Darus was perched on the Princess’s shoulder, sinking comfortably into her flab. “Besides” continued Zula, “I think you’ve earned a rest.”

	Prince Zelon leap up from his throne. “But, Zula, you need to keep eating! The Fallow is upon us, and I want at least another four hundred pounds on you!”

	Suddenly, Zelon realized that he was being lifted in the air! Zula giggled again as she floated her husband onto her right breast, a plate of puffy pastries floating to meet him. “Of course my Prince! But I think our dear Royal Feeder has earned a respite for all his hard work. Besides, don’t you want a turn?”

	The Prince smiled as he realized what his wife was doing, and he picked up a soft chocolate eclair.