"I thought we were trying to avoid too much undue attention.” Ramira crossed her arms under her best, pressing into the top slope of her bulging gut in a way that emphasised the size and softness of both with the way her breasts draped over her fat arms, while her flab visibly squished down to make space for her arms. She watched his eyes flicker down just for a moment in acknowledgement, Ramira resisting the urge to curl her lips into a smug smile of satisfaction.

“I thought that I was a delicate flower, to wilt in the sun should I go on such an arduous journey.” Ramira tested him. Arduous indeed, to spend the whole trip in his carriage without having to walk so much as ten steps between the carriage and whatever accommodations he booked at the other end. Although she was starting to become quite the social butterfly when it came to inviting others over, she’d had precious little in the way of going over to other abodes, citing her supposed poor health as an excuse, and as a result this would be her first trip as Lady Ashbourne, should she agree to go on it.

“Then it will show to all the depths of your love and devotion to your husband, to make such a voyage despite your delicate constitution.” Cedric reasoned easily. “A well-timed trip, while you’re feeling better than usual, and afterwards we could say that it took so much out of you that you aren’t up for another, should it come to that.”



“Well, I suppose I shouldn’t leave my poor husband out in the cold.” Ramira shook her head, her long blonde hair’s braids shaking gently, reaching down to the mid of her back and destined to grow far longer to support the elaborate hairstyles she’d soon grow a fondness for after experiencing the variety of styles the noble court wore during their upcoming trip. “Just this once, as a trial run. The lords and ladies deserve to see that you do in fact have a lovely young wife, one that you would surely miss dearly were her health to take a turn for the worse. And perhaps my health is looking up at this time of year, enough to do a spot of travelling.”

In reality, Ramira just wanted to play hard to get, and had no intention of refusing his invitation. She quite agreed with him that it was time for her to make her debut in high society, and really show off those dresses she’d had commissioned for herself, not to mention get all the juicy gossip she needed to show off to the noblewomen back home.

She already had her responses all ready to go for if he gave up. She’d make a big show of sighing, putting her hands on her hips, and telling him fine, she supposed she could concede to him just this once, to make sure that she was upholding her side of the bargain. Sadly, he’d made too convincing of an argument, as she’d expected of her husband.

“I’m sure Lady Greenwood would testify that you’re full of energy.” Cedric grinned the grin of one who knew that he’d hear the answer he wanted from the start, and discussing it was mere ceremony. “I appreciate your grace and understanding, my dear wife.”

“Of course.” Ramira said smugly. After all, he was the one dependent on her, in the end. A handsome, charming, intelligent man like him being without a wife would be immediately suspicious, anybody could take one look at him and know that he could have any wife he wanted within a week, and that it was downright suspicious if he didn’t have one already. All the more reason she needed to make sure that she was obviously his first choice, to convince them (and him, she thought even more privately) that she was necessary for his lifestyle.

“I’ll make the preparations, milady.” Sophie chimed in with a quick curtsey, having remained silent for the rest of the conversation. “And I’ll prepare the maids for the running of the house in our absence.”

“And I suppose you’re coming along to make sure I don’t run off?” Ramira said, turning like a luxury liner to face the head maid.

“Milady will do no running on this trip.” Sophie said calmly and without a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “It would be most unbecoming of a lady of your status to scurry about like a startled hen, and surely a lady of your constitution would be uninclined to swiftness.”

“You need not worry yourself so, Sophie, you silly girl.” Ramira said with more confidence. She’d thought that Sophie was a clever girl, a partner in crime to Cedric, but as of late she’d found herself looking down on the maid, finding her suggestions of how she should handle herself as a lady quite unnecessary by this point. These days she just stated the obvious, instructing her on things she was already going to do, and the fact that she was still worried made Ramira suspect she was a bit slow. Why, she hadn’t even caught her meaning, and taken her literally!

“Of course I’d do nothing of the sort, it was simply a figure of speech.” Ramira was forced to explain. “Me, running? Perish the thought. Moreover, the exertion would ruin my hair and makeup.”

Ramira needed no reminding that her stamina was next to zero. Long gone was the soldier who could march for days and be ready for skirmish at a moment’s notice, drained away by months of idleness and indulgence, taking a scant few hundred steps per day at most. Simply going on a stroll through the garden was enough exercise for a week for her, and it was likely only to get worse as the rest of her term with Cedric expired. Ramira wasn’t much worried about what she’d do after her allotment with Cedric was over, figuring she’d use whatever of Cedric’s money she had in store to sail off to some distant shore and perhaps live as a wealthy merchant, delegating the hard labour to subordinates while she sat back and sweet talked noble customers who could afford her keen eye for expensive goods. A nice, cushy job that didn’t require much physical activity, having decided that her soldiering days were well past her.

She’d initially thought that she’d lose the weight once she was back on the move, but as time passed she saw more and more of the advantages of keeping it. Her pursuers would be looking for a slim, scrappy young man, not a plump person of refinement, whether that be man or woman. And she was leaning towards remaining a woman, as it would solve her disguise problems by default, portly or not. At this point, the idea of returning to manhood was an odd thought. How was she supposed to have men fawn over her and praise her for her beauty if she became a man again? What she wanted from other women was their respect and admiration, not their attraction.

And of course, if she remained a woman, that was even more reason to not return to the mercenary business. What if she ruined her beautiful looks in battle?

“Come now, Sophie. We’re to pick out my luggage.” Ramira gestured for her maid to follow her as she parted ways with her husband, hiding her enthusiasm behind the thin veil of a trained apathetic tone of voice. “If I’m to make this journey, out of obligation no less, it would do well for us to be well-prepared…”

–

“Dearest husband of mine,” Ramira said in a passive aggressive voice of strained patience as she shifted her gigantic butt in her padded carriage seat. “How much longer did you say it would be until our arrival?”

Ramira paused and shifted herself just enough to glance out the cart’s window, unwilling to lift her pillowy gut off of her thighs. The sun was just beginning to set, after a whole day of doing nothing but sitting and waiting for their carriage to make the long, slow trip to the city that was their destination. Luckily this wasn’t a terribly long trip ,but it was a longer trip than Ramira had made since her transformation into a woman, and her tolerance for discomfort was at an all time low. Reading, chatting with her charming husband, snacking, and staring off into space could only keep her for so long, and so she broke up her boredom and mild discomfort by pestering her husband every now and then. If nothing else, she enjoyed his attention.

“Hmm, hard to say.” Cedric obviously lied. She could tell he knew exactly where they were, and was playing with her. “Shall we bring the cart to a halt so you can get out and check for us?”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort.” Ramira muttered, shifting her butt once again. “You may, should you please, but I shall stay exactly where I am.”



“Then who’s to say? I wouldn’t dare delay my impatient wife.”



“Impatient? Me?” Ramira took offence to anybody but herself accusing her of such. “Why, I’m the picture of patience. It’s this voyage that exceeds any reasonable standards of decency.”

In the corner, perfectly silent and attentive, ready to be called upon for any minor whim of her mistress Sophie couldn’t help but twitch at her words.

Foolish as she might appear after months of pampering, Ramira was not unobservant. After hours of Sophie being almost as still as a statue,

“What’s that, Sophie? Have even you lost your patience with this damned carriage?” Ramira interrogated her. “Or have I said something to amuse you?”



“Not at all, milady.” Sophie lied, albeit only partially. It was true that she hadn’t lost her patience, nor was she bored with her situation. A maid was not allowed to be bored, and must demonstrate endless patience with the dullest of situations. She found long rides like this to be relaxing, anyway. But although her face could be said to be carved of stone, inside, her heart was racing. What a perfectly spoiled statement her mistress had said! Over a one-day carriage ride that required her to do nothing but sit around, quite similar to her average day at the mansion in the first place! Even she couldn’t hide a sign of her satisfaction with how her mistress had blossomed into a perfectly vapid noblewoman.

“It’s clearly not nothing.” Ramira seized upon the opportunity to keep herself occupied. She put her hands on the padded bench she sat on and pushed herself up, her meagre strength just enough to allow her to shift her direction to face Sophie. “Come now, what is it? I won’t allow you to lie to your mistress and say you merely had a case of convulsions.”

Ramira chortled slightly at her own joke. Cedric cracked a smile, intensifying her haughty self-satisfied giggle.

“It’s truly nothing, milady. There was merely a bump in the road. Milady did not notice it due to her… stature.” Sophie excused herself with a perfect poker face. She justified her lie by telling herself that there was no need for her mistress to know the goings-on of her maid’s inner thoughts, certainly not that it would be compromising to admit that she took great satisfaction in the childishness of her mistress.

Ramire scrutinised her a bit longer, trying to make her stone-faced maid crack. Eventually she made a great show of sighing and shifting back into her slightly more comfortable original position, perfectly filling out the impression her fat ass had made in the padded seat.

“I suppose it may well have been. Goodness knows this carriage lets one know about every bump and rock in our path, and I’ve not seen so much as a twitch in your composure since you’ve come under my employment.” Ramira let her off the hook. “Do work to continue to live up to my expectations, Sophie. I won’t permit any unbecoming behaviour  where the other nobles might see it.”

It took all of Sophie’s self-control to nod gently and deliberately, rather than so vigorously her headpiece fell off. Yes, yes, she finally began to understand! A proper maid was a reflection of her mistress’s status, and a maid should perform her job in a way that was simultaneously flawless and impressive, yet not in a way that was meant to show herself off. Her prowess and ability should be worthy of praise for her master or mistress’s taste and ability to cultivate talent, not herself, at least when praised by others. The only one with the right to praise the maid for her own qualities was the mistress herself. The master’s previous wife had understood this perfectly, and it was her dream that someday in the near future that Ramira would perfectly understand this mutual relationship, either consciously or unconsciously…

Sophie glanced over at Cedric, their eyes meeting for only a moment, yet she could tell that he could read her like a book. Not that she doubted that her tricky master could figure her out from mere passive observation, but he was well aware of her relationship with his previous wife, and how Sophie missed her almost as dearly as he did. It was for this reason he’d entrusted her with so much of the cultivation of his new wife, and with each pound added to her frame and the slow drifting of her expression from sceptical and cautious of him to spoiled, apathetic, and quite transparently interested in him, her chest swelled with pride that she’d lived up to his expectations.

However, creating a fat, spoiled, pampered wife within the walled garden of his home was one thing. The real test, of course, would be her first contact with noble society at large…

–

A short while and an agonisingly long wait for Ramira later, the carriage finally came to a stop in the large town that was the destination of their trip, the domain of a lord of considerable influence who had invited all nobles from the surrounding areas to a grand get-together. Not that Ramira particularly cared about the details at this moment in time or what they planned to do the next day, only that she could get out of this detestable carriage and into a comfortable armchair or sink into a bed.

“We’ve arrived, dear.” Cedric said, Ramira wishing she had a fan to wave at herself to dispel the mild perspiration of her own frustration.

“And not a moment too soon, I should say.” Ramira grumbled, Sophie swiftly disembarking first to handle their luggage.

Ramira took Cedric’s hand as he pulled her up in a way that was carefully practiced to avoid any undue grunts of exertion that would let slip the obvious effort it took to assist his hefty wife to her feet. He held her hand and guided her down the steps off of the cast, where she was glad to see her feet would land on a cobblestone road outside the fancy inn they were staying at, for she was loathe to ruin her nice new shoes on some filthy dirt road, let alone get muck on her impractically long skirt.

Ramira had dressed as though she was stepping off the carriage directly into the ball, although if you asked her she was dressing the same as always, and she would be telling the truth. As somebody who spent her days almost exclusively in a painstakingly cleaned mansion or in a meticulously maintained garden, Ramira didn’t have to think at all about such common worries as the obvious side-effects of wearing dresses that rubbed along the ground, and thus wore her grand dress without a care in the world, in stark contrast with the average women of the town who wore their dresses at ankle length. Were she to get any dirt on her skirt either way, Sophie would assure that it would be perfectly removed by the time she wore it the next day, assuming she wore the same dress two days in a row in the first place.

Fortunate for Ramira and her poor sore rear end, her skirt would only make contact with the cobblestones for a few moments before she was inside their inn, an obviously expensive place that was a far cry from the makeshift lodgings that often doubled as taverns that she was used to from her travelling days. The owner was practically toadying as he gave shallow lip service to how much their presence honoured him and his employees. Ramira found it cloying, yet would have been quite offended if he’d provided even a second less of it. They were his esteemed guests, after all, and she had no doubt that her husband paid a handsome sum for the most comfortable accommodations he could find. However, when they reached their room, Sophie having already placed their luggage for them, she found her first subversion of her expectations on this trip.

“And what is this, dear husband of mine?” She asked icily, pointing at the king-sized single bed in the centre of her room and the distinct lack of separate beds . “I believe that we agreed that this husband-and-wife farce was strictly for show, and that my autonomy would be well-respected when we aren’t in public. Yet what do I see here but a bed for two, unless you intend to sleep on the floor? I must make myself very clear, we’re not formally man and wife, and we have no need to prove anything to anybody in private.”

Ramira huffed and puffed, feeling the need to assert herself. Although she would admit to making certain advances on him, they still slept in separate rooms and lived very separate lives within the mansion, and there was a small part of her that felt like this was a remaining symbol of her independence, to remind him that he needed to keep his distance. She would come to him if she wanted, not the other way around. And to be in bed with a man, as a former man herself… It felt like a boundary to not be crossed.

“This was the only room I could book for us I’m afraid, my dear.” He explained with a charming smile. “There were no rooms available with separate beds.”

This, of course, was a complete lie. Simply walking across the hall and opening the door would reveal that there were in fact multiple rooms with multiple beds within for families of all, and it was merely this particular one that betrayed her expectations. Of course, Cedric knew that his poor tortured wife had little drive or desire to investigate for herself, for after a whole day of sitting, she was hardly up for much walking. She was too busy being indignant at him to question if he was telling the truth or not to begin with.

“And I suppose you didn’t think to try anywhere else?” Ramira questioned him. “Sure a man of your intelligence would be able to find a single bedroom with more than one bed in it!”

“And miss out on the most luxurious inn in all the lord’s lands? I hardly think so.” Cedric countered. “Why, I had to fight to get this room in the first place, with how in demand this place is. Half the lords and ladies attending this ball would be shaking in their finery knowing we’re here and they aren’t. But of course, if you’d rather shabby accommodations…”



“I didn’t say that.” Ramira ah-hemmed quickly, crossing her arms under her bust and clearing her throat. Predictable, as he had expected. Just how he wanted her. “I suppose, given the circumstances, that it’s only befitting of a woman of my status to know when to make compromises. And what if somebody were to intrude and observe us together? They’d think it quite queer that we, a well and truly married couple, would sleep separately.”

“We could pass it off that separate beds were the only kind of room we could find.” Cedric suggested.

“That won’t do!” Ramira snapped. “We’re here to make a convincing show of it in the first place, and I won’t have any holes in our cover story. Feel free to rejoice, my dear Cedric, for you shall be sleeping with your beautiful wife tonight. Just keep your hands and any uncouth thoughts to yourself.”

Triumphantly shaking her hips as she lumbered over to the armchair and planted her huge ass down in it with an appreciative sigh of relief, Ramira’s resolve was, perhaps predictably, as soft as her body. When put up against her vanity, it was swallowed whole within a few moments of thought. It was easy for her to rewrite her logic in her head, to ignore this momentary breaking of her so-called standards. Maybe a little too easy, but of course, Ramira wouldn’t have caved so easily if she were going to reflect on it later…

–

“How’s the food, dear?” Cedric asked, the two having a candlelit meal in the town’s premiere dining establishment, reserved only for those with the wealth to spend as much on one meal as the average citizen did in three months for their whole family. Sophie had retired for the night, staying in her own room and doing whatever it was that she did in her own time. Probably cleaned the place out of habit, Ramira reckoned.



