| >> |
No. 6298
Alright, then here you got Fat thread. A tiny bit of prose featuring a fat General Crazytits being a horrible person, hidden behind spoiler text for being ideologically unsound.
Warning sirens and red strobes lit up the deep bowels of the giant cruiser. A panic seized up every crew member, as the words that came scratched over the radio were always the biggest emergency the entire staff of the whale-shaped submersible ever faced. One girl gulped, though the lump in her throat remained. Another fell to her knees, not sure whether to sob or just faint. The words repeated a second time. They hoped that it would not screech out a third.
"Feed the Queen! NOW!!"
Atop the massive former war ship, sat General Frida Mofette, herself so enormous with fat she made the entire steampunk vessel creak and warp under her enormous ass. Now that the battle was over, she was awarded it to do with it as she saw fit, while the Prince returned to his home to work on what needed to be done. And what General -now Queen- Mofette had decided was that she would rule its staff with an iron fist, indulging in every hedonistic desire she's ever felt. It was only natural: with the Prince gone, she was the only thing on the entire ship with a spine.
Nervously, four near identical staff members, girls who used to command the armaments, now lugged a massive hose up Mofette's glistening sweaty body. It was hard going, with how excessively slick with sweat and saliva her body was, like climbing a well greased mountain. Some of them might have agreed a mountain was less daunting than their boss. Cresting the top of the sagging breasts, they reached her face, a puny dot with more chins than they cared to count, and a villainous shark's smile. They pushed the over-sized nozzle over their boss's lip. It was a bloated bottom, comprised almost of pure fat, and likely had more weight to it than these four girls combined. It sloshed and jiggled ceaselessly, as one girl stammered an order to release the valve.
Suckling like an infant, Mofette's mouth soon filled as she rapidly gulped down the contents of the rich meal. Pulled straight from the sea itself, it was a puree of obese oceanic life. Schools of fish, tons of sea water, whales by the pod... all mixed together into a thick soup that was the General's primary source of sustenance. Her body quivered, and she grew again. The four immediately reached for their shoulder bags to put on gasmasks and other air filters... not that they did little good with how sea food and Mofette's digestive track got along.
Shuddering violently, Mofette vented gas like a deep sea volcanic trench. The sky itself darkened as the thick green fog enveloped everything about her and he puny warship-turned-yacht for miles around. Her eyes rolled in her head as her jagged smile was that of a woman who was clearly and expressly enjoying herself. Deep, sloppy violent expulsions of swampy, toxic gas blasted from Mofette with almost a prideful sort. Her mouth had moved during this cacophonous din, but her vile farts were so powerful that none of the service maids could even hear her demand. The sloshing, bloated lip's quivering again, as new untold gallons of drool washed over it only meant bad things for them, but they had no clue how right they were this time.
Almost deftly, her powerful loaf-like arm scooped them closer, as her massive mouth yawned open, the drool tide getting worse... and it was too late as they vanished into the darkness of Frida's all consuming maw, and far too late before the screaming four realized the words their "Queen"'s flopping lip had uttered were an order they might have read:
"I'm still hungry! Feed me MORE!"
|