Pursuits of the Flesh
By J.D. Freshenmeyer
“Ah, but you see, my boy, strength is peace. No one’s going to take what’s yours if they think they’ll lose their hand doing it.”
The sycophants around him all made noises of agreement. Of course, honored Sultan. How wise you are.
His father chimed in. “You’ll have to excuse his loose tongue, your Majesty. Mature as he is, he still has much to learn of the ways of the world.” He nudged his son with an elbow under the table.
The prince took the hint. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, your Majesty. I am foolish in my young age. One does not tame a wild beast with talk, after all.”
In truth, he had no interest in this conversation whatsoever. He wanted no part of being a prince at all, in fact. Save for the benefits. The life of luxury, the wealth. What he didn’t want were the responsibilities, the philosophical debates, the long, ponderous meetings. The burden of being the one to start and end wars. To have the blood of nations on his hands. But once he had turned 18, all of it was to be his. He didn’t feel any different than he had a year before, or the year before that. But all of a sudden there was talk that he was to be moulded and readied to one day succeed his father.
This evening, though, his thoughts were entirely elsewhere, and had been since before they even set out.
Through the huge open balcony of the palace grand hall, the sky was a fading orange. The last minutes of dusk before night. The festivities had started at mid-afternoon and showed no signs of winding down. All throughout the room, performers danced, juggled, blew great breaths of fire. The greatest musicians in the kingdom had been brought together and filled the air with instruments and song. Officials, dignitaries and nobles sat around tables laughing, feasting and drinking.
And in the centre of the room, seated at the largest table of all, were the country’s various rulers—not all of them on good terms, to put it lightly. While the Sultan’s palace was strictly neutral territory, several of the men in attendance were currently at war with each other. Their armies spilling each other’s blood on battlefields at the same moment their rulers drank and talked and feigned civility.
All had their attention on the head of the table, the Grand Sultan—an old tiger whose stripes were beginning to fade with age. Ruler above all of them. While they had autonomy over their own lands, his word was law.
One seat down on his left was the cheetah—King Al-Harad. Ruler of a fertile kingdom in the south.
And next to Al-Harad was his son, the very, very bored Prince Azra. Whose eyes disinterestedly took in the various sights as the conversation between his father and the Sultan droned on.
He was waiting for an opportunity. A chance to interject with what was really on his mind, without just awkwardly blurting it out. So far, one hadn’t come up.
He had heard rumours, tales of a great harem in the Sultan’s palace. A harem unlike any other in the known world. Made up of the most beautiful women hand-picked not just from every corner of the empire, but brought across the oceans from strange, unconquered lands.
It wasn’t that the women were said to be beautiful that interested him, though. If that was all he wanted, the pleasure room in their own palace back home would have sufficed. Or a trip to any of the city’s up-market brothels.
He finally lost his patience. They were only to stay a few nights in the capital and who knew when he would have a chance to return. He wasn’t going to miss this opportunity and spend what could possibly be years regretting it.
“Honored Sultan,” he interjected, interrupting the ongoing conversation, “I’m told you have a rather, shall we say, unique harem in your exquisite palace?”
There was quiet at the table.
The sultan gave a raucous, drunken laugh. “Why yes, my boy, you won’t find a finer harem in all the world.” He took a swig from his wine glass. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to be specific. You see, I have two. One of a standard variety, though not to understate it by any means, and then another. A rather…”
Azra cut in again. “One they say has the fattest women one can imagine, and some beyond even that. I should very much like to see that one.”
“You forget your manners, boy,” his father said angrily. “Bringing up such things in esteemed company. Honored Sultan, you must forgive…”
The sultan laughed again and held a hand up for him to stop. “No, no, it’s quite alright, my friend. Your young prince is now a man of 18, is he not? And who among us at that tender age would have denied themselves the pleasures of the flesh?”
There were more words and noises of agreement.
The sultan beckoned a female attendant over -- a pretty young jackal. Azra found her disappointingly thin, though, and imagined what she would have looked like with some extra weight. A bigger chest, wider hips, a nice round behind that wobbled if you gave it a slap..
He realised his thoughts were drifting and snapped himself out of it.
“The young prince would like to see our room of delights. Accompany him there, at once.”
The attendant bowed. “Follow me, my Prince.”
If no one had been watching, he would have leaped to his feet and chased after her like an excited child. But putting on a face for everyone at the table, he stood up slowly and followed.
“Enjoy yourself, my son,” his father said, giving him a slap on the back.
“I think I will, Father. I think I very much will.”
His awakening had come a year ago, around his 17th birthday.
He had sneaked out of the palace, as he did on a regular basis, for a care-free stroll around the city and a bit of freedom. Passing the familiar shops and landmarks, he had come across a band of travelling performers in the city square. All the usual things you would expect—dancing, fortune telling, acrobats—but one tent had caught his eye. A hand-painted sign declared “SEE THE WORLD’S FATTEST CHEETAH” and when he laid eyes upon her, his life had made sense. She was a beauty beyond words. So wide you couldn’t wrap your arms around her. Fur like the smoothest silk. Each of her breasts the size of a person’s head.
He had been with women before, but had never much enjoyed it. Something always felt like it was missing. He had actually wondered if maybe he was of the other persuasion. But seeing her, he knew. SHE was what he wanted. What he had always wanted. What he had always been missing.
She hadn’t initially been for sale, so to speak, but three gold coins in the paw of the troop leader had completed the deal. He had laid with her, and by God, he felt like a man for the first time.
He came back again the next day with another three coins, and the day after that. Then on the fourth day when he had intended to buy her outright and have her sent to the palace, they were gone. In the following days and weeks he scoured the city for something, anything that would satisfy him. A woman who could even come close. He found nothing. He had tasted the sweetest fruit and it was gone and nothing would ever compare.
He sunk into a lifeless depression. An emptiness had opened in him that he couldn’t fill. He would have given the palace treasury for just one more night with her. Until a rumour reached his ear of the Grand Sultan’s harem. They said he had collected giant women from across the world. Unbelievable sights, women twice as big as any man.
God had truly smiled upon him when word came that the Sultan was hosting a royal feast at his palace. And that all the leaders of the kingdom were to attend.
He stayed close behind as the attendant led him through the winding maze of corridors, not wanting to get lost. The palace seemed to go on forever. You could have housed an army in here. The ceiling was so high he had to tilt his head all the way back to see it. It made him feel small. Insignificant. Like an ant. The thought that one day something like this would just be dumped in his lap filled him with a sense of dread.
By the time they arrived at the huge, ornate doors, night had fallen. Four guards stood watch outside and after a word from the attendant, each took a length of rope as thick as a man’s leg and heaved the doors open. There was a thick smell of perfume in the air.
“This is where I take my leave, young Prince,” the attendant said. She bowed and left.
Azra nodded and made his way inside. The doors were shut behind him.
It took his eyes a little while to adjust to the dim light —but when they did—paradise on Earth lay before him.
He stared in amazement at the women. There were at least 30 of them. Lounging against piles of pillows smoking hookah pipes, relaxing in elaborate, decorative chairs drinking wine from golden cups. Some were soaking themselves in a bath built into the floor. They were all kinds of species—cheetahs, like himself, tigers, panthers, and some he didn’t even recognise. He had thought the travelling performer he longed for was the pinnacle of size and beauty, that no woman could have ever surpassed her.
How naïve he had been.
Each of them were at least twice—three times her size, some wearing silk face-masks and brightly coloured fabric robes, others wearing nothing except loose, dangling gold jewellery.
The sight of them made him weak in his knees and hard in his pants. A hot flush radiated through his entire body. He didn’t know what to say. He had spent months anticipating this moment, spilled seed in his sleep from dreams of what it might be like, and now he stood paralysed.
The room was huge—the air thick with various scents of fragrant perfumes and oils. Wisps of burning incense rose and twisted. Plush furs and rugs covered the floor. Lengths of translucent silk cloth were tied between pillars and hung from the ceiling. There were no windows and the only light came from braziers and lanterns burning dim flickering purple flames.
In the middle of the room —the centrepiece his eyes were drawn to—was a panther woman so fat he struggled to comprehend how it was even possible. Wearing only gold chains and bangles, each of her breasts were so large he would have needed both hands to lift one, her ass so wide that it was visible from the front and seemed to act as her own cushion. Her fur was pitch-black with a glossy silver sheen. Even naked, her stomach was so big and cascaded so far between her legs that nothing was visible. Her eyes glittered a vibrant emerald green. She was at least twice the size of even the fattest women in the room.
She beckoned to him with a claw. As she raised her arm, thick rolls of fat hung loosely from underneath. “Be not afraid, my young Prince Azra. We were told you would be visiting us.” Her voice was soft, kind, hypnotic. “Come, lay with us and forget your troubles. I am called Nightshade.”
Doing as instructed, he made his way to her. All around, the women watched him, whispering and giggling excitedly to each other. A tiger so fat he wondered if she could even stand took a long inhale of a hookah and exhaled a cloud of sparkling rainbow smoke. They rubbed their bodies slowly, sensually, teasing him to his limit. One reached out to playfully stroke his tail. He was on the verge of bursting without even having touched his penis.
She took his hand gently as he knelt down. Wrapping her enormous, soft arms around him, she pressed his small, young body into hers. With his eyes closed, he rested his head against her chest as she stroked his sandy blonde hair and whispered soothing words. He didn’t realise he was purring.
“Oh my poor little Prince. So much weight on your shoulders. So many responsibilities. Let us take care of you. Let us soothe your weary soul.”
Her words were like honey to his ears.
“And let us relieve your other burden as well.” She wrapped her paw around the bulge in his pants and squeezed it ever so gently.
“Yes…” he whispered, “please…”
She pressed her finger to his lips. “Shhh… no need to speak. Let us take charge for a while. Let all your worries disappear like sand washed away in the tide. Now, lay down.”
He did, and she pulled his pants down to his ankles. He lay flat on his back on the soft carpet, with his fur-covered erection standing straight up in the air. The feeling of ecstasy was overwhelming and he had to force himself to calm down and slow his rapid breathing. His head felt light and swimming as if he was in the early stages of being drunk, but he hadn’t had a drop at dinner. It must have been whatever intoxicants they were smoking having a second-hand effect on him.
A jar of oil was brought over. It had a sweet scent. The panther dipped her paws in it and began stroking his cock, pushing his foreskin down to find the smooth, furless skin underneath. She gripped with both paws as she lathered his shaft in a generous amount of it.
As she did, others surrounded him. A white cat knelt above him, and with the skill of a master, began massaging his shoulders, as the weight of her chest pressed against the back of his head. She was short, but this only made her weight even more prominent. Without a lot of area to spread out over, her hundreds of pounds of excess fat simply wobbled and hung from wherever it could find space.
“You may call me Cotton-Fur, if you wish, brave Prince.”
A cheetah beside him plucked an odd, stringed instrument he had never seen before. She produced a beautiful sound, though. Even not knowing what it was, he could tell she was an expert. He reached a paw out to grab a roll of her belly fat.
She took him by the wrist and pushed his hand deeper. “Enjoy my softness to your heart’s content, young Prince. Our bodies are yours to do with as you please.”
Nightshade had only been stroking him for a few minutes before he erupted with a loud moan. Spurting thick, powerful ropes of semen into the air that went all over his stomach and leg and in his fur. Three, four, five shots. He lay panting as his cock twitched involuntarily—trying to rub some of it off—but only getting his paw sticky with it and making more of a mess.
“Poor thing, so pent up,” she said, still holding his now limp cock. “Let us wash you —tell you tales while you recover your strength.”
His chest rose and fell as he recovered, his entire body still buzzing with residual pleasure. God, all she had done was give him a stroking. Something dozens of other women had done for him in the past. But the skill with which she did it, the finesse, it was beyond description.
He nodded without speaking and got to his feet—a slight dizziness striking him as he did.
Nightshade motioned for another woman to come over. Her fur was a light brown, with rounded ears and prominent black talons on her paws. Azra had never seen anything like her. She was at least a foot taller than any of the others but just as enormously obese. Her legs were so hopelessly buried in fat that each step she took was awkward and unsteady.
She took Nightshade’s fat paws— and with a strength that would have put most men to shame—hauled her unsteadily to her feet—her entire body surging forward and jiggling wildly as she tried to gain her balance.
The Brown furred woman held the panther’s arms to steady her—giving the bottom of her belly a few playful slaps. “The vastness of your body truly puts the rest of us to shame, Mistress. Soon even my strength will not be enough to rescue you from the floor.”
Azra was amazed. This black-furred goddess was so incomprehensibly obese she was simply unable to stand under her own power. He wanted her immediately, but his cock was drained and limp. He would have to wait—at least a little while.
“After you, my Prince” Nightshade said, gesturing him to the bath.
Azra made his way over there, Cotton-Fur waddling alongside him. Standing next to her—he realised that she only came up to the height of his chest. He could have rested his elbow on top of her head —but was so wide he couldn’t have wrapped his arms around her. She couldn’t have been much older than him, either.
The bath was enormous—big enough that you could have swam laps in it. Made of a polished, regal white marble —It dipped down into the floor and was filled with crystal clear, steaming hot water.
