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Abigail's heart rate quickened with every step. Dread weighed on the wolf's soul like the stares from demonic figures carved into pillars that lined the vaulted granite hallways. She was groomed to look as appetizing as could be expected of a farmer's daughter: off white coat oiled to mitigate its sun bleached coarseness, her blonde hair washed for maybe the third or fourth time in her life tied into a prim little bun, and a freshly laundered black skirt and matching jacket that performed admirably in their attempts to restrain her breasts and puffy muffin top.

In her home village, Abigail plowed the fields long after everyone else had retuned home, went days without food so that she might save a pittance of monetary wealth, even taught herself the especially rare and sought after skill of literacy. Years were spent in preparation waiting to take advantage of any opportunity to seize a new life in a place where anyone over the age of 30 wasn't considered ancient. Her work ethic attracted the attention of agents of Castle Corplais on their monthly supply run, and garnered her an invitation to work at the castle itself. Friends and family urged her to decline, as rumors to the effect of 'death by exsanguination at the claws of some eldritch beast' and 'a paltry investment of one year in exchange for fabulous riches' surrounded servitude at the castle in equal measure. After the 15 day carriage ride to the estate, Abigail was disappointed to find dusting and carrying plates banal even at their most strenuous; Three months of the undemanding workload, and generous rations, introduced an extra 50 lbs of bodyweight, a not insubstantial portion of which settled in her breasts and hips. Such conspicuous weight gain begat spurious accusations that Abigail was sneaking extra food from the pantry, and condemned her to a personal audience with the Countess.

The labyrinthian marathon steeped with intent to cast the wolf as a tiny morsel among lurking giants. Indigo banners bled upwards into blackness outside the sparse light of the occasional candelabra, while endless night spread beyond windows that gazed upon mountainous forest. And finally, a midnight purple door, the least physically imposing feature of the hallway in that it was merely 'big', adorned with a golden relief of some bat like monster with bared fangs fangs and a stomach full of those it had devoured, stood vigil like a warning of some malevolent majesty within for which the world was neither prepared nor worthy. The monster advanced as the door opened.

"Ah, how good of you to arrive so promptly." A voice like the first wind of a devastating winter wafted into the hall. "Please, come in." Abigail corrected her posture and entered, the door sealing itself behind her, the shuddering sound of her breath the only sign she hadn't lost all sensation in the absolute blackness. "Oh, my apologies," the voice said from every direction at once. "I so rarely get the chance to entertain, accommodations aren't often a concern." With all the energy of wet paper, a flame sputtered to life inches from Abigail's face.

Countess Vorya Bevimos appirated into being, the brown bat an immaterial shadow visible only as a mask of courtly congeniality. The amethysts affixed to her dress glittered like stars laid over a violet sky just after sunset, and her hair melted seamlessly into the shadows, like she was in the process of condensing into the corporeal. Dehumanizing eyes appraised Abigail, as if the monster sculpted on the other side of the door had come to life and was determining how filling a meal the wolf would make. "Abigail, was it?"

"Yes Mistress." She responded with a hurried curtsey.

"How wonderful to see you in good health." Abigail was bidden to sit in a simple wooden chair at the end of a table lit by a single candle. Once again alone in the impenetrable darkness, she feared for her safety at the approach of a metallic scraping sound, before a platter bearing a shimmering turkey slid into view. The savory aroma of cooked meat required all of her composure to resist. "Please, eat," urged the darkness with ulterior kindness.

Another flame, far away as if at the head of a banquet table, blinked into being as Abigail prepared herself a demure portion. Every noise seemed confined to the circle of light, the effortless draw of the knife through the succulent bird akin to cannon fire. Abigail's first bite into the tender meat filled her ears like an avalanche.

"Is it to your liking?" The Countess asked, distance doing nothing to diminish her volume or presence.

"Yes, thank you Mistress." The meat dripped with a juicy richness, delicious beyond anything Abigail had enjoyed at the regular meals, impeded somewhat by how often she had to turn to her napkin. Her current plate, and perhaps even a second, would have already been finished were Abigail not bound by terrified decorum.

"Wonderful. Then by all means, don't restrain yourself on my account. Feast to your heart's desire."

Abigail tentatively carved herself another helping. A polite nibble revealed a flavor even more potent, and with her napkin ignored, she gobbled the second piece with far less consideration for appearances. She tore off a leg with her bare hands and stripped the bone of meat in a matter of seconds, then descended on the remains of the carcass, swallowing entire bites at a time. In minutes, nothing remained but bones on a silver platter. Realization of her atrocious manners overwhelmed the pain of her loaded gut as grease dripped from her hands and muzzle.

"I- my apologies- I meant to save some, please excuse my thoughtlessness, Mistress." A laugh, rivaled only in richness by the flavor of the recently demolished turkey, drifted from the other side of the table. Hands tipped with talons suddenly rested on Abigail's shoulders, icy coldness penetrating her clothing,, and the Countess's jaded voice spoke directly into her left ear.

"Your consideration is appreciated, but I have requirements of an entirely different nature."

"W-w-what would you ask of m-me, M-mistress?" She stared forward, petrified as the Countess's claws frayed fabric on their way to rest on Abigail's stomach.

"A proposition." She rubbed the taut mass of Abigail's belly with all the silky intimacy of a noose, the wolf's stomach softening under her caress in time with a rising hunger. "I have been waiting for you to... shall we say, achieve your potential. I hoped that with time you would come to it yourself, but I grow tired of waiting." Abigail eeped at something slimy sliding across the side of her face. "I would like for you to attain a weight of 1,000 lbs." The Countess continued after smacking her lips. "If you are able to do so within the year, I shall release you from my services with more wealth than you can currently imagine."

Ravenous hunger gripped Abigail's entire being as she looked into Vorya's veneer of counterfeit empathy, tempted to accept just for the possibility of something else to eat. But promises of future opulence meant nothing if failure brought with it some awful fate.

"And if I am unable, Mistress?"

From beyond the candle's glow, another platter arrived. The sight and aroma of the honey baked ham and sides of green beans caused Abigail to salivate on sight.

"You needn't worry. I'm sure you won't disappoint."

Three months after her acceptance of Vorya's offer, the only significant alteration to Abigail's life was 250 lbs of adipose tissue. Her uniform was no longer an outfit so much as a pressurized container with the wolf oozing out of every opening like vanilla fondant. Despite the constant popped buttons from her struggling belly, despite her breasts' battle for freedom from her undershirt that rendered the garment a mere formality, and despite being one heavy step or slight bend away from shredding her clothing from sheer force of bulk, the promise of pay drove her to be more spry than her listless coworkers. It could even be said she had an increased workload with her nightly reports to Vorya's chamber for second, third, fourth, etc. dinners. Somehow, she was never able to feel fully satiated during these sessions. Whenever Abigail's consumption slowed, the Countess would appear beside her like a ghost, and work some magic through her touch to return Abigail to desperate starvation.

Already stuffed to capacity, Abigail strode into the Countess's tenebrous chamber for their evening ritual. The advent of a candle's weak glow announced the Countess's appearance. She reached her arm as far as possible around Abigail and latched her hand onto one of the wolf's numerous fat rolls.

"Abigail, always a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine, Mistress." Already, Abigail could feel her fullness abate, belly rumbling impatiently.

"Of course, of course." Abigail was led to the gold and obsidian sofa that was her current seat, the wooden chair having splintered under her weight weeks ago. Her ample rump brushed against the arm rests as the first round of hors d'oeuvres, appetizer, salad, main course, and dessert she was to consume arrived. With each finished meal, another appeared to replace it. She inhaled steak and potatoes with all the appreciation of a death row inmate; caviar and pheasant vanished at an inhuman rate while anticipatory glee radiated off the Countess.

Seven rounds in, Abigail stretched and reached, sauces and grease ingrained into her fur and uniform. Courses 36 through 40 taunted her, testament to the Sisyphian task of appeasing Vorya's appetite. Abigail's stomach had finally overpowered her shirt and laid bare her watermelon sized breasts as it bulged around the edge of the table. Monstrous gurgling from her roiling mass drew Abigail's attention to the undeniable lack of space that remained for additional calories.

"Mistress, I *burp*, I can't continue. I, oohhhh, I am sorry."

Though Vorya's countenance remained unchanged, the air in the room grew deathly chill.

"You're already behind schedule, Abigail. It behooves neither of us for you to neglect your obligations now."

Abigail leaned as far as possible, hand sinking into her stomach as she tried to peel the flowing lard out of the way. Her efforts brought her no closer, her discomfort compounded by Vorya's growing impatience.

"Mistress, I can't even reach, and I have no more room-"

"No," Vorya growled as she appeared before the wolf, instantly and coldly furious, "you will continue." A vicious shove sent the couch, occupant and all, skidding away from the table. With an appreciative groan, Abigail looked for the Countess to apologize until she saw Vorya's contorted and monstrous face poised over her belly, claws dug into the plump flesh, jaw unhinged, syringe-like fangs extended hungrily. Abigail held her breath and winced, expecting stabbing pain.

Instead, the Countess buried her face into the pool of wolf blubber, nuzzling and licking violently until the jiggling layers enveloped her head. Hunger spread through every millimeter of the blob of a wolf, and a craving unlike any she had yet experienced assailed her mind with the force of a typhoon, where it fought for dominance with an unwelcome, but not unappreciated, physical pleasure. At the feverish peak of the wolf's desire, the Countess withdrew and glared at Abigail with a malicious snarl only vaguely approximate to a smile. A tray of Blackforest chocolate cake appeared from nowhere, and Vorya rose to look down haughtily at the captive canine.

"You have finished enough dinners. I do believe you are entitled to some dessert." She snarled as she wrenched loose a handful of the confection. "Open. Now." Abigail immediately complied, either from anxious joy or mind numbing terror, and her mouth was roughly filled to overflowing with the the moist carbohydrate. "Chew. Swallow."

Abigail was only able to churn the cake into a semi liquid mush, just enough to swallow, before the barest modicum of space was stuffed again. She guzzled the thick chocolate slurry by the mouthful until there was enough of a pause that she could take a full breath. Vorya straddled her heaving belly and resumed the feeding with a cake with vanilla frosted tiers, any one of which would have been the epitome of the most perfectionist baker's career.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, or how much of the sugary slurry flowed into Abigail's insatiable gut. Each swallow delivered the mush into her expanding depths, though any feelings of fullness vanished as soon as they registered, leaving Abigail desperately vocalizing through the chocolate sludge for more. The Countess reeled with each handful, a rhythmic back and forth that transitioned to lascivious grinding that rippled the surface of the rotund wolf with every thrust. By the time the ordeal was finished, Abigail's face was matted with enough frosting and crumbs to construct an entire extra cake. Vorya hardly looked better, her formerly dignified coiffure dangling in mad strands around luminescent golden eyes with slitted pupils.

Vorya climbed from atop the panting, moaning mountain that was Abigail, and reconstructed her hair to once again appear the perfect courtier, save for a final scornful glance.

"I am weary of your company. You may return to your quarters."

The bottom of Abigail's belly brushed against the cool marble floor as she struggled to stand.

"But, Mistress... my uniform... I'm not decent..."

"The matter will be addressed. Make do for now." The Countess's spat from behind her posturing. "You may take your leave."

Whether by design or good fortune, no one else roamed the halls to observe her return. The giant proportions of the hallway no longer dwarfed Abigail as she sloshed forward like a bowl of pudding, barely able to lift her hindpaws, arms shaking with the effort required to heft her layers of girth so they didn't drag along the floor. Frequent stops gave her ample time to finish the last bits of inadvertently pilfered desserts stuck to her face and consider her situation: if whatever wealth she had been promised would be worth her new physique, what threat the Countess posed if Abigail fell short of her inscrutable goal, if the wiser course of action would be to leave while still capable of movement at all. On her third attempt to rise after indulging in such musings, she decided running was an untenable solution. Immediately upon arrival to her solitary quarters she collapsed into bed, the legs bending under her weight with a tortured squeal, and fell asleep to half formed plots of escape.

Exhaustion from the previous evening weighed on Abigail as much as the additional adipose. She was no less massive than when she left the Countess's chamber, but her stomach had generously opted to disperse its gains throughout the rest of her body. Love handles sagged over the mattress, everything below her waist was concealed by a curtain of flab, and tears where fat poured through like cookie dough ran along the sleeves of her traumatized jacket. Abigail flowed over the bed's edge like molasses and looked to see if the matter of a new uniform had indeed been attended to, only to be greeted by the chipper smile of an unfamiliar squirrel, dressed in an intact version of her own clothing and carrying what looked like enough fabric to replace every banner in the castle.

"Good morning Madame Abigail," he said deferentially, chubby cheeks pushed up towards his round eyes with an ingratiating smile. He resembled a cuddly egg standing at rapt attention, with an unkempt bushy tail only marginally wider than his ovoid waistline. "My name is Friedrich, and Mistress Bevimos has personally assigned me to attend to you in whatever capacity you deem necessary." His eyes darted over her exposed features puddling to equilibrium before they locked steadfastly on her face, an indefinable sparkle within adding extra warmth.