“It’ll do.” Ramira for once in her marriage took delicate bites of her prime chocobo meat, preferring to present an image of elegance over catering to her ravenous appetite. They weren’t alone after all, with several wealthy merchants and minor nobles enjoying more modest meals in the room with them, all catered to by a plentiful serving staff of young women. “The serving sizes are less than adequate, however.”



Cedric simply laughed, pouring her more wine as he himself made progress into his steak, his meal dwarfed by Ramira having ordered nearly everything on the menu. If she was probably only going to be here once, then she reckoned that she shouldn’t miss out.

Although her eating habits were mostly shameless, Ramira herself was far from it. As a result, her keen hearing couldn’t help but pick up on two waitresses who weren’t nearly as quiet as they thought they were, gossiping amongst themselves in whispers that they must have assumed were drowned out by the other conversations in the room. Perhaps they were used to being ignored by their customers, but either way they’d gotten too comfortable with themselves tonight.

“Look at the size of Lord Ashbourne’s new wife!” One said, unsubtly gesturing towards her. “She's as big as a Behemoth! We’ll probably run out of food for the other guests if she orders seconds.”



“I’ll have to tell everybody what it’s like to cater to a Marlboro.” One giggled, Ramira’s eyebrows twitching as she restrained her indignation. However, there was one comment she couldn’t let slide.

“How do you think a whale like her landed a stud like Lord Ashbourne?” The other sighed. “All the single noble ladies were complaining that he’d refused their advantage. You think he’s into chubby women?”

“A man like him? No way, her family is probably just loaded. Made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

“The nerve of those women…!” Ramira seethed at the insult to herself but also the integrity of her husband. “Don’t they know what they’re saying about a paying customer? How unprofessional! They really think a man of your calibre would marry for mere money? Ha! They could at least accuse you of marrying for political gain!”

“Why so quiet, dear?” Cedric asked with a careful smile at her hushed complaints, having clearly overheard them as well. “You’re giving more consideration to their feelings than they are to ours.”

“Well, that’s because…” Ramira said, trailing off awkwardly. Part of it was that she felt like she had little grounds to get offended at anybody accusing her of having ulterior motives in her marriage. For as proud as she acted, she still had a little bit of self-awareness over that, and she was largely unbothered by their comments on her weight. That weight wasn’t for them, those skinny wenches who had to work for a living. It was for herself and her husband, however temporary their bond might be. She bet they were just jealous, unable to picture themselves so well-off that they could achieve her grand figure.

“Because?” Cedric prompted her to continue.

“If I were to raise my voice, there would be… consequences.” Ramira said, draining her wine glass. She was well aware of her position in life at the moment, and not just in a self-indulgent way. If she were to speak up and get loudly offended, to call out their unprofessionalism and gossipy habits, it was quite likely that they’d get fired for offending such a profitable guest. Ramira wanted them to suffer some sort of punishment, but that seemed too harsh when she could just hold her tongue. But Cedric wouldn’t take it sitting down.

“Shouldn’t there be consequences?” Cedric pointed out. “It’s their job to cater to their guests, it’s our money that they’re enjoying. I hardly see what right they have to take our coin and insult us behind our backs, let alone my lovely wife.”



“Then why don’t you?” Ramira asked, almost hopefully.

“Normally, I would. But they insulted you first, and worse, they’ve made you feel like you shouldn’t speak up, that they are the victims. Why not make some noise? You’re a woman of great importance, after all.” He said, pouring her another glass of wine. Her heart raced a little, seeing how defensive he was of her, and how assertive and unhesitating he was. Perhaps if she herself hadn’t shown hesitation, he’d have already been standing up, demanding recompense. It was that manliness that she found almost irresistibly attractive in him, and with a couple of glasses of wine in her, it wasn’t just the alcohol making her cheeks red.

She drained her glass in one go, slamming it down on the table. It was time to live up to her husband, and to that matter, the standards she held herself to as a member of the nobility.

“Such insolence!” She said loudly, drowning out all over conversation in the room as she bounced to her feet, her body pushed upwards with so much force that it had time to bounce back to its original resting position a second later. She brandished a long, sausage-like finger at the offending waitresses, so that there was no ambiguity as to who her ire was directed at. “Just who do you commoners think you’re addressing, with your idle gossip!?”

Ramira proceeded to give them a full piece of their mind, the once-confident waitresses cowering under her harsh speech. She felt a sense of relief, satisfaction, and empowerment all at once, seeing these lesser women go from insulting her behind her back to cowering under her. She didn’t intend to get them fired per-say, but it felt good to know that her tirade held such power to be swung around as she pleased, rather than being burdened by the responsibility of wielding it. They should have known better than to try to get the better of a woman like her and her husband…

–

“Ah, to be home at last.” Ramira said appreciatively, walking through the foyer of the mansion where the many maids were lined up on both sides, bowing to welcome their master and mistress home. Cedric was the fleeter of foot of the two and passed forward quickly to attend to lingering matters in his study, while Ramira took her time acclimatising to walking after spending the whole day in the carriage, firmly planted on her backside that had grown subtly larger after her short trip.

She’d done far less complaining about sitting in the carriage all day this time around, owing to her doing far more walking than usual on the day of the ball, running (figuratively) about the place chatting to as many noblewomen as she could fit into the event, securing quite a number of intended follow-ups and invitations when possible. She’d been keen on making a good first impression, and in her opinion she’d done quite well forever. Never let it be said that she didn’t put quite a lot of effort into being the ideal partner for Lord Ashbourne.

The ball itself had been more glittery and glamorous than she had expected, a cornucopia of expensive tastes and wealthy lifestyles. Nobility from all corners of the country were assembled, although for her own purposes Ramira was more interested in the feminine side, leaving the menfolk to her husband. It was difficult for her to have interest in their masculine matters, impossible for her to empathise with at this point. She quickly brushed it off as her life as a man being a distant memory, to the point that she really couldn’t remember what it was like at all. This might have been cause for concern for her at one point, but instead she used it to reinforce her notion that she was right to leave men to men and women to women, and paid hardly a thought to how distanced from her former gender she had become and how she couldn’t remember a thing about what being a man was like.

She was far more concerned with schmoozing with the ever so fashionable ladies, acting as if her presence was totally natural and letting inexperience be made up for with confidence. She didn’t forget her dues, spending much of the ball at her husband’s side to show herself off, and espousing his virtues to others, projecting a sense of pride over her marriage so thick you could cut it with a knife. And why should she stammer around the topic of her marriage? She instead told the story of how the two met with confidence, albeit with perhaps a few embellishments here and there to make it more exciting for those assembled, a story worth living up to her husband’s grand image and the glamorous self she wanted to project. She had to be clear beyond doubt that she was the woman for him, after all, should this deception be sure to work. Yes, a deception, she occasionally reminded herself, each time more half-heartedly than the last.

She was also swiftly validated in both ways she chose to present herself and her husband’s monetary investments into her, as she preferred to phrase it. She had worn her finest, fanciest, most up to date dress to the ball, and been met with equally ostentatious apparel from the other aristocratic ladies. If anything she was ahead of the curve, many choosing to stick to old reliables, or personal favourites from years past. But Ramira had the biggest skirt, the puffiest shoulders, the lowest neckline (almost, she was sad to say, compared to the sultriest women at the ball), and some of the most intricate detail. The downside of being on the cutting edge of fashion was that by this time next year fashion would have moved on compared to the more timeless looks some others chose to wear, but for now Ramira was dressed to impress.

She was also validated by being keenly aware of just how many women were filling out their dresses quite like her, although none to such a degree as her. She found herself quickly assembling a circle of like-minded and decidedly plump women who found that they had quite a lot in common, a mutual lack of restraint. By the time the night was over Ramira had what felt like hours worth of gossip, her mind a canvas of tidbits and exaggerated rumours about lords and ladies she couldn’t place a face to the names of, yet was ready to regurgitate at a moment’s notice to keep a conversation rolling. Ramira was, slightly gallingly, forced to admit that she herself was not the most interesting of conversation-starters, sitting around in her mansion all day. It was much easier to store and share the stories of others, craft narratives around them and instead focus on what she felt was her good points, namely her beauty, wealth of knowledge, sharp wit, and dashing husband who was a source of local news and various goings-on of being in charge of a small region. Her husband was indeed a busy man, but didn’t expect his wife to join in with his responsibilities, which Ramira was more than happy to avoid.

Ramira had left the ball quite satisfied with herself, having gotten multiple promises of visits from various noblewomen, and was already looking forward to her next trip with Cedric for her next chance to show herself off. And now that she’d been on one and established that she was “in good health” compared to her supposedly fragile early months of marriage, the floodgates had opened. Perhaps she would have to invest in a more comfortable carriage for all the travelling she intended to do…

“Did you enjoy your trip, milady?” Sophie asked as she reached the stairs and began the slow process of climbing them with her maid at her side, the others dispersing to resume their regular duties. With all the glitz and glamour over, it was time for her to return to her comfortable lifestyle of eating, relaxing, eating, exchanging pleasantries with the other local noble ladies, eating, spending time with her husband, eating, sleeping, and repeating.



“I’d say it went fairly swimmingly.” Ramira said with smugness in her voice. She’d realised during the trip that she’d been going about things all wrong during her early months with Cedric, both in giving him the cold shoulder and in thinking that keeping a low profile was best for the two of them. Instead it was quite the opposite: she would live life as large as possible for the remainder of their arrangement, and leave the biggest impression possible. That way, when she tragically passed away in the eyes of the public, it would be clear to all that Lord Ashbourne had lost an irreplaceable woman. And he certainly would, as she was certain that he’d find no woman who could possibly replace her.

“Shall I prepare your room for you, milady?” Sophie asked, and Ramira paused. Yes, her room, and her room alone, without the warmth of her burly husband next to her, where she’d chosen to forgive him getting a little closer than she’d instructed him to. She was struck by how lonely being by herself in such a large room might be, after her new experience. Perhaps it was time to…

No, a little longer. She’d wait a little longer. Just to make him want it more. After “accidentally” getting a handful of her voluptuous body, there was no way he could resist asking her for long. And if he did try to play hard to get, she’d just have to “suggest” it to him, getting the better of him either way. Yes, that would be perfect. Besides, she’d have to figure out what to do with her wardrobe…

–

“...and he was so stunned by my beauty that he nearly crashed his stagecoach!” Ramira laughed haughtily as she recounted the story of how she met Cedric to the assembled noblewomen, a party of three new ones who had travelled from the surrounding areas to visit her plus the by now familiar and reliable presence of Lady Greenwood. It had been almost a month since the ball, and that had been enough time for many of the ladies she’d established first contact with to follow up and travel to meet her, this being her fourth batch of visitors with just how many women she’d managed to rope into visiting her, with promises of how nice her husband’s lands were and how they would be catered to in any visit.

“How splendid, Lady Ashbourne!” said Lady Beaumont, a slim young woman with long black hair who contrasted the thicker figures of the others assembled, and easily the most enraptured by her tale. Naive and eager to live in a more romantic world, she had been effortlessly swept up by Ramira’s self-confidence and was hanging on her every word. It was easy enough to believe her tale given Ramira’s looks, as long as you cropped out the sea of flab surrounding those delicate features. It made Lady Beaumont wish she had gotten to see her before her husband had fattened her up, and made her wonder if she was sticking to her own diet too strictly.

Ramira was wearing yet another new dress, this time in a lovely shade of red to compliment the roses of her garden and also because she’d had Sophie scout out what colours her visitors would be wearing. Thankfully she’d had the right colour on deck in the right size, as she’d swollen yet again to the point that she’d no longer be able to fit into the dress she’d worn when she met them. Her hair by this time had grown out to reach the small of her back, and had been done up in elaborate buns as to not obscure any of the intricate details of her dress as well as keep out of the way, an elaborate net holding her hair in. Her makeup was tinged slightly more noticeably rouge than usual in order to coordinate with her outfit, a subtle touch that she was quite proud of herself over. She’d gotten Sophie to do her makeup, as despite the fact that she was capable of doing it herself, she had decided one day that there was no reason why a lady like her should be doing it when a servant was perfectly capable of doing it for her, and Sophie had wordlessly agreed despite pushing so strongly to force her to do it herself earlier.  She was sitting noticeably further back from the table than the others in order to avoid her belly enveloping it, and her seat was visibly wider and sturdier than the others.

“Yes, yes, I was just getting to the good part.” Ramira paused to sip her tea. “Naturally, he hurried over as quickly as he could, and said “Milady, why does a woman as beautiful as yourself travel such roads alone, where thou may be beset by foul bandits at any moment? Quickly, make haste onto my carriage, for I have been waiting many moons for a woman such as you.””



Surrounded by romanticists, she merely got a round of appreciative girlish giggling at her blatantly out of character dialogue, each eager to hear more as she espoused her exaggerated yarn. It was all in good fun, after all. Greenwood didn’t interject with any questioning of her tale, or point out how this was a darn sight more fanciful than the dull tale that she had been provided with by Ramira during her earlier, slimmer months. She had been convinced that Ramira and Cedric had had a more exciting first meeting, and as far as she was concerned she was finally getting the real story out of Ramira. Sure, their conversation probably hadn’t gone exactly like that, but the love story she wanted to hear was finally being given to her, and she wasn’t about to interrupt it.

“And then, we agreed to get married on the grounds of…” Ramira trailed off for a moment. She was just about to make sure that she didn’t get too far ahead of herself and spill the beans on the ulterior motive of their marriage, but when she slowed down to think about it she found herself with a concerning question: what exactly was she supposed to be hiding again? Despite the fact that she was certain it was important, she had plum forgotten just what it was about her first meeting with her husband that she wanted to conceal from them. They had met on the road, she’d been invited into his carriage, and then they’d decided to get married… No, that wasn’t it, there had been something before that, in the middle! She needed to remember it, so that she could hide it from the others! How could she have forgotten something so important so casually?

She hurried to sip her tea to hide her hesitation, but found herself out. She clapped her hands, Sophie appearing practically out of thin air by her side with a fresh pot to pour her and replenish the others. She even had snacks, the correct type for each woman carefully extracted from any servants and chauffeurs they’d brought with them.

“I must say, Lady Ashbourne, your maid is remarkably well-trained.” Lady Beaumont complimented her, the others nodding in agreement while Sophie curtseyed wordlessly.



“She is, isn’t she? Naturally, I wouldn’t settle for anything less than the finest in my household. Please, feel free at any point to use her while you’re visiting.” Ramira followed up the compliment, beaming as she used Sophie to shamelessly stroke her own ego. She even shamelessly acted like she was somehow responsible for Sophie, and not that she was somebody who had been there for at the very least the better part of the decade prior to her arrival. Sophie, of course, said nothing, and drank in the compliments of both her and her mistress, a symbiotic relationship in which both would enjoy the flattering of each other.

“Sophie, be a good girl and get us some more tea and confectionaries, would you?” Ramira made a show of waving Sophie off, as if she hadn’t already done so herself for their second wave of drinks and snacks. Sophie curtsied yet again and scurried off, hiding the spring in her step over her mistress’ self-centred praise of her.

“Now, where was I?” Ramira cleared her throat. “Oh yes, we agreed to get married, but of course my health was quite fragile at the time, so we couldn’t have a public ceremony…”

–

“Is there something troubling you, milady?” Sophie asked, following Ramira back to her room after her guests had left.