He lowered himself in up to his neck —letting out a long, blissful sigh of relief. It felt like heaven. The water was perfect—just hot enough to not burn.Tension and stress he didn’t even realise he had was lifted like a heavy weight off his shoulders.
When Cotton-Fur joined him, he noticed with great amusement that her breasts —which were the size of ripe watermelons —floated in the water.
“Shall I continue where we left off?” she asked.
“Absolutely”
She positioned herself behind him and worked absolute magic with her chubby paws. Hitting knots and stress-points accumulated from years of sword-play and archery practice.
The brown furred woman entered the water and sat down to his left—also making a satisfied noise. “ughh... carrying all this weight around tires one out.” She lifted her enormous gut with both hands as she said this — her tone deliberately meant to arouse him.
It was working.
Trailing behind — breathing heavily and exhausted from the effort of standing and the short walk — Nightshade took slow, lumbering steps down the stairs into the bath. Lowering herself gently so as not to make a splash and maintain her refined aura. Azra could clearly tell though, that even this small amount of effort had been an exertion for her. The black fur on her cheeks had taken on a reddish flush, and there was a gleam of sweat on her once pristine coat.
This only served to excite him even more. He did not have a cruel nature, though, and as much as he would have liked to see it, he wouldn’t ask her to walk laps around the room and exhaust herself further just for his enjoyment.
Still though, it was yet another on the rapidly increasing list of things he now found turned him on. Things that before he had entered the harem room he would have never even imagined.
“Shall I tell you tales of my homeland, young Prince?” the brown-furred woman asked.
He hadn’t noticed until now— she spoke with a strange accent.
As Cotton-Fur continued to knead his shoulders and neck, he closed his eyes and listened as he was regaled with stories—letting himself be carried away — forming wondrous pictures in his mind. Stories of a vast country across the ocean where trees stretched as far as the eye could see. Of monstrous beasts and brave heroes doing battle. Of magic and sorcery.
She was a bear, he learned— a species he never knew existed. He couldn’t pronounce her name when she told it to him in her own language, but in theirs it translated to “Beneath Sun and Sky” Everyone just called her “Sun”
Her country though, had no name. He could hardly imagine what it must be like there, when she told him that among her species, her size wasn’t at all unusual. That the lithe, slender bodies of the women in this land, the tigers, the cheetahs, the cats, had come as a complete shock to her when she had arrived.
An entire country of bears. Of women as big as her. Bigger…
The world he knew had suddenly felt very small.
As Sun finished her story and climbed out of the bath to dry her fur, Azra admired the view of her enormous wobbling ass that alone must have weighed more than he did —though he felt a little sting of disappointment as he considered that with his length —he would have absolutely no hope of penetrating her from the back. As she walked, her arms were out at an angle, and it occurred to him that she was simply too fat to rest them straight down by her sides. What an absolutely gorgeous woman she was.
When he was recharged enough and felt his cock hardening under the water, he was ready to go again. This time, though, he didn’t want to just lay there passively and be stroked to orgasm. Enough of being coddled—it was time to show them the man he really was.
He stood up in the bath—hands on hips and erection hard as diamond—water cascading over his soaking fur, and didn’t even need to think about who he would have next. He turned to Cotton-Fur —who was still sitting, and said simply and confidently, “I wish to know the pleasures of your body next.”
Her face lit up. As she stood, Azra grabbed as much of her belly as he could fit in both hands. There was no resistance. No firmness or muscle whatsoever. His fingers sank effortlessly into her wet fur and the soft, supple fat underneath.
After they had both dried each other and returned to the middle of the room, he somewhat forcefully pushed her flat on her back, which she accepted eagerly, her entire body jiggling from the motion. He was breathing heavily before he even entered her.
She purred contentedly as he began thrusting.
He increased his pace. Every powerful thrust sent the fat overflowing her body rippling like a wave. Her vagina gripped his cock like a firm hand. When he came again, it felt as if he had discovered an entirely new level of pleasure never felt before. His entire body convulsed as his seed exploded inside her. His back arced and he let out something between a moan of pleasure and a gasp of surprise.
He collapsed exhausted on top of her —panting and gasping —as she embraced him in a soft, comforting hug.
Stroking his hair, her lips brushed against his ear as she whispered to him. “Such a strong, wonderful man. Your stamina must be the envy of all.”
Those words echoed in his head. A harem of your very own. One that would surpass his father’s and even the Sultan’s. When he was king. Surely there were more women out there. More enormous beauties in hidden corners of the world, in unexplored, untamed lands. They could all be his.
