A Line of Soft Princes - Ch. 6 - Royal Food Baby (Patreon)

“Pass the pork, if you would, dear wife,” Bartem said with a grin. Evie smirked back and passed a platter of braised pork cheek covered in a thick, herb-heavy sauce. The wedding feast had begun, and all the good cheer was infectious. Everyone sat at long tables set into a square inside a large hall in the palace Bartem had never before set foot in. The food and drink were so abundant that it could’ve fed a large town several times over for weeks. Every kind of meat, fruit, vegetable, spice, and sweet was represented. Servants refilled pitchers of wine and beer at a breakneck pace, while others took away empty platters, and still others set down entirely new dishes, steaming hot from the kitchens. The entire room was filled with the frenzied sounds of celebratory gorging. The sight and sound of everyone around him eating had spurred Bartem’s appetite, and he had a feeling he would be eating for hours yet.

As he loaded his plate with a hefty serving of pork, making sure to get plenty of sauce, he glanced around the room, searching for his family. Emmett and Linden were both seated near each other, eating like they’d never seen food before. The women seated beside each of them looked on with interest, and they were clearly attempting to carry on conversations. Bartem snorted in amusement. While Emmett and Linden both had their charms, he had a feeling the women fussing over them were thinking more about their new proximity to the crown than anything to do with his brothers in particular. HIs youngest brothers weren’t present—a little too young for the event. His parents were seated just to his left, and both looked to be enjoying themselves.

He tried not to think about who was to the right of his wife, but every once in a while, he could feel her eyes on him. Witnessing. Inspecting. He’d had an opportunity to speak with the queen before they were all seated. She had tried to be warm and welcoming, but she was at such a far remove that all that “warmth” felt more like the chill light of a distant star. He couldn’t quite imagine her being Evie’s mother, not in any real way. He could see where some of Evie’s mannerisms came from, and got a sense of where Evie had learned to command a crowd. After meeting her, all he could really think was that he was grateful to be married to her daughter and not her.

He didn’t get a chance to meet the king. Despite the importance of the event, he was not in attendance. The king rarely left the grand palace and hadn’t for years. The rumor was that he was too large to be moved, but Evie had scoffed when Bