Hall of the Hog King 1
author: Hollow
oOo
“More wine! More, I say!”
The deep, bellowing voice echoed out from the central dining table of the great castle – and at once, there were scampering feet running to and fro as two servants sped toward the kitchen to fulfill their majesty’s demand. They hastened through the swinging doors, immediately located the large keg of wine, grabbed it, and with all their speed and strength, the pair hastened back.
They made it just in time to set the massive container to the side of their lord, who immediately, with a cup in one hand and a large leg of roasted ox in the other, slammed the hand with the mug in it straight through the keg’s lid.
If he felt the impact, he did not react to it in the slightest – and in mere seconds, with a filled mug the size of an infant, the king lifted it up to his jiggling jowls and downed it. The wine spilled forth into the man’s gaping maw, rivulets of red flowing down his thick gullet like a river. Seconds passed, and the two servants stood there, their backs sweating, as they watched and waited.
“Ah…”
The king lowered the now emptied mug from his pudgy hand – the fingers were so thick that only two could actually grasp the mug’s handle, though with the immense strength the royal mass of flesh possessed, this was no bother to him. The mug was taken by a servant and set upon the large table, and only then did the king turn his eyes downward to appraise the two men there.
“You two.”
That mugless, flabby hand raised itself, two thick fingers pointing at the men. The two men froze up in silence, and stood there at attention.
A smile crept across the king’s face, the sagging chin lifting up with it. In seconds, the smile was a wide, broad, grin, and at once, he let out a short laugh – a rather jovial, booming laugh that made his entire body shake.
“Come now, lads,” the king said. “You look as if I’m about to have you beheaded! You have my sincerest and biggest thanks for fetching my wine for me, now please, have a seat, and have some for yourselves!” He laughed again, and neither the laugh nor the gleam in his eyes nor the shaking of his large, bulbous frame gave off any sign of ill intent. On the contrary, he oozed with actual kindness now. “Come, come, there’s no need to be afraid or shy!”
There was a long pause as the two servants gawked at him. It took them one moment to absorb these words – including sharing a look of mutual uncertainty among themselves – before, in the second moment that followed, the pair did as their king instructed them to and seated themselves at the large table.
The king’s smile didn’t drop as he nodded with approval.
“Splendid,” he said.
And then, he brought up the hand that was holding onto a leg of roasted ox – and without a word, he brought the meat to his mouth. His large, salivating mouth with teeth glistening latched itself onto a huge hunk of the meat, and he tore it off with ease. But he didn’t even really bother chewing the chunk, no – he downed it with zero care, and it trekked from his eager tongue down to his throat, and from there, plummeted into the pit of his engorged gut.
He did this two more times, until the ox leg, which was by no means a small morsel, was gone, bone and all. He’d devoured it without pausing to catch a breath, and when it was gone, he let out a large, heaving sigh of contentment.
“Delicious,” the king said, and he patted his belly.
Or, well, he did the best he could to pat his belly, since the man’s gut was so large that it took up almost half his natural mass. Not that he batted an eye at this, though.
This man was King Padrick Grigori Belgoliath, known by his closest friends and confidants simply as King Bel, ruler of Bearmaw, a splendorous and vast kingdom filled with the finest of foods and drinks all around. He had held the crown in the kingdom for nearly twenty years by this point, after he’d received it from his father, the previous king, King Georguy Monderos Belgoliath.
Or rather, taken from his father, as it were.
King Bel’s eyes flicked down to the two servants he’d told could sit at his table, and watched them take little bits from the ocean of foods and drinks set about – the table was overflowing with different delicacies from Bearmaw and around it, including numerous meats, cheeses, vegetables and fruits, seafoods, and sweets, and over ten different types of bread – and that was only a portion of it!
Yet he watched with earnest pleasure as the two men partook in the food, and he smiled once more. For while the corpulent king was voracious in his appetite for anything and everything, he was a good man, and a fair king that cared deeply for his subjects and his subordinates. There was no malice, no deceit, in his fondness and protectiveness of them – they were his, and he would see to it that they were treated well, no matter how hungry he might be.
King Bel craned his neck – if one could even refer to him as possessing a neck, due to the fact the fat from his chin was so big, it and his neck seemed to have fused into a single blob of flesh to the naked eye – down, and he reached a thick, stub-fingered paw lower to grab at the raised dish containing more food.