“What gave you that impression?”



“You’re usually in high spirits after a visit, milady. Yet you seem dour.” Sophie observed. Ramira’s fat face and globular second chin exaggerated her expressions, the tremendously obese woman easy to read. Her whole body practically quivered and wobbled when she was stressed, after all.

“Correct as always, my dear Sophie.” Ramira sighed. “Nothing gets past a clever girl like you. Good work with our guests today, I must say, you put their common, low-class servants to shame.”

Sophie curtsied in light of her praise. For a month or two Ramira had delighted in pushing her around, asserting dominance over her as their relationship had shifted from dominant maid and reluctantly submissive mistress to domineering mistress and perfectly obedient maid, but as she had settled into a position of confidence, she relied on Sophie more than ever, and was quick to compliment her. It was an ideal position for her, although she did enjoy the times when Ramira grew spirited and pushed her around a little.

The other maids knew by now that she enjoyed it, as she let slip her stone-faced visage into one of an obvious pervert who described at length just how great it was for her mistress to be a spoiled pompous braggart, but were too intimidated by her to question their head maid’s personal inclinations and preferred to leave dealing with their now bombastic mistress to her. Most of the maids genuinely believed that Ramira really had been in poor health when she first arrived, as it was difficult to picture their mistress so skinny and dour otherwise.

“So, what is it, milady?” Sophie prompted her to continue.

“I feel that my memory is a trifle… spotty, at the moment.” Ramira conceded. “I feel that I’ve forgotten something quite important, but I just can’t put my finger on what. This could be quite a problem if it keeps up…”



“If you’re worried about your memory, why not keep a diary or journal? That way it’s all down in writing.” Sophie proposed, Ramira pouting at the idea.

“I’ve got better things to do than write down every idle moment of my day.” Ramira brushed it off, which was her way of saying that the idea sounded boring and tedious and she really couldn’t be bothered, particularly since her average day wasn’t particularly eventful. “Besides, my memory isn’t that bad! I’m just a little foggy on the details of a certain event around… was it nine months ago?”



“Around when you first met Master Ashbourne, milady?”



“Thereabouts.” Ramira said. Had it really only been nine months? It felt so quick, yet so long ago. She couldn’t really recall anything particularly interesting happening before it, so her first meeting with Cedric was the only major punctuation in the last year of her life. Unfortunately, she had already forgotten that she should be very concerned that she had forgotten what led to her meeting him in the first place. As far as she could remember, it was pure happenstance, and why she was on that road in the first place was an irrelevant footnote.

“Perhaps you should consult with the master himself.” Sophie proposed. She hadn’t said that it was the meeting itself that she was forgetting something about, but she had easily intuited it. Intuited, or perhaps something more…

“I suppose I shall. And if you’re so concerned about my memory, I shall leave you to be my journal.” Ramira stated, waving Sophie aside to lumber off in search of her husband. She dominated the hallway, her hips plus her dress taking up two thirds of a space that easily could have fit three or more normal women side by side without any trouble just by herself.

She made the short trip to her husband’s study, carefully walking down the stairs with a huge bounce of her body in each downward step, her skirt raised. Getting up and down was a slow process, not to be done lightly for a woman of her scale. There were many times where she deemed it too much trouble in and of itself, choosing to stay upstairs or downstairs to save herself the effort, in a true testament to the sloth that she embodied.

Even so, she descended the stairs with unusual haste, only being three times as slow as the average person this time, and swung her bulk around to the direction of the study with intent.



“What is it, my dear?” Cedric asked as she squeezed through the doorframe, estimating that if she grew at her current rate for another year or so, he might have to start considering expanding the average doorframe of his mansion lest he start having to unstuck her on a regular basis. He put down his quill on the documents he was writing, devoting his full attention to his lovely wife and all of her lovely bulk.

“Oh, nothing. For want of anything else to do, I supposed I’d check in and make sure you’re keeping yourself busy.” Ramira began her customary lie. She just couldn’t admit it when she wanted to see him for the sake of seeing him, and always acted like it was some sort of accident that she ended up near him. He should be the one saying that he wanted her to see him.

“It’s hard to remain busy when my wife is around.” He said with his signature smile that made her swoon. “I fear I can’t keep my eyes on the parchment.”



Ramira wanted to roll his eyes and call him a flatterer, but instead found herself girlishly blushing and awkwardly clearing her throat. Well, she hadn’t built up this body for him for nothing, after all. She lumbered over to his desk, intending to lean on it, but with how her body was built and her diminutive height, she was forced to lift her belly up and let it flop onto the desk with a thump just so she could press the front of her thigh into the wood, completely covering whatever he was writing.

“You know, today I was telling our guests about how we first met.” She casually mentioned. “But I feel that I’m the one always telling that story to others. Why don’t you tell me how you remember it for a change?”

Ramira kept her tone light and conversational, but had chosen her words with somewhat unsubtle intent. If she’d gotten any of the details mixed up over the nine months she’d known him, he was the only one who could set her straight.

“Our first meeting, eh? Of course, I remember it like it was just yesterday.” He said, stroking his chin. “How could I forget how I nearly ran my horses off the road after seeing you for the first time?”



“And then?” Ramira pressed him intently, a little too intently for how she had intended to pass this off as a casual question.

“I came over as quickly as I could to get a better look at you, and confirm that you were exactly the woman I thought I had seen.” He continued. “Then I asked you why you were travelling along, with so many brutes about, and invited you into the carriage. I believe I then told you that I’d been waiting quite a long time for a lady like you to come along.”



Ramira found herself nodding. Come to think of it, he’d never been around when he’d been telling this version of the story to the other nobility, and the details were mostly the same, save for the embellishments she’d added. She’d been remembering it correctly, then.



“Then,” he went on, “We had a nice long chat about my circumstances, and how I was in need of a wife. Just to meet expectations, of course. We agreed that you were the perfect candidate, and decided that for at least the next year, we would be man and wife, and I believe that’s the long and short of it.”



“And there wasn’t anything else?” Ramira was mostly satisfied, but wanted to press him one more time. Something in the back of her mind not entirely satisfied. “There weren’t any other details you’re leaving out?”



“Well, could there be anything else?” He simply responded, almost as if challenging her to contradict any of his details.

“No, you’ve remembered all of it. As you should, mind you.” Ramira breathed a sigh of relief. Yet still, that little niggle lingered.

“Why do you ask?” He had politely waited to ask the obvious question.

“Oh, no reason. It’s just…” Ramira started, but was interrupted by a loud growl from her stomach.

Of course! It had been quite a while since brunch, and she’d been so distracted by what she thought was her poor memory that she’d forgotten that she was famished. That was what she’d been forgetting all along.

“I shall have you take a break from your arduous labour to share dinner with me.” Ramira smiled, then with great effort, leaned over the desk, smooshing her breasts against the table and further crumpling his parchment as she gave him a full kiss on the lips, one that she held for several seconds. It was a habit she’d decided she should get into, just to make it easy and natural when they were in public, of course. It was a good thing the ink had dried, or she’d have completely ruined the document and her lovely red dress.

“I suppose I shall.” He said after they finally broke the kiss, deciding to scrunch up his parchment and start again from scratch later.



“By the way,” Ramira changed subjects, satisfied with her husband’s answer and moving onto more pressing matters. “I was thinking that over dinner I would propose a certain change in living accommodations…”

–

“Darling…”

Ramira opened a conversation with an innocent, suggestive tone at breakfast a few weeks later, still wearing her nightgown as she’d been too hungry to bother getting dressed before eating. The sheer white fabric had a hint of the colour of her pale flesh through it, designed specifically to tantalise her husband more than serve as a practical or decent garment. It had been a subtle but extremely deliberate change from the thicker material she’d worn prior to moving into his room. She wanted as little in the way as possible, after all.