In that moment, though it was imperceptible at the time, even to Azra himself, a seed was planted.
The same cycle of ever-spiralling debauchery played out well into the night. They pleasured him with their mouths, and he pleasured them with his, they lay on top of him and smothered him under their mountainous weight, he discovered it was just as nice to stick his cock in a soft, warm fold of belly or back fat and cum there—as it was to do the same in a vagina.
And each time, after he had spilled his seed, they would soothe and comfort him. Heaping praise on him, telling more stories, singing, dancing, playing their instruments. A sheep or maybe a goat—he couldn’t exactly tell—fed him ripe, juicy dates and other fruits. He was more interested in the fact that she was significantly wider than she was tall. It occurred to him to ask the Sultan later—exactly what marvellous foods were these women being fed. He would have very much liked to provide the same for the women of the harem back home. Poor emaciated things that they were.
He spent a considerable amount of time simply groping them as they sat around him in a circle. Feeling their fat—squeezing, exploring and jiggling all of their numerous rolls, folds and crevices.
The only thing he drew the line at was drinking their breast-milk when it was suggested to him. Not because he had a moral objection to it, but because it would have made him feel childish and unmasculine. Though he couldn’t help but wonder what it might taste like.
Soon his seemingly endless stamina returned to him and he wanted it again. His burning desire never satiated.
In the end, though, it was his body that failed him, not his lust. As he lay using the thighs of a tiger as a pillow, drinking wine from a goblet in one hand, absentmindedly fondling a roll of fat belonging to the sheep who had been bringing him fruit with the other—while Cotton-Fur pressed and rubbed her belly on his cock, he all at once reached his limit.
He didn’t cum—he simply closed his eyes for a brief moment and fell asleep. A sleep that an invading army couldn’t have woken him out of.
He woke the next morning in his guest-room. His clothes were washed and folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
When he opened his eyes and tried to sit up, the light burned like fire and he felt like he had been kicked in the crotch by a mule and beaten senseless over his entire body by a gang of thugs. Even the slightest attempt at movement racked him with pain. His head felt as if someone inside was trying to break out of it and escape. Everything he had done last night—and he remembered only half of it at most, he was now paying for in full.
He didn’t regret a moment of it.
He spent the rest of the day in bed, drifting in and out of restless sleep and hurting every time he breathed. He cursed his weak, fragile body for failing him. He had never bothered with the pursuit of strength training and physicality, but laying there, he silently vowed that that was one more thing he would change.
By evening, his father returned and was beaming with pride. His son had finally taken the first step into manhood. He wanted to know all the details.
Azra didn’t tell him even a fraction of the truth of what had gone on in there. Of course it had been nice, Father. Of course they were impressed by my stamina and the size of my cock. Yes, they had pleaded with me to stay a while longer.
“God, please don’t slap me on the back” he said weakly. They both laughed and it hurt him to do so.
When his father was satisfied, Azra told him something else, and this was the honest truth. The experience had shown him that it was time to take his responsibilities as a man and as a future leader seriously. He would devote himself to his studies, sit in on political discussions and military meetings. He would read the philosophy books he had been gifted—that he had never even opened.
And to begin this journey, he told his father, he would ask the Sultan if he could remain at the grand palace and serve on his council. What better way to learn than to serve under such a great ruler, after all.
Even in his current condition—so battered and worn down he could barely stand—his thoughts were consumed by the harem.
The experience changed him forever. Whatever he had been before he stepped through those doors was washed away. For good or for bad, the person Azra was died that night and a new man was born. One who would never hesitate again. One who had tasted what life truly had to offer and would never again be satisfied with anything less.
Ten years from now, he would sweep across the country like a sandstorm.
He would burn the old world to ashes—putting an end to the petty squabbling, the corruption, the self-serving kings and their undeserving, decrepit dynasties.
There would be one more war—the one he would start—and then never another. A new age would be born with King Azra at its forefront—and once his own country was held firmly in his paw, he would look to new horizons. He would send explorers and missionaries to every corner of the world—open trade routes and embassies. He would bring the rulers of all the world to his table and peace and prosperity would reign forever.
For now though, the seed of this dream hadn’t even begun to sprout. It lay buried in the fertile ground of his mind. As he stood on the balcony of his room, wrapped only in a bed-sheet, he gazed at the vast horizon with a sense of longing he couldn’t explain.
The cool night air felt nice on his fur, though, and the stars were beautiful.