With eager lips and a drooling tongue, he brought the dish up – it had two blocks of cheese on it, and another, smaller leg of some sort of bird, he believed – and proceeded to devour its contents. He shoved the first block of cheese into his impatient mouth, and for a moment, he toyed with it with his tongue, that he could soak in the flavor; this cheese was produced south of his kingdom’s borders, and its taste had a pleasant bitterness to it.
‘Marvelous,’ the king thought, as he eventually swallowed it in one gulp.
Then, he stuffed the roasted bird’s leg in, swallowing that in one gulp as well, before the other block of cheese was final. By the time he’d engulfed what lingered upon the large plate, King Bel felt… perhaps not filled, but, content was the best word to describe it. His gigantic belly pressed against the wood of the table, yet it groaned in appreciation, and once more, he smiled.
“I will have to give my compliments to the–” King Bel’s words were interrupted by a thunderous belch that erupted forth from his mouth, so great that it shook his flabby gut and the table, too, sending a few things right onto the floor.
The two servants halted in their partaking of the food and immediately scrambled to try and amend this – but King Bel held up a single finger.
“Peace, my friends,” King Bel said. “Don’t trouble yourselves! Enjoy what you’ve taken, go on!”
The two seemed to relax, and King Bel was pleased. Food being thrown on the floor – he saw no problem with this, for he’d eat it eventually, really. He loved his food and his drink, and he never wasted a bit of it himself if it could be helped.
Of course, when you were cursed to be eternally hungry, with a stomach that would always end up needing sustenance, one wouldn’t be surprised to find that King Bel was like this. It was not something he liked to think about, in part due to the fact it was his own doing that led to such a curse – and though he did not disclose it, the guilt he felt over how it came to be was sincere, and remained a constant presence in his roll-riddled belly.
For now, though, King Bel was quite happy with the food he’d eaten – he’d swallowed nearly one fifth of the food he’d been served roughly thirty minutes ago, and he dug his mug back into the keg to get himself some more wine. He downed it in a single gulp like anything else he tended to eat or drink, and because the man was so utterly bloated from fat, the likelihood he’d feel any of the alcohol’s effects beyond a hint of a hint of a buzz was nigh impossible.
King Bel brought his jiggling arms upright and proceeded to clap his hands – the sound echoed throughout the hall. At once, there came several sets of loud boots stomping upon the carpet from the other end of the room – and in no time, four men, all large and muscular and menacing in demeanor, strode up to where the King currently sat, carrying a flat palanquin for the gorged lord.
“Ah, thank you, my lads,” King Bel said. “Apologies for making you heave my body around like this! Ho!” He laughed, and his gut and chin wrinkles vibrated from the throaty sound. “If you please, my lads, to my throne for now!”
The four men bowed their heads in silence, and, at once they set about their task of lifting the king upon his mobile means of transportation.
Fortunately, despite the sheer expanse of flab that made up the king’s entire body, he possessed a great physical strength – the sort of stout strength one wouldn’t expect from a great wall of blubber like King Bel. He stood, with some earnest struggle at first, but, he managed to get to his feet on his own.
He smiled wide and cheerfully as he turned to angle his bloated form to the side, enough that he could more easily be maneuvered by his men upon the large, sturdy palanquin that was his mobile throne – and once he was there, he let out a grunt as he relaxed a bit more. Those same four men readied themselves, and in sync without a word, the four lifted the great girth of King Bel upright.
Somehow, the strength of the four combined was enough to help raise their giant lord – and they proceeded to walk in big steps forward.
“Finish what you wish, servants,” King Bel said to the two men still seated at the table. “Have my cooks take what remains and save it for later, if you would!”
“Yes, your Highness!” the two men said in unison.
King Bel beamed.
It didn’t take long for the four behemoths of men to carry King Bel’s fatuous frame from the dining area to his throne room – his throne was one crafted of the finest wood, molded to better fit his gargantuan body thanks in no small part to the fact it was said to be crafted with magic. What sort of magic, King Bel did not know, but, he did not question it – he’d had enough of questioning magic in his lifetime, thank you, since that was the reason he was cursed to possess such an inhuman hunger for the rest of his days.
When the four finally carried him up the stairs to his throne, they lowered the mobile throne down. King Bel, rather than force his men to help his corpulent self up again, decided instead to heave himself up. It took a good deal of effort to mash his thick, plump legs upon the floor, and more effort to dig down upon said floor when his fat was so vast that he looked like a mountain instead of a man. And yet, before his royal carriers could protest or attempt to help, King Bel was standing upright.