"Good morning, Friedrich." She extended her round hand forward in greeting, and blushed as a new rip appeared in her sleeve. "I don't suppose it would fall under the purview of your duties to assist me in readying myself?"

"Certainly!" Even for the two of them working together, the removal of Abigail's uniform was a laborious effort that made them late for the start of their morning duties. Washing the edible detritus from her fur was less arduous, but Friedrich took such overzealous attention to his task, hoisting panniculi and pushing aside handfuls of Abigail to clean every inch of her he could politely reach, that he only finished by early afternoon. The elegant gown he helped her into was a set apart from the plain servant attire, designed to support rather than contain the wolf's astounding presence, with sensual purples and crimson that wove into each other. Her formless mass was induced to curvaceous roundness, with the glossy 4 foot globe of her belly the clear focus. After a brief struggle between her hips and the door frame, they embarked to accomplish their daily itinerary.

Friedrich was patient and amiable, adjusting his pace to allow for Abigail's hobbled gait. Over the course of the day, she learned he was the son of a baker, instrumental to quality control by sampling a bit of every batch. A year of service at Castle Corpalis, he hoped, would reward him with enough capital to elevate his family's business to local, and eventually national acclaim. For one dreamy day, she felt like royalty. Friedrich only referred to her as 'Madame Abigail', and handled every task to which she would have normally attended at the barest mention. By the day's end he had completed her entire itinerary without her lifting a finger, and accompanied her on her after-dinner sojourn to the Countess's chambers.

"I shall remain here and await your return, Madame Abigail," he said with a bow.

The air in the chambers was its same stagnance, the already lit candle on the empty table the only breach of protocol. Abigail's sides draped over the confines of the couch as she settled in.

"I wish to apologize for last night," Countess Vorya said with cloying humility. "I do hope you can bring yourself to excuse my behavior."

"Think nothing of it, Mistress." Chins compounded as Abigail nodded. "I am at your disposal, to please you as you see fit. Your generous gift is more recompense than I would have dreamed I deserved."

"Yes, that Friedrich is a rather fetching young man, isn't he?" The Countess cocked an eyebrow.

"Is... yes, he certainly is, Mistress." Abigail swallowed uncomfortably at the thought of Friedrich being a 'gift', but held her gaze firm. "He has been an exemplary ward, eager to please. Though I have not known him for long, I believe we will come to be close friends."

"And is that all you would want? A friend?" After several seconds of silence, it became clear Vorya's question may have been more than rhetorical.

"If that would be your wish, Mistress." Abigail's features squished together as she retreated a bit into herself.

"Quite the opposite! I hope the two of you become very close." Vorya flickered into existence at the edge of the candle's wan penumbra, pushing a cart loaded with a menagerie of baked goods. Abigail reached out to begin, but her hand was stayed by icy claws. "My frustration was inequitable. You are lagging in your progress because you were denied my guidance for a significant portion of your time here. The fault for your delay lies with me, and I accept the responsibility of rectifying your discrepancy." The Countess knelt, head bowed, and lifted the flounce of Abigail's gown. "You admit that you are to please me as I see fit?" Abigail's eyes widened and her heart raced, the previous evening still within easy recollection. The anxious nods of her head sent a wave towards the expectant bat. "Then it would please me for you to enjoy the taste of food as much as I enjoy the taste of you."

Inch after inch of dexterous tongue extended from the Countess as she disappeared under the dress and easily navigated the barrier of the wolf's brimming thighs. Abigail's hand shook from the electric tingles dancing up the inside of her leg as she reached for a cupcake. It entered her mouth at the same instant Vorya's tongue entered her. The unexpected intrusion caused Abigail to bite down, and Vorya's tongue twitched in response. Each chew brought with it a lurid wiggle from the fleshy organ rubbing over her clitoris and exploring her insides, occasionally brushing against some tender area that elicited an involuntary shudder from the corpulent wolf. When Abigail swallowed, a jolt ran through her as one of those sensitive spots was treated to a particularly forceful lick.

The pattern was not difficult to discern. The Countess would withdraw her tongue when Abigail's mouth was empty, and insert it again when Abigail resumed eating. The slimy tendril writhed in time with Abigail's chewing: The faster she chewed, the more vociferously the Countess's tongue thrashed inside her; the more she swallowed, the more frequent were the spikes of ecstacy. Abigail was soon shoveling handfuls of sweets into her muzzle at a time, the Countess responding in kind. Moaning around the mass of baked goods propping her mouth open, Abigail bucked her hips in an impotent attempt at agency over her mounting arousal, her every movement mitigated so she was denied any avenue but to consume faster.

For hours, Abigail existed on the perpetual verge of release, one errant stroke away from exploding. The tongue withdrew if Abigail stopped to beg for that final push, and only returned once the wolf resumed shamelessly stuffing her face. No matter how much she whined, mentally pleading with her captor to acknowledge her fervent devotion, the mind numbing pseudo gratification could only accrue. Her initially prodigious gut was now an effigy of obesity, towering over her head as it jiggled over the Countess's dynamic ministrations. All of Abigail's willpower was required to stifle a scream as she swallowed her current mouthful and was once again left desperately wanting.

"Please...! M-mistress, I need... Please..."

"Yes? What is it?" Vorya asked casually and nipped at Abigail's thighs, who huffed as she fought to reassemble the concept of language.

"I can't... I can't take any more, just please... tell me what..."

"Are you not entertained?" The question was saturated with insincere disappointment. "Would you like me to stop?"

"Mistress, please!" Abigail cried as sudden panic focused her thoughts. "Tell me! What would you have me do? I'll do anything, anything! Please, I can't take this any more!" Abigail didn't feel the Countess exit from beneath her overbearing belly, but did feel the nuzzle of a muzzle smeared with her own pungent bodily fluids against the folds of her neck.

"Anything?" After Abigail's wheeze of assent, the door opened with a deafening creak, and Vorya turned to the hall. "Friedrich, we request your presence."

The squirrel entered with overeager alacrity.

"Yes Mistress? You called?" They were all once again plunged into darkness as the door closed itself.

"Indeed. Come closer, dear boy, your charge has need of you." Friedrich approached the circle of light, eyes bulging excitedly as he beheld the pinned and writhing mountain that was Abigail.

"Will Madame Abigail require assistance in returning to her quarters?"

"No," the Countess said as she groped a breast the size of her torso. "I do believe she will be staying here for the foreseeable future."

"Then how may I be of assistance?" He asked, gaze scurrying between the Countess and Abigail.

"I wish for you to offer yourself to her, of course." Friedrich balked, playing out the exaggerated offense decorum demanded.

"I couldn't Mistress! Only if I were gain the consent of Madam Abigail would I even dream of considering it!" Abigail moaned to no one in particular. "Very well then!" The squirrel removed his clothes like they were biting into him and stood naked, awaiting further instruction.

"Excellent!" The Countess ran her tongue along Abigail's throat. "I agree with your assessment of his character, Abigail. Not many would be so eager to allow themselves to be devoured." Friedrich's smile remained, but joy slowly bled out of the expression.

"Mistress? I don't understand, what is it you mean?"

"Abigail requires your assistance to fulfill her obligations to me. Her current size, though impressive, is far from sufficient. She needs more."

Friedrich's professional smile shrank to a thin line of horrified comprehension. He screamed and fled towards the door, before the Countess flew and tackled his chubby body to the ground, his struggles and protests silenced when she sank her fangs into his stomach. Vorya moaned as she drank the fat from his body, and his voice grew weaker until all sounds from him stopped.

"If I recall, the exact words I used to describe his assignment were 'uniting your bodies in a most pleasurable way.' I fear he may have misunderstood my implication." The Countess licked her lips and climbed off Friedrich's reedy shell, the two purple punctures that marred his abdomen on display. He rose like a puppet propelled by some unearthly force and stared beyond the room into nothing, his gregarious and lively personality utterly absent. The Countess, however, beamed with a novel vivaciousness. "I expect he has no further issue."

"What... what are you?" Abigail's blood turned to ice, even as the warmth and pleasure the Countess had instilled coursed through her.

"A vampire, is the answer I believe you're looking for. Your Mistress, is the practical one. Your scent promises a unique flavor I will not be denied."

"You... you're going to do that to me?" Abigail trembled as she looked at the vacant Friedrich. The Countess only laughed.

"Of course not! We made a deal. I promised you could leave after I've had my fill. You could hardly be expected to leave if you were bereft of yourself." She clasped Friedrich's shoulders and shook him. "He merely needed to be educated as to his priorities." She lowered herself to Friedrich's ear and whispered with malicious gentleness. "Madame Abigail is in desperate need of your assistance. You want to serve her faithfully, don't you? To be the one to satiate her hunger. You desire to be consumed. You can imagine no greater joy than to contribute to her beautiful girth, yes?"

"Yes, Mistress..." Friedrich shuffled closer to Abigail, who struggled in vain to rise from the couch and away from the nightmarish procession. "Madam Abigail..." Friedrich droned, "Please... eat me.... swallow me whole..."

"No, Friedrich, please! Collect yourself, you don't want this!" She cried as her paws scrambled against the marble floor.

"I'm afraid it's all he wants." Vorya said as she sauntered behind Friedrich in his inevitable tread. "It's all he's capable of wanting. How could you deny a 'friend' their only request?"

"I want... to be part of you..." The inexplicably intact fabric straining against Abigail's stomach bowed under Friedrich's listless grappling, swallowing him up to the elbow. He kneaded and kissed at the rumbling mass in between muffled mumbles to be allowed to be her sustenance. Eager rumbles from her belly, apparently in agreement with the Countess on what to do with the squirrel, drowned out Abigail's own strangled moans. His manhood slathered the elastic fabric with pre as he ground against her with compelled exuberance.

"Friedrich, please, don't..." Such naked, worshipful adoration ate at Abigail's resolve. Her arms, defiant of her protests, reached out to pull the squirrel in yet closer, falling short by several feet. "I don't want you to-"

"Abigail, you monster!" Joyful sadism was etched into the shadows lining Vorya's face, burning from her glowing eyes like a predator in the night. "How could you be so cruel as to ignore his obvious adulations?" She yanked Friedrich's face out of the wolf by his hair and ran a talon lightly over where he had just been. "If you aspire to a higher class of society, you must learn to accept such attention!" Her claw sliced the smallest of wounds in the garment, which held only a moment before Abigail's stomach exploded out and bowled over Friedrich and the Countess as it expanded to eclipse its repressed proportions. Pinned and panting, Vorya laid in awe beneath the behemoth.

"Friedrich. Divest Madam Abigail of any illusions regarding the depths of your desire."

With mechanical determination, Friedrich buried himself within Abigail, completely entombed between greedy slabs of fat that he rubbed ceaselessly against. He grasped and suckled at handfuls of Abigail, freeing his mouth only to plaintively whine to be eaten. Abigail's resistance eroded, and the unspeakable act required of her grew more palatable as Friedrich's begging and the return of Vorya's lashing tongue once again forced her to the peak of arousal. A quaking mass of blubber and craving, Abigail broke into beseeching wails.

"F-friedrich, would you d-do me the honor of aaaaahhhhh-allowing yourself to b-b-be my meal?" A final shudder announced the release of his seed, which spread throughout the fold containing the squirrel.

"Of course... Madame Abigail..." The die was cast; Friedrich wiggled his way loose and crested the horizon of Abigail's stomach like a dread moon, closing the distance inches at a time, flesh softly collapsing beneath him. When he finally arrived at Abigail's salivating maw, he wasted no time lowering himself in.

"Thank you... Madame Abigail..." Came his final drawl from inside her mouth.

Abigail's jaw stretched to supernatural proportions, and wrapped around his neck with spit slicked lips. A flavor like freshly baked bread and venison flooded her mouth as her tongue danced over him; her throat contracted rhythmically in time with the waves of bliss from Vorya's cunnilingus, drawing Freidrich effortlessly deeper. Her neck bulged as his shoulders passed her collarbones, her mouth sealed around and sucked at his waist. Once past his hips, Abigail threw her head back, and the squirrel sank naturally towards her desirous paunch. Every inch of Abigail's insides were assailed by something squirming, propelling her ever closer towards release. With one final gulp, the squirrel disappeared from the world. Bumps and mounds from his perfunctory struggles faded as the squirrel was digested alive.

The merciless cunnilingus continued, along with the squirming in Abigail's gut, for several more minutes of agonizing denial. Adrift in aimless pleasure, unable to even whine that she had completed what was asked of her, Abigail's world became a rapturous rush of euphoria the moment Friedrich's struggling abated. Feelings of betrayal and satiation, gratitude and shame, were unleashed with an animalistic articulation that reverberated through every corridor. Her beyond morbidly obese body spasmd, a broken and satisfied mind in a constantly roiling bastille of blubber. The ecstacy ebbed as slowly as it had been cultivated; after half an enchanted hour, Abigail lay in the afterglow, her self absent in the soporific stupor. The Countess reappeared, serpentine tongue lapping at Abigail's effluence drenching her face.

"I believe a reorganization of accommodations is in order."

Abigail never left the Countess's chamber. She lounged in a gluttonous haze, consuming endlessly, circumference swelling by feet per day, kept perpetually ravenous by Vorya's obscene worship and frequent forays to her nethers. Within weeks, Abigail's arms became too laden with adipose for her hands to reach her mouth, immobilized by great bunches of fat. Shortly thereafter, a new duty was added to the castle's itinerary.

The once discerning trickle of additions to the staff had grown to a deluge of peasants and persons of noble birth alike. New arrivals quickly learned of the rumors spread among the servants of the man eating beast that dwelled within the Countess's chambers. Daily, men and women were called upon, initially only individuals, eventually teams of two or three, then entire brigades at once, summoned to some unknown fate. Those who returned wouldn't speak of what they had seen. Most never came back at all.

A spry bluebird maintained an upbeat canter on his way to the chambers of Vorya Bevimos. Timothy feared nothing from the hazing he had endured since his arrival that morning: whispered threats of some lethal animal, of missing persons, doors held surreptitiously ajar by more august servants of the castle while they gestured furtively. Timothy shook his head and chortled. In the face of such fierce competition, he would surely look as frightened as they had if he had to fear some young blood that may very well steal his position. More aspirants arrived from adjoining hallways: a frog whose natural slime soaked through his uniform, a Fennec who scarcely came up to Timothy's shoulders, among others. In all, a company totaling seven coalesced at a purple door emblazoned with a terrifying, bat like monster. The door opened, and a sloshing sound assaulted their ears.

"We have been waiting. Enter." An imperious voice commanded.

The group shifted nervously, locked in with the unsettling smacking. Almost as awful was the smell, a cloying mixture of lilac and honey and an open grave. Rows of torches sputtered to life along ringed stories of arches and aqueducts that channeled a shimmering golden liquid into the source of the sound: a massive, formless, gelatinous abomination of some malignant magic or science. It was the size of several cottages, with stacks of billowing flesh that cascaded over themselves and collided with thunderous slams. Those not petrified by the thing turned to flee and were met by a mad beast, the violet tatters adorning her hunched body the only sign she may have once been sane. No longer the poised epitome of courtly manners, Vorya's beastial features radiated feral lunacy.

"You're here..." she rasped. "Good..." An army of carts overflowing with desserts emerged from the caliginous spaces between archways. The bat pointed at the grotesque blob. "Feed." Only seconds passed before Vorya assailed the frog and bit into his stomach, unceremoniously draining him of his liveliness. "Feed!" She commanded, jabbing a finger at the top of the jelly-like hill. A panicked frenzy ensued, entire armfuls of confections collected by those who remained as they raced to the top. Lent fortitude by his terror, Timothy hooked his legs and took to the air with a cartload of delicacies for whatever at the top of the mound so hungered for sweets.

An avaricious maw gnashed at the bottom of the depression. The golden liquid, revealed to be honey upon closer inspection, collected around it in a pool contained by steep slopes that rose to sagging peaks. Timothy froze in midair, unable to comprehend what or even how this thing could be, the payload of his cart ejected by his sudden stop. All manner of cakes and pies rained around the pit at the blob's zenith and were pulled in by the stream of honey that brought all things into the grinding hole. He had a full view when the fennec fox, the first to make the climb, tumbled over the precipice. Hampered by the sticky liquid, she barely had time to scream before the covetous opening latched onto her, the poor fennec disappearing head first into the edacious monster.

Timothy's warning was inaudible over the sounds made by the mountain of flesh. The others rolled down the slopes towards that hideous mouth, clutching at the sides of the pit, pushing each other down in their attempts to escape . Grasping hands clasped onto Timothy's wings when he flew to help, a place in the teeming milieu the only reward for his selflessness. One by one, they were claimed by the voracious opening. Golden droplets flew through the air as Timothy furiously beat his wings, feathers sticking to themselves as much as the spongy walls that brought him closer to the thrashing tentacle that emerged from the hole. Soon, he was the only one left, his talons straddled to either side of the entryway into this thing.