It had been in the back of her mind since her first trip, but several subsequent ones had convinced her of the benefits of sharing a bed with her husband, and so she had finally moved in with him full-time, saving her old room as a guest bedroom and rearranging her vast wardrobe into another room that would serve as her personal dressing room just across from the master bedroom, not to say that her shared bedroom wasn’t full of whatever dresses still currently fit her. Their relationship had gotten increasingly physically intimate, Ramira beckoning him to bed most nights so that he could caress her jiggly, sensitive body. Just the scent of her husband alone was enough to drive her crazy, and every night was a highlight of her day, with her husband more than happy to indulge his now openly lustful wife, making good use of every inch of her soft, pliable flesh.

Every inch, that is, except for perhaps the most important part. Ramira, either out of a conservative upbringing over the fact that they’d technically not actually gotten married, or the last vestiges of her subconscious manhood holding out, refused to let him seal the deal and take her virginity. He’d reluctantly agreed and made do with the rest of her, and she’d dealt with her pent-up libido by frequently masturbating and forcing Sophie to change the sheets every other day, but it remained an unbroken rule that Cedric had surprisingly respected, something that made her appreciate him even more.

Eventually, something had to give. One night, with her husband’s arms wrapped around and into her with his shaft pressed hard against one of her ass cheeks, Ramira felt to herself that she simply couldn’t let their one-year so-called marriage pass without having sex with him even a single time. From there, she remembered two very important things. The first was that she was running out of time! There were only two months left in their fake marriage, she had been enjoying herself so much that she had completely forgotten!



It wasn’t that she didn’t plan for the occasion. A deal was a deal, and she’d have to leave, although exactly why she needed to leave and conceal her identity, the details were a bit foggy. Perhaps she was worried that they’d figure out that her secret was that she was a commoner married into nobility? That was probably it. Once she was gone, she planned to remarry in a foreign land, and live a similar life of luxury as a perfect wife, the idea of having any type of job long gone from her mind. In her eyes, the sign of ultimate success in life was not having to work at all, the perfect woman being the kind who could charm and satisfy a wealthy man and spend his money with abandon.



But, just as she knew that he would never find a better woman, she knew that she’d never find a better man. And if she couldn’t have sex with that irresistible man at least once, she’d never forgive herself!



Thus, stabbing the sausage on her plate with dangerous force, she began to pitch her plan to solve this to her husband-in-name-only.

“We never did have a wedding ceremony, did we?” Ramira said innocently.



“I suppose we didn’t, dear.” He replied casually, his plate looking downright humble compared to the banquet in front of his wife. “It’s just a formality, after all.”



“A formality, you say? Surely you jest.” Ramira’s eyebrow twitched in indignation, her second chin quivering. Her husband was a charmer in many ways, but at the end of the day, he was still a man. As such, he just couldn’t quite understand just how vitally important a wedding was to a woman.

“We missed our opportunity, didn’t we? I’m sure you’ve told your friends that we had a quiet ceremony some time or other.”



“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Ramira smiled broadly. “But I’ve been doing some reflecting, and I’ve even consulted with Sophie, and it appears that I’ve done nothing of the sort! You see, I could tell them all right now that due to my poor health, we were forced to skip the ceremony entirely!”



“And I suppose you’d be wanting to have a real one now, would you?” Her keen-witted husband guessed.

“We certainly must!” Ramira startled the maids waiting in the next room over by slamming her hands down on the table, the clattering louder than the conversation itself. “How could we possibly call ourselves husband and wife without a proper wedding? Why, it’s a farce to call ourselves as such without a formal ceremony!”

“And it isn’t a farce now?” He reminded her, almost as if testing her to remember where she was coming from. Luckily, Ramira had prepared for that.

“Oh, it’s a farce. But it could be a grand farce if we have a proper wedding, with all of our friends and acquaintances aware and present.” Ramira smugly explained. “Think of the tragedy! Our dear Ramira, her love truly blossomed right before our very eyes, cruelly taken from us just after her wedding! Oh, how tragic! What a cruel twist of fate! That’s what they’ll be thinking to themselves, and you’ll never have to worry about being pestered with remarrying an inferior woman ever again.”

Ramira was quite proud of her elaborate justification, her face the picture of smugness.

“I see.” Cedric chuckled. “My dear wife, you make a compelling argument. Very well, we’ll consummate our marriage at your behest. Shall I leave you to arrange the details!”



“Just leave it to me, darling. Sophie! Fetch the guestbook!” Ramira yelled enthusiastically. “I want every lord and lady who has set foot in this mansion in the last year and a half to have letters of invitation set out! Let it be known throughout all the land that Cedric and Ramira’s marriage is not an event to be missed!”



Cedric folded his arms as Ramira wolfed down the remainder of her breakfast, eager to get to preparing the grand event she had envisioned for herself. He also suspected that she had a particular ulterior motive with this, beyond her obvious reasons for wanting a big ceremony where she was the centre of attention. He’d respected her boundaries in the bedroom, for all of the effort that had gone into creating the woman of his sexual fantasies, he still considered himself somewhat of a gentleman. Her most common excuse was that they were out of wedlock, and if they were wed, then, well…

Cedric merely sat back and let the events unfold. He felt that he had done his part, and had already commended Sophie on her exemplary work. With this upcoming wedding, he was sure that he would cement Ramira as his ideal wife…

–

“... and I’m having the gardener grow blue roses for my bouquet, everybody else will get red. We’ll have white roses as well, but I think that blue will stand out splendidly. But we’ll have white as well, just to be safe. No, actually, white would be a better compliment! No, blue was the right one after all. Or maybe we should consider red for myself, and blue for everybody else? There’s nothing wrong with the tried and true classics…”

“I hope you aren’t running yourself ragged preparing this wedding, dear. You know I don’t like to see you stressed.” Lady Greenwood said, listening to Ramira yammer on about her intricately planned out perfect day for the better part of an hour, invited over simply so that Ramira had somebody to brag to. Lady Beaumont was there as well, having become one of Ramira’s closer friends, travelling frequently to see her after becoming enraptured by her larger than life personality, and similarly enthusiastic for her dream wedding, but even she was tiring after hearing about how her flower garden would be arranged just for that day for the last twenty minutes. The ceremony wasn’t even taking place at the mansion!

“Of course not.” Ramira said vigorously, pausing only to stuff another cupcake into her mouth. “Me, stressed? What do I have to be stressed over? This is going to be a very important event, and I won’t let a single thing go wrong!”

“It’s alright, Lady Ashbourne, we still have a month to go” Lady Beaumont suggested, tenderly nibbling on a piece of pie herself. The once stick-thin girl, barely over twenty years old, had already grown out thanks to Ramira’s influence, putting on enough weight to have a visible pot belly and, to her husband’s appreciation, heaving breasts that had piled on the fat that she’d heaped into her body. Even Lady Greenwood had to admit that she was getting chubby after spending so much time around her, but her burgeoning second chin was easily brushed aside with how skinny she felt when sitting next to Ramira.

“Just a month.” Ramira stressed, already working on another cupcake.

Ramira was rapidly ballooning on top of all of this, significantly fatter than she had been when she first met Lady Beaumont, at least a hundred or more pounds added to her frame. Her sexual frustration had led to over-indulging in her other vices, and the quantity and frequency of her meals and snacks was exponentially increasing in the leadup to her wedding. Lady Ashbourne, eager to keep herself as the centre of attention and life of the party, had fuelled her escapades with raw sugar as she invited over as many noble wives as possible and travelled to as many other mansions and castle as she could arrange, assuring that they would be at her oh-so-important wedding.

“I know, why don’t you tell us about how Lady Mayer has been seeing Lord Crawford lately?” Lady Beaumont suggested changing the subject to Ramira’s favourite topic after her wedding: unsubstantiated gossip.

“She’s not seeing Lord Crawford, Lady Beaumont.” Ramira eagerly corrected her. “That’s Duchess Belleville. Lady Mayer is, if my sources are correct, engaged in a most salacious relationship with Anabelle Da Ville!”