Standing and walking was, despite appearances, not usually a problem for the king. Yes, he was rotund, but, he was fortunate to be able to do such things once he’d gotten going – it was simply that, well, he’d just eaten, and thus, it wasn’t as easy for him when his belly was trying to rest post-meal.
His massive stomach grumbled in annoyance, but King Bel ignored this and, with a single huff, strode to his throne, turning so that his bulky behind was facing the large cushion where he seated himself.
‘Easy goes it,’ he thought.
And with that, he slowly plopped his great behind onto that cushion. The throne rumbled ever so slightly from the man’s bulk sitting there, yet he soon relaxed into it, and shifted his big belly about so that it was spilling out before him, comfortably. His throne accommodated such girth – this made it far more suitable.
“Ahhh,” King Bel said. He let out a pleased sigh, the folds on his neck and throat and chin jiggling from the noise. “Much better. Thank you, my lads. You may go and rest as you wish, or feel free to feast! I will have no need for you gentlemen for a time since now I have my kingly duties.”
The four men, clearly somewhat effected from having to carry around such a mass, bowed their heads in silence, mumbled a unified ‘yes, my King,’ and then departed the room in tandem.
King Bel’s plump lips curled into a frown, his cheeks sagging with it. “Mm. I say, I’ll have to try to liven their moods up… perhaps if I hire two more carriers to aid them? Maybe some gold? Or women, hmm…” He paused. “Or men, if that be their heart’s preferences.”
He pondered this for a moment before deciding to do a little of all the above to ensure that his carriers had a less strenuous job – he knew he was a thick man, after all! But even though he was a ravenous king, King Bel would always do his absolute best to look out for his subordinates. Such was his way, the opposite of the way of his father, the past king. That man… was no such thing.
King Bel shook this off. He had other things on his mind.
Now that he’d feasted, the man would remain in his throne for several hours, as was his duty as king. He would stay there and see if any had need of speaking to him, and, he expected his loyal steward would be arriving soon to fill him in on any important happenings. In the meantime…
King Bel clapped his hands together three times. “Ladies!”
It didn’t take long for several women, each one beautiful in her own way, and different in how she dressed and looked, sashayed into the throne room. There were four of them altogether – King Bel’s favored concubines, cherished women whom served him with more… intimate acts and the like.
He knew their names by heart, too: Essandra, Kallis, Nimah, and Rane.
All four halted before his large frame, and, at once, they all gazed upon him with sincere admiration and fondness – they were greatly enamored by his fantastically full belly, and the great girth of which made up most of his body. For as huge as the king was, he was still phenomenally handsome, a fact he knew full well, and, a fact he wasn’t afraid to exploit when needed.
“So good to see you all, my angels,” King Bel said, and he regarded each woman with the same sincere fondness – they were indeed very dear to him, perhaps some of the dearest of his many subordinates, although the massive man was quite fond of them all. “I hope I’ve not disturbed you.”
“Certainly not, my Lord!” Essandra said. She was the eldest of the four, a curvaceous woman with long, flowing dark hair, and deep-brown skin. “We live to serve you, my King. It is our duty, and our honor, to shower you with the love and affection one such as yourself deserves.” She inclined her head in a bow. “Please, Sire. May we do as we enjoy, and worship your beauteous body?”
King Bel smiled wide, his eyes bright. “I would love nothing more!”
The four women all squealed in sheer delight – this was the high point of their days and nights, when King Bel allowed them to enjoy the lavish hunk of fat that was their great ruler. They lived for it, without ever having to be forced to please him, either. No, it was willing on their parts, and he was thrilled by it.
At once, all four split up, with each woman assuming her favored position when it came to worshiping King Bel’s mountainous body.
Essandra trekked behind the throne itself up several steps to King Bel’s backside, and she nestled into a small ‘alcove’ of sorts that was fitted to her size, with a cushion and everything. Once there, she rested her chin on his soft shoulder, her arms curling around the mound of his upper chest area, where his breasts lay. She always sat there, and at once, she began to lovingly massage the plump mounds that made up his sagging breasts, the likes of which some women could only dream of possessing.
He sighed, and he reached up one thick, flabby paw to rest it on his longest-reigning concubine. How fond he was of her sure hands, and how he loved the way she lavished his chest with such care and earnest fondness.
Kallis and Nimah were equally lovely women, both very tall and attractive in their own ways. Kallis was blonde, with a mane of curly hair that flowed down to the center of her back and fair skin, blessed with freckles and sparkling blue eyes. Nimah, meanwhile, had a gorgeous brown skin and wavy brown hair that fell to her shoulders, dark eyes, and a thicker build that was mighty soft. They assumed their spots – standing on each side of King Bel’s epic girth.
With broad smiles, the two women retrieved vials of oil that they carried on their person at all time – a sweet-smelling oil made from crushed lavender, watered down honey, and mint – and they started to lather the King’s stomach.
With such a large belly, the two women had a great deal of ground to cover, yet they were more than happy to take their sweet time with it. Their soft, yet skilled hands began to rub and knead the flabby flesh with the oil, sinking their hands deep into the malleable skin, and taking great care to dip into the numerous rolls of fat that comprised the massive stomach.
King Bel’s eyes closed, and he let out a quiet sigh, warmth flowing through him thanks to the loving hands of his dearest concubine. And then, of course, there was Rane.
Rane, with pale skin, and short and messy red hair the color of fire, was removing the gemstone currently sunken into King Bel’s cavernous navel. It was common for him to adorn his navel with large gemstones – in part due to his fondness for dressing with a flair, but, also due to the behest of his royal tailor, a woman whom he’d known since he took the crown for himself.
“My Lord, your belly button is so utterly divine today,” Rane said, cooing with appreciation.
She was utterly enamored by the large hole adorning his belly, and had been the one to christen herself King Bel’s ‘Royal Belly Button Masseuse.’
Her eyes sparkled as she removed the gem, and, using the same oil that Kallis and Nimah possessed, immediately pressed her arms and eager hands into the large crater. It was so large and deep due to his corpulent belly’s size, she could fit both hands into it, almost to her elbows by this point.
King Bel sighed once more, a heavier breath of relaxation, feeling so utterly relaxed and content. The four women were admiring and loving his body with such a strength, it was like their hands were electrified by sparks of pleasure – a pleasure that filled his vast belly, and spread through the rest of his body. This was, frankly, one of the things he looked forward to the most on a daily basis.
‘By the Heavens,’ King Bel thought.
The silence worship of his globulous form went on for several very long minutes of soothing silence – King Bel did not move, nor speak, for he was enraptured by the sheer splendor he felt from his royal concubines’ efforts. They did this every single day, often for hours and hours on end, and without fail, it never ceased to bring King Bel to the greatest mood imaginable.
He was floating in the skies in his own mind, and he honestly doubted anything could spoil the level of contentment the great king felt seeping into him.
At least, that is, until he heard loud footsteps echoing from down the hall.
King Bel’s eyes opened, and although his royal concubines didn’t bat an eye at the noise – they were far too invested in lavishing his body, and, he was quite pleased by this – he still made sure to pay attention to the source of the noise: for it was his royal Steward, Lord Kelren Ervenshere Dred.
Kelren was, in many ways, the opposite of King Bel – he was a very skinny, wiry man, who dressed very formally, with muted colors and little to no accessories of any sort beyond Bearmaw’s royal symbol in the form of a ring he wore on his left ring finger. He had a long, pointed nose, thin eyebrows and thin, beady eyes, with short, neatly-combed black hair that he kept slicked back, topped off with a thick black mustache he often twirled when he was nervous.
To put it plainly, whereas King Bel was a handsome beast of a man that happened to be a bloated hunk of flab and flesh with a charming smile and bright, jovial eyes, Kelren was a lean and quieter man that looked like he was the epitome of a children’s story’s villain, like he was a sniveling, conniving rat just waiting to stab you in the back or the throat without a second’s hesitation.
But. This was not the case.
Despite his, admittedly unfortunate, family name, and his features giving him the look of an evil bastard mastermind, Kelren was one of the most sincerely kind and good-hearted men in all of Bearmaw, right behind the king himself.
King Bel knew the man’s heart to be true, which was why King Bel trusted the man implicitly – he’d served King Bel for decades now, loyal and good to the core. And so, he knew when he saw the look on Kelren’s face that there was something foul afoot – and though he did not shoo away his beloved concubines, he did focus on his steward when the man stopped before him.
“My Lord,” Kelren said, bowing his head. “And, miladies,” he bowed to them as well, a custom of his, for he treated all folk equally, no matter their standing.
“Lord Kelren,” the four women said, pausing their loving of their gluttonous king’s body to regard him with sincere nods, before going back to it.
“Kelren, my good sir,” King Bel said. He waved his free hand – for one was still resting upon Essandra – at his dear Steward. “What has you in such a frenzy? You appear as if you’ve stumbled onto a ghost, or a murder! Pray tell it isn’t the latter.”
Kelren’s nose twitched. “I’m afraid it’s neither of those, my Liege. If it were, then I would be more keen on being able to deal with them easier. Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.”
He reached into his pocket and produced a finely rolled scroll, bound by a blue ribbon. King Bel’s chubby cheeks jiggled as the king frowned at the letter – and that frown deepened when Kelren removed the ribbon and allowed the back of the letter to be visible, for there, plain as day, was a symbol King Bel knew: a three-eyed eagle staring back at him, the symbol of another kingdom.
It was that of Eaglecrown, ruled by King Holdrick Illias Grembollin, whose surname was formerly Belgoliath – he was King Bel’s brother. Unfortunately.
“Shall I read you the letter, Sire?” Kelren asked. “No doubt by your expression, you’ve seen the symbol on the back and know whom this came from.”
“I can hardly wait to hear what–ooh!”
King Bel was interrupted when Rane, his navel-loving concubine, lodged her own head within the pit upon his great belly. He was not at all bothered by this, for it felt incredibly stimulating to him, and, he couldn’t help but smile down. Both Nimah and Kallis had also climbed onto his great gut, and were blissfully lost in his stomach’s soft folds. Oh, how King Bel loved these women for their excitement and handiwork. He took a moment to simply soak this in before he snapped back to the matter at hand, while Kelren stood there patiently.
“Proceed, my good man,” King Bel said.
Kelren cleared his throat, and, then did so. “To my brother, Padrick.”
King Bel rolled his eyes. “This should be a hoot.”
“Dear esteemed brother,” Kelren continued, “it has been some odd years since we last spoke to one another following your rather tragic mishap involving the witch you once called a wife. Since those days, I’ve become aware of your habits, and, I am growing concerned. We are all concerned, in fact, about your grotesque gullet overtaking your sensibilities, and we’ve become aware that there is unrest within the confines of your sordid kingdom’s borders.”
“Sordid kingdom?” Essandra muttered. She was the only concubine to be paying full attention to this, and she scowled. “King Holdrick is as charming as ever, my Lord.”
“Quite so, my love, quite so,” King Bel said, more amused by the petty jabs than anything. “Continue, Kelren, please.”
Kelren nodded and did so. “As such, I thought perhaps our once-esteemed family could come together for the first time in over a century – too long has our clan feuded with one another, over land and riches and other trivial things. I propose to you, brother, that we try to settle our differences of the past.”
Essandra squeezed and kneaded King Bel’s large breasts, and he sat there, absorbing the words written by his brother.
“Curious,” King Bel murmured.
“And as your brother, and thus, equally responsible for the Kingdom of Bearmaw,” Kelren continued along, “I wish to ensure that you are well, both physically and mentally, to maintain such a stance, Padrick. Should you consent to this, we may have ourselves a pleasant little get together with our kin, and may we have a pleasant discourse regarding the futures of our once great bloodline, and, our kingdoms.”
Kelren paused, then sighed. “Signed… your brother.”
He rolled the scroll up and stuffed it into his pocket, then turned his attention to the king. King Bel sat there, motionless beyond the actions of his beloved concubine, who continued to massage and tenderly stroke his great mound.
“I see,” King Bel remarked. “So he believes I am unfit to be the king of this land due to my great size, does he? And he feels he can spring upon me the notion that somehow I’ve tarnished our family’s legacy?” He pursed his thick lips, and then tutted. “How droll!” He gave a rather jovial laugh that shook the sagging fat that was his body. “As if I am some mindless child without proper experience in dealing with such things!”
“What would you like me to do, my Lord?” Kelren asked.
“Tell me, Kelren,” King Bel said, “what would you do in this position?”
Kelren was a little surprised to be asked such a thing, but, the thin man paused to mull this over. He thought for a long moment of relative quiet, twirling one of his mustache’s tips with one finger as he did.
“I would accept,” Kelren eventually said. “But perhaps I would take advantage of this by turning it into something more suitable to your preferences, my King.”
King Bel absorbed this. “A splendid idea!” He beamed then, a bright, massive smile that brought up the fat of his cheeks and chin. “In fact… I know just how to respond to my ‘dear’ brother. Kelren, if you please, alert my royal Scribe and have her come here. I shall have her write my brother with a response befitting a king of his stature. And then, alert all within the castle: we will have a gathering of the Belgoliath family, but not just some paltry meeting, no… a feast!”
Kelren blinked several times before taking on a knowing look. And at once, he went to fetch the royal Scribe for his king…
oOo