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Winterlied's Guest
🕑 Added 2021-10-31 20:48:26 +0000 UTC(Disclaimer: Any acts of transformation, expansion, or mental altercation have been consented to by the owners of the characters affected. Any acts depicted are meant as explorations of the fetishistic psyche, hold artistic merit, and are compliant with the TOS of Patreon).
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Commission for CynicalGage
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Prologue
The master of the manor held a frozen grape between his fingers. It thawed slowly from the heat of his hand. The liquid inside slowly leaked under pressure from his index finger and thumb, and darkened his satin glove with its clear juice. He squeezed to shatter the still frozen part of the grape, and commanded what was left to burn away. It did as it was told and ignited in blue flame. Everything on the island acted in accordance with its master's wishes. From the dirt to the servant who staffed his manor, there were no exceptions. They would obey.
"You know, Leopold. People often wonder. If natural grape juice is clear, then how is red wine made? It's a deceptively simple answer. The skin, and the pulp. They're all crushed up together, and that's what gives wine and what most consider 'grape juice' its colour."
An elderly man in midnight black attire, trimmed with silver, approached to refill the glass of his master. The wine he poured was a pale shade of blue. When held to the light swathes of silver appeared and disappeared, like floes of mist on the ocean's surface.
"Ah. Thank you Leopold," the master of the island inhaled the aroma of the wine. "Properly aerated, and just the right temperature. You never fail to meet my expectations."
The two sat on a terrace facing the open ocean, lit by a simple candle arrangement by which the master had eaten his supper. He dabbed the flecks of red from his lips with a cloth and returned his focus to the waters. His attention was fixed on a boat in the distance. Too far for human eyes to perceive.
"Among the thieves who think they have slipped my notice, who of them can meet my expectations as you have, Leopold?"
"A man named Thomas. His soul is exceedingly human. In all the ways your own was, my grace."
The master took a sip. "Ah, humanity. Such a tumultuous, unpredictable thing. Saints and sinners of both extremes, they come from the humans lot so frequently."
He raised his free hand and touched on the fabric of the world. The invisible weave which dictated everything from the sky to the soil became clear to him. He tugged on the strings which could upset the sea, and then played a note to make the clouds swell with indignation. He birthed a storm, far to the north, and then relaxed into his chair.
"Have the Ferryman pick up dear Thomas, let his beasts have their pick of the crew."
"As you command, Master Winterlied."
Part 1
Tom attempted to scream for help but the only thing which left his mouth was a stream of bubbles. The precious air he needed to survive ascended to the surface, as he fell deeper. Into waters so black they suffocated him, and luminous shapes darted past him to the drowning cries of his fellow sailors. He saw one shape, something between shark and serpent and things he didn’t want to acknowledge, swim past him to snap mandibles around the captain’s neck. The creature looked at him, too many eyes, too many fangs, and tongues, and parts which neither shark or snake should possess by nature’s decree. His mind was overwhelmed by gore and asphyxiation, and everything turned black.
His dreams were a limbo of grey landscapes. He walked at the bottom of the sea, both of his feet were planted on a smooth dirt road on the ocean floor. Tom looked around for any signs of life, someone who might be able to tell him where he was. He eventually came upon a lit area down the path, which ended in a pile of treasure. Gold, silver, copper, jewels and oaken chests overflowed with expense. The light came from blue-flame torches, held by sconces that were held by thin air. He approached the treasure, his fears assuaged by the wealth in front of him. Tom stood furtively on the pile of coins and reached for a silver ring, with a square cut sapphire that gleamed just for him.
Until a hand burst from the treasure to grip his wrist. A skeletal appendage that was too sharp and claw-like to be human, its bones covered in a layer of blue slime that froze the blood in Tom’s wrist. He opened his mouth to scream.
“AAAAAAAAH!” He bolted upright in an unfamiliar bed, and frightened a short man seated beside him into falling off his chair.
The squat man was unremarkable. He had a smooth face, a short crop of white hair, and small weasley eyes. He was dressed in expensive clothing, Tom noticed. The sort you only saw people in European countries wore for ceremonies. His puffy white cravat, red and silver coat, and knee breeches. He scurried out of the room slamming the door behind him, shouting for someone named Leopold, asking him to alert the master of the island. They continued talking, but Tom couldn’t comprehend it. The vision of that transparent hand tight around his wrist kept him in a cold sweat.
Tom pulled the covers off, and thankfully found himself dressed. He was thinner than he remembered. The taffeta robe they dressed him in hung loose, and he lamented the absence of his belly. He looked around, opened a few drawers, and checked under the bed for anything which could serve as a weapon. When he found nothing serviceable he decided he would try to sneak his way out of the building.
A whooshing noise made Tom turn his head towards the bed. The sheets were levitating, flapping themselves and pressing themselves flat. Phantom hands fluffed the pillows and drew the curtain over the canopy bed, while Tom had to stand there and question everything he knew about the paranormal. And over a presence MAKING THE BED, of all things.