“Another woman? How scandalous!” Lady Beaumont raised her hands to cover her mouth in shock. “G-go on!”

Ramira happily continued, weaving an unrealistic but highly engaging story about cheating on her husband with her childhood friend and possible lover, the storytelling far more important than any validity to the claims. Between this and her network of contacts, Ramira had turned into a one-woman grapevine who always had something to talk about, some forbidden love between a wife and somebody else’s husband or unscrupulous deal between lords and their scheming wives sealing the deal behind the scenes. Ramira always had something to share about somebody else, which made her an irresistible friend to the similarly gossip-addicted Lady Beaumont.

But to Lady Greenwood, older and wiser (although no less of a gossiping hen), she couldn’t help but notice that save for her very exciting wedding, almost none of Ramira’s stories involved herself. She could entertain a crowd with her yarns, but when it came to things she herself had actually done, there was precious little material to work with. She wouldn’t call it living vicariously through others, but save for her endless praise of her husband, Ramira lived a rather uneventful life. And that was okay, for she herself lived what she considered a modest life for a noblewoman, but Ramira certainly acted like she was a greater figure than that despite quietly acknowledging it.

The result was an almost larger than life woman who knew many people and was the life of the party, but most privately felt that the obese woman was, to put it bluntly, a bit shallow. But she was a fun shallow woman to be around, so it balanced out. It was only she herself who had watched her grow into her current state and the more naive, easily impressed Lady Beaumont, who seemed to be closer to her. But then again, Greenwood thought to herself, Lord Ashbourne himself didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he clearly enjoyed watching his excitable wife prattle on and stuff herself.

“In any case!” Ramira, distracted for long enough, eventually and inevitably forced the subject back onto her wedding. “Whatever the case may be, I must make this ceremony the grandest Lord Ashbourne has ever seen!”

“Oh, that’s right!” Lady Beaumont exclaimed. “I just remembered! Lord Ashbourne did have a wife before Lady Ashbourne!”

“He did indeed.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, Lady Ashbourne,” Lady Beaumont said tentatively. “Um, what was his previous wife like? I’m too young to have met her, as you can see…”

“I think that’s a question you’re better off asking Lady Greenwood.” Ramira said, and Greenwood could tell in her eyes that this was something she had been meaning to ask her as well.

“Well, if you’ve met Lady Ashbourne, I’m not sure how much there is to say.” Greenwood mused. “Lord Ashbourne has a certain taste in his women, it seems.”



“Good taste, I might say.” Ramira smugly added.

“If there are ways to describe how Lady Ashbourne is different from the former Lady Ashbourne, I’m of want for words to say them.” Greenwood admitted. “At least on the surface. If I might think of a word, it might be… more.”



“More, you say? What a queer way to put it.” Lady Beaumont seemed confused. Yes, more, Greenwood thought to herself. His previous wife had been pampered, a bit spoiled, a little full of herself, and very overweight. Ramir was absolutely spoiled, heavily pampered, extremely full of herself, and by now far fatter than his wife had ever been in all their years of marriage. She didn’t know where Lord Ashbourne had got her, but he had a keen eye for finding a woman who would eventually reveal herself to be just like her. Or perhaps he had worked to craft her from a slightly sullen, reclusive woman into a full-bodied rose? Well, as long as the two of them were happy, it was none of her business, and Ramira seemed far, far happier now than when she had first met her.

It did make for a slightly strange experience, Greenwood couldn’t help but think. It really was like his old wife, but exaggerated in all of her loudest, least subtle personality traits. Perhaps it was no wonder that beyond this, she was a bit shallow…

Meanwhile, Ramira was interpreting it in a more literal way. She thought back to the thing that had sparked her decision to have a wedding ceremony to begin with, and it wasn’t just a blunt solution to her bedroom dilemmas.

She had been in the storage room where all of his previous wife’s clothes were stored, having Sophie pack them away so that she had more space for her own constantly expanding wardrobe. She felt no guilt about it, as she had by now well and truly outgrown anything that the previous woman had owned, and she was quite proud of that fact. She felt like she should exceed the previous woman her husband had loved to make up for the fact that she was his second love, and outgrowing her was a very literal way to do so. But in doing so, it wasn’t long before she discovered a wedding dress that did fit her, just barely.

She had asked Sophie about it, and why this particular dress was so much larger than the others. Sophie had explained that in his grief, Cedric had made periodic adjustments to it, making it larger and larger, as if to picture what she might have looked like while wearing it had she not unfortunately passed away. Eventually he had abandoned the project, leaving the dress in its current state tucked away at the back of her untouched wardrobe, at least until Ramira had come along.

Ramira had, naturally, immediately pictured herself in the dress, and become just as entranced with the image as Cedric surely was. And then, the rest was history.

“If I’m to be more than her, then I’ll happily be double, or perhaps triple.” Ramira boasted, determined to surpass her. “I shall close the hole in my husband’s heart, and make myself the only woman he needs!”



“How splendid of an idea!” Lady Beaumont clapped. Lady Greenwood wondered if such a thing could be achieved, but perhaps it would be a nice thing if that were the case…

–

“Is my dress right? There’s nothing wrong with it? It’s not too small? How about my makeup? If there’s a single strand of my hair out of place I’ll have it corrected!”

“You’re perfect, milady.” Sophie reassured her for the sixth time, ready to reassure her another six on this important day. For perhaps the first time since Ramira had arrived she finally saw her in something besides her perfectly pressed maid’s uniform, wearing a frilly white piece fit for a bridesmaid. Even she struggled to hide a sniffle seeing her mistress like this.



“My dress is too small, I’m sure of it.” Ramira was practically searching for things that could go wrong, gesturing at the incredibly tight white dress’s bodice, surrounded by a wave of lace, frills, and ruffles to give her dress that traditional wedding bulk, while keeping the core of her curves heavily emphasised. The morbidly obese bride’s dress followed her contours perfectly, although the core of the dress had surely turned into a ship of Theseus with how much material was required to compensate for a woman who was going on twice as heavy as the original owner had been at the time of her own wedding.

“It’s impossible for your dress to not fit perfectly, milady.” Sophie said confidently. “You had it tailored again just last night, remember? You even had it fitted after dinner.”



“You know me, there’s still time after that.” Ramira was brutally honest with herself, but even her eating habits couldn’t burst the seams of her skin-tight outfit that quickly. If anything, she’d probably have burned some calories after meeting with her husband shortly afterwards…

“I’d better go meet the groom.” Ramira said, scurrying over to where her husband was waiting and leaving Sophie behind, her mind feeling almost blank after fretting so hard over the wedding leading up to it. The thin white fabric did nothing to hide each minute wobble of her body, and thankfully for the morbidly obese bride who was terrified of sweating through her dress, her husband was only a room over.

Cedric was comparatively modestly dressed, emphasising his wife’s elaborate outfit even more, but he was even more perfectly presented already, and it was all she could to do not throw herself at him then and there.

“I do hope you’re ready, dear husband of mine.” Ramira couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her voice even as she tried to play it cool. “If you have a single toe out of line today, I hope you’ll remember that I’ll never forgive you for it.”

“Don’t worry, I’m quite eager to get this over with.” He teased her, enjoying her pout. “Although, I’m not sure how much there is to look forward to after the wedding now.” Cedric grinned. Inevitably, on the night before their wedding, Ramira had finally thought to herself “close enough” and caved, temporarily sating the fire between her loins. She felt it flare up again now, and were the wedding not so important to her, she might have worried that she wouldn’t make it to the evening before giving in again.



“That was merely a first taste. A free sample, as it were.” Ramira said, giving her husband a quick kiss, before breaking away and sighing in annoyance. “Oh dear, now I’ll have to fix my lipstick again…”

Sophie appeared out of nowhere to hand her a tube of lipstick, for there was clearly not a spare inch on her dress where she could have hidden any, save perhaps for her seemingly endless valley of cleavage.