"Disappointing," came a joyfully cruel voice. "I have no need for servants who can't do as they're told." A swarm of confections poured down onto the helpless bluejay. Buried under the avalanche, Timothy screamed in terror as he felt himself pulled inexorably closer. One of his legs fell into the bottomless, undulating tunnel; a rough jerk upset his balance, and the jaws slurped him up to his waist. He pushed frantically away, only sinking deeper into the elastic mass that surrounded him. His progress halted once he had been swallowed up to his chest, and he struggled to keep his head above the surface of the rising pool of honey. His wings pinned in place by the enveloping folds of flesh, muscular contractions urged him downward and sapped his strength. Teeth pressed into his sides, but instead of the creature biting him in two, a plump wad of wet flesh that must have been a tongue slithered into his pants and rubbed against his manhood, the expert motions forcing him to erection. Confusion and arousal flooded his mind as the thing trying to swallow him worked his shaft, and he couldn't fight off his body's instinct to buck against the enticing surface. Several more cartloads of desserts fell upon him, and his grip broke along with his resolve, semen smearing against him as Abigail's experienced esophagus carried him to her crowded gut.

"Tonight..." Vorya murmured, the frantic struggles of Abigail's captive banquet not creating so much as a ripple. "You're finally ready... tonight..."

Abigail did not resemble any living thing: she appeared as a celestial body brought to Earth that melted under alien gravity, an entire lake of fat and blubber, over two hundred feet in circumference, arms and legs completely subsumed within her corpulent folds, her head a tiny speck at the nadir of a pit of bulging flesh.

"You look beautiful, Abigail." Vorya hissed as she stalked Abigail's perimeter, her naked body no less lithe or predatory for all the snacks she had helped herself to while 'encouraging' new arrivals. "I don't believe I've ever had such an opportunity to gorge myself."

"Fank yoo miffweff." Abigail did her best to reply against literal tons of fat squishing her face.

"We've both waited so long. Are you prepared to become my sustenance?" Vorya ran her tongue over Abigail's fuzzy surface, searching for the ideal location to begin her feast.

"Yef miffweff."

With the hesitance of someone afraid to wake up from a good dream, the Countess sank her fangs into Abigail's boundless corpulence. After a tentative sip, an overwhelmed whimper escaped her throat. Adipose flowed freely as Vorya clung to Abigail like a tick, her gulps from the wolf not even making a dent in her titanic stature.

Abigail could feel a light trickle that drained her of the delightful, omnipresent pressure to which she had become accustomed. She remembered it was of paramount necessity that she be massive, but the why only dawned on her when appreciative moans from her Mistress vibrated through her semiliquid shell. She basked in the acknowledgement that finally, she could deliver the salubrious substance her Mistress had desired.

After a day of being fed from, Abigail had shrunk to merely circular, rather than totally without form. Her skin kept pace with her diminishment so that it always stretched around the mass that remained. As the wolf came closer to normal proportions, Vorya's own body became more monstrous. Her once prim coiffure was now a mane that grew past her hips, flowing over sinewy muscles that grew and twitched as she fed from her precious fodder.

After three days, the world Abigail returned to was unfamiliar. Distances beyond her mouth were revealed , movement returned to her arms and legs, the necessity of which she found momentarily perplexing. She deflated enough that she could see some hulking mass of swelling muscle gorging itself on thousands of calories per second. Once again in her toned feminine body, she finally lay at the feet of something giant. Veins traversed the surface of its body, thrumming in time to some unheard rhythm. Its bat like head was miniscule compared to the muscle that bulged with palpable power, exuding an air that inspired submission. It looked down at her like she should be thankful it allowed her to exist in its presence.

"4,812 lbs, every one as delicious as I'd hoped, Abigail." Ropey muscles flexed as she bent down and picked up the wolf as easily as retrieving a piece of paper. "I thank you for your generous efforts." Held like a sack of grain, Abigail's head was squished between a rock hard bicep and a breast larger than she was. "You may take tonight to rest, your reward will be waiting for you in the morning, and you will be free to go."

Abigail was dropped like plaything that was no longer entertaining. The floor rumbled as the Countess lumbered toward the hallway. In her wake, Abigail noticed a tray with a single cupcake.

"Um... Mistress... with your permission... I think I would like to stay."

"Indeed?" Vorya had to turn completely around, unable to move her neck or see over her shoulders.

"Yes," Abigail picked up the cupcake and took a timid bite. "I could never disappoint my Mistress."