“You will have to pardon Dolores. She is an excellent housekeeper but often too quick, the type to take your plate if you set it on the table for even a second. Most troublesome when you’re trying to savour your pudding slowly. But don’t hold that against her, I’m sure she would be most fine with you returning to bed if you require more rest.”
Tom felt the familiar chill from his dream. He wheeled around to see the fattest man he had seen in his life. His skin was pale, though still flush with life. He wore his long black hair in a ponytail fixed with a sapphire encrusted ring, the same ice blue as his eyes. He stood in front of a door that was half his size, making Tom wonder how such a blimp could have passed the threshold without him hearing it.
“I take it the robe is comfortable?” He asked while he raised a white gloved hand, and pointed at the taffeta robe Tom had been dressed in while he was unconscious. Wait, unconscious?
“I… drowned.” Tom said, realizing he should be dead.
The man’s eyes lit up. “Mm, are you hungry?” He ignored Tom’s declaration and approached. He could have easily filled a horse-drawn carriage to capacity, and still had enough girth left over to overflow it. He wore a blood red coat like the squat man who had sat by Tom’s bed, but far more ornate. It was trimmed onyx black at the edges, punctuated by golden buttons. He wore silk breeches that reached his fine, gold-heeled boots. Everything about him screamed opulence. Tom was unsettlingly reminded of the treasure from his dream.
Tom had to take several steps backward, almost pressing himself to the wall, just to meet the man's gaze. He was only a head taller than him, but so enormously fat. He took each step in stride like his gravid bulk was light as air. Every inch of him was covered in mixtures of silk and satin and even finer materials Tom couldn't recognize. He was like a living hot air balloon painted by a master painter, the clothes so intricate and detailed, and skin tight.
"Did you sleep well?" He asked in a voice like dark chocolate. Sharp, deep, and luxuriously rich.
Tom felt envious of the man's gravitas. He let his mind wander, and just for a moment, imagined himself in his clothes; a fatter, wealthier, more confident Tom. Bigger than life.
"Oh dear, are you still feeling out of sorts? If you wish, I can have my physician give you a follow-up inspection, he was the man who ran screaming when you woke," he spoke again, looming closer. Tom could see his own reflection in the golden buckle that fastened the man's belt. It was nothing short of a miracle that someone could craft a belt sturdy enough to hold his waistline back.
Tom squinted. He looked awful. Dark circles, messy hair and he was painfully thin. The only thing that kept him from looking like the undead was a silk robe, probably provided by his mysterious benefactor.
"Who are you?" Tom asked.
The man took a step back again, allowing Tom to see past his fatness. He showed his teeth, the incisors sharp and gleaming. His plump cheeks creased with a devil's smile.
"I am Lord Adalbert Winterlied, and you, Thomas, are my latest novelty."
Tom felt a chill run down his spine. "Your what?" Had he misheard him? He had been in a shipwreck, he was likely concussed. So it was entirely possible he wasn't well enough to hold a conversation. The whole scene, the size of the man especially, might have been a dream.
Adalbert lifted his cane and poked it into Tom's chest. "You died in that shipwreck. Metaphorically speaking. If not for my intervention, you would be a meal for the monsters beneath the waters of my island."
Tom felt the cane press hard against his ribs. It was a visceral feeling. It was real. This wasn't a dream.
"So. As I now own your life, I own everything else about you. Flesh and soul," he said.
Tom stood paralyzed.
"But there's no need to worry. I sense a kinship in you. Perhaps you aren't aware of it, yet, but you're just as greedy as I am. And I'm going to ensure you learn to enjoy it. Now wash up and meet me downstairs, for supper."
Part 2
Tom should have opened the window in the room he awoke in and scaled the side of the mansion. It would have made more sense than what he actually did.
He sat alone in a dining hall lit by what felt like hundreds of torches. They were warm and orange, not the cold blue phantasm fires from his dream. Their heat made him sweat, or maybe that was the anxiety he felt being seated in a stranger’s home, on a strange island, in strange waters. He wasn’t sure if a mixture of drowning and discomfort was meant to make a person feel hungry, but he was starving. He eyed the empty table in front of him with want.
“Apologies, Thomas.”
Adalbert entered from the opposite side of the room. The doors were wide enough to admit him, just barely. He wore the same outfit as before and somehow it looked tighter, like he had gently inflated in the thirty or so minutes between their last meeting. Tom kept expecting it to burst off, and for Adalbert to just grow unabated, like a burst dam letting out the flood. But no, the outfit held. Though Tom couldn’t shake the image of himself wearing it.
“Why am I here?” Tom asked, his throat catching.
Adalbert stood behind Tom, and put his hands on his shoulders. He massaged them gently and leaned forward. “Because I think you and I are one in the same, Thomas. You have an appetite to you, that’s why you joined the thieves' expedition to rob my island of its precious treasures, isn’t it?”
Tom remembered. He was bored of his job back in America. He was tired of having to budget just to enjoy more than instant meals, or to be able to run the heating at his comfort in the winter. He was tired, sick, of having worked his whole life without anything to show for it. So he signed himself up for a voyage that promised him riches, a desperate move, he reflected.