“By the way…” Cedric added casually but very carefully. “Today’s quite the important day. Do you know why?”



“Of course it is.” Ramira looked at him like he was stupid. “I think it’s quite self-evident why.”

“Do you remember what happened exactly one year ago to this day?”

He didn’t give Ramira long to think before continuing, as she looked rather clueless.

“It’s the anniversary of the day we met.”

“Ah, yes, yes, how could I forget?” Ramira hurried to hide her embarrassment at forgetting such an important date. “Of course, I did it intentionally! What better way to celebrate our abrupt marriage than with a real one, hmm?”

“Do you remember the deal we made that day?”

Ramira stared at him cluelessly. Whether through distraction through the intense organisation of her wedding and the weight of the event hitting her, or other reasons, Ramira seemed quite lost.

“Deal…? Do you mean our promise of marriage?” Ramira struggled to remember anything she may have forgotten, feeling strangely tested by him. “We met, we immediately fell in love, we agreed to get married on the spot since you’d been pestered about finding a new wife… Was there anything else?”



Ramira clearly couldn’t remember a single thing beyond that, even forgetting that the entire reason why she had pitched this wedding was to create a grander narrative for when the year was up and she left him, and for a moment Cedric’s eyes glinted with satisfaction, just a flicker of satisfaction at a perfectly executed plan.

“No, that’s everything, of course.” He confirmed for her. “I just wanted to make sure it was fresh in your mind, so that it might put today in perspective.”



“Of course it’s fresh in my mind. Every minute detail is as sharp as the day it happened.” Ramira smiled confidently and cluelessly, trusting him completely that her memory was one hundred percent accurate. He stood in front of her, towering over his diminuitively sized wife who needed to crane her neck upwards to look him in the eye. He placed his hands on her hips, running his hands up her soft, jiggly body up to her shoulders, appreciating every plush curve. Then, he ran it back down the length of her equally plump arm, each bicep bloated to reach the width of her waist when she’d first become Ramira. But even as confident as he was, he couldn’t help but test her one last time.

“Do you remember the name Ramza?” He asked her suddenly, just before he was about to take her hand.

“Ramza?” Ramira didn’t show the slightest flicker of recognition. “No, I’m afraid I don’t think I do. I’m sure I would remember such a person, seeing how similar it is to my own name. Picking out baby names already, darling?”



“Perhaps.” He said, and took her hand as they walked down the aisle…

–

“Lady Beaumont has just arrived, milady!”



“Thank you, Sophie. Now could you be a darling and help me up?”



The significantly more relaxed, officially signed and sealed Lady Ashbourne put down the book she was reading next to her plate, holding out her hand

“Thanks as always, Sophie. You know how it is, the baby is just so heavy…” Ramira was quick to praise these days, at least when it came to her dutiful maid. When it came to others, only her close friends and family evaded her critical gaze, for the temptation to see herself as better than her peers was too tempting even for a more laid back Ramira.

Firmly planted in her most comfortable seat, Sophie took her mistress’s hand and wrenched her free, pulling her upwards and onto her feet. Her long blonde hair hung free today, reaching down to her bench of an ass and tailing down the length of where her ass pushed out the back of her dress, having not gotten it cut a single time since meeting her husband save for maintenance and styling. Ramira was proud of her femininity, and saw her hair as an extension of it like many women.

Ramira was, of course, fatter than ever, although being able to allow herself to be penetrated by her husband on a nightly basis had caused her ballooning body to slow to a comparative crawl, and perhaps for the better as she might not have been able to walk unaided within a few years if she hadn’t slowed down. Of course, by the time she’d had three or four kids like she wanted, who knows? Her first child was growing healthily, her signature belly now distinctly rounded as it was shaped by the orb that lurked underneath the fat, giving her a distinctive roundness at the top and middle, followed by the underside sagging heavily with flab.

It was impossible for Ramira to know exactly when she’d been impregnated, for there were too many opportunities to count, but if god could inform her, she might have been surprised to find that it was the night her virginity had been taken, the night before her wedding seven months ago. Her husband was nothing less than efficient, and her body had clearly craved it.

She slowly waddled her way out of her reading room, almost bumping into her husband, Ramira perking up at the very sight of him. And he did the same to a more subtle degree, for how could he not? She was beautiful, morbidly obese, and heavily pregnant with the heir he’d always wanted but his previous wife could sadly never give him. Although she had calmed down a bit compared to her bridezilla phase, she was still as spoiled as ever, and quite enjoyed him spoiling her in particular. As a result he didn’t miss an opportunity to give her a hug, groping her ass in the process as she mewled appreciatively.

“Good day to you, darling.” Ramira said, having not had the chance to see him since breakfast with how busy he’d been. “I’m just on my way to meet Lady Beaumont, who has graciously made the trip to us to show off her baby. The silly girl, her child hasn’t even been born yet!”



“And I suppose you’re eager to show yours?” He surmised.

“Of course I am.” Ramira said proudly, rubbing her soft belly, too much fat enveloping it to reach the taut sphere below. “Mine’s much further along, so there’s far more to talk about.”



“Only by a couple of months.” He reminded her.

“It’s not my fault she got so excited by the reveal of our first child that she went out and got herself knocked up.” Ramira said rather crudely for her standards. “She said she was thinking of moving closer so that our children can play together more easily. Doesn’t that sound simply splendid?”



“It certainly does.” He said. “By the way, I thought that while I’m here, I’d get your opinion on something.”



“Well, go ahead, I’m always quite willing to give a piece of my mind.” Ramira said rather proudly, ever eager to give her opinion on just about anything.

“I was hoping to get an update on the state of our deal.”



“Deal?” Ramira said cluelessly as ever. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I recall us having any sort of deal, save for the vows we made on the altar.”



“Come now, I’m sure you remember.” He lied. Of course she didn’t remember, but he found himself wanting to check anyway. “The original conditions of our marriage. The original one, the one that you said didn’t truly count.”



Ramira cocked her head to the side in confusion, an unusually cute gesture for her.

“When we were first married, we agreed that after a year, if you weren’t satisfied with the state of our marriage, you could end it.” He explained. “It’s been nineteen months, and I’ve heard no mention of our deal. I’m quite concerned about the state of it, you know, as we never formally concluded it”



Ramira stared at him for a moment, then broke up into a fit of giggles.

“A jester as always, darling.” Ramira wiped a tear from her eye. “Of course I remember that! Surely you weren’t taking that seriously, were you? Why, I’d hardly thought about it because I thought you were just being a gentleman!”



Ramira was lying, of course. She didn’t remember hearing anything of the sort, although she imagined she was simply so lovestruck on the spot that a thing or two he said had gone in one ear and out the other. It clearly wasn’t anything important, and who could blame a young girl like her for missing a thing or two?

“I shall rest easy knowing that you won’t vanish out from under my nose.” He gave a jesting bow, his lowered head still higher than the top of his wife’s own. He seemed to recall that when they first met, his male body had been just a tad taller than himself… Well, he hardly remembered what Ramza had looked like by this point, and it wasn’t like anybody would ever think to correlate the disappearance of the wanted criminal Ramza and the sudden appearance of the lovely Ramira, least of all herself.

“Perish the thought.” Ramira smiled. “Now, I’m off to meet Lady Beaumont! If I’m held up any longer, I might ruin my image as a gracious host.”

She gathered up her skirts and waddled off as quickly as she could, Cedric watching her slowly descend the stairs to meet Lady Beaumont, who had already come inside. She had grown exceedingly plump herself, with a hefty second chin and a fat body that rivalled Ramira’s early days. The two were unable to hug each other over their mutual bellies and fat bodies, the two performing a gentle mutual belly bump that seemed to serve the same purpose for them. Cedric watched happily, appreciating the fruits of his cultivation of his ideal wife, forever and always…