His time aboard the thieves’ ship was unpleasant. He got a black eye on the first day, a broken wrist on the second. That prompted him to check his wrist, the one which had frozen over in his dream. A layer of frost lay on the skin. Adalbert brushed it, almost lovingly, with his index finger. “My physician healed your fracture while you slept, by borrowing some of ‘my’ power. I’m told that when someone uses magic to mend a sleeping patient, they can experience odd dreams. Tell me. How did you see it?”
“A hand made of blue slime, with a sharp bone-like claw inside of it, reached up and gripped me.”
Adalbert chuckled. “Ah, so your mind is sharp. Your human instincts tried to warn you of the ‘dark’ magic entering your system.”
The torches turned blue. This time, Tom wasn’t afraid of their cold light, he welcomed its familiarity. “The ship was awful,” he confessed. “They had only taken me on because they planned to ransom me later,” he watched the plates fill up with food. “They were going to trade ‘my’ life for money. So I wanted someone to save me.”
Adalbert whispered into Tom’s ear. “And so I did. Now, eat. You must be famished.”
Tom’s hunger was an unchained beast. It took control of him, making him grab whatever he could from the table. He took a leg of what he thought was chicken, bit into it, and its juices exploded into his mouth. His clothes tightened within seconds of the first bite, returning his natural plumpness and forcing his body to go beyond it. “They were monsters,” Tom said between mouthfuls of tender, succulent leg meat. A blue liquid dripped from the corners of his mouth.
“I went hungry. Painfully hungry. I wanted to do something, I wanted to be less powerless,” he sunk his fingers into the crust of a pie that warmed his hand as he mashed the filling into his mouth. The purple berry filling splattered over the red waistcoat he had been gifted by Adalbert, it was more expensive than anything he’d worn in his life, and he was staining it because he was too hungry to eat with anything but his hands. He didn’t care. He felt the buttons strain, and snap, one by one.
Freshly grown rolls of fat poured out, his stomach was thrice its size from when he was healthy and only growing bigger. It wobbled like pudding, but grew like a gigantic undercooked pastry that was constantly being pumped fuller, and fuller with cream. He grabbed at his own corpulent flesh, and pulled it back and out of the way as it impeded his ability to reach for more sustenance.
“More, more!” He tried to reach forward but was denied by the hill of his own body which spread out in front of him. His love handles had expanded too thoroughly to let him get up from his chair, he was wedged in place. “I need to eat, if they are going to hurt me, I’m going to become more of a monster than them!”
Tom’s eyes flashed blue.
He saw the food in its true form. Everything now looked like it had been crafted from blue slime, but it was no less appetising to him. He stared deeply into the cake set tauntingly in front of him, and in the jelly-like consistency, he saw the wailing face of the thief captain. His stomach growled, and his teeth sharpened like a shark’s. “I need to eat, I need to eat HIM.”
Adalbert laughed. “Oh, Thomas. I knew you were a keeper. You’re just as monstrous as me! Tell me, do you realize that you’ve been eating their souls, mm? All those nasty, dirty, wicked souls who would do you harm are trapped in that fat gut of yours.” Adalbert leaned on Tom’s expanse, like a gossiping schoolgirl waiting for a juicy piece of information.
“I don’t care,” Tom said. “It’s what they deserve. Now FEED ME!”
Adalbert willed the blue-ooze cake, and the entire banquet, to fly into the air. He closed his hand into a fist and merged it into one gigantic sphere of ooze. Its sheen was enough to make Tom drool and unhinge his jaw, widening the dimensions of his mouth until he could almost wrap his lips around the horse-sized orb.
Tom settled for biting it in half. He swallowed it and roared. His face grew an extra chin, and his cheeks blew up like balloons. He kept eating. He kept swelling. His breasts were full and overly full, each the size of giant pumpkins and leaking blue from the nipples. He should have stopped, some moral part of him told him this was wrong, but he denied it and washed it down with the other half of the sphere.
His stomach stopped spreading out, and began to firm up. Like a deflated hot air balloon regaining its air, the yards of fat rose up and took on a semi-spherical shape. Jagged lines like stretch marks painted in glowing blue paint raced across his gut. “W-wait, no, I need to hold them inside of me! I need to eat ALL of them! Stop, wait, wait, no!”
Adalbert sighed. “Ah, eyes bigger than your belly. No need to worry, this happened to me a few times before I got the technique squared away.”
Tom was horrified by his belly which continued to rise up, above his head, and back towards him until he was being smushed into his chair by his own squealing gut. It made a sound like a tea kettle boiling, the whining pitch growing higher, and higher. Tom roared in anger, trying to command himself to stop expanding, but it did nothing. He drowned in his own belly, seconds before the glowing stretch marks opened, and his entire body exploded. He splattered the walls with gallons of blue ooze, while Adalbert laughed in amusement.
“Ah, your first self-inflicted bursting. Don’t worry, dear Thomas,” Adalbert scooped up a handful of blue slime. “Once we put you back together, I’ll be sure to teach you how to ‘properly’ feast on the souls of your enemy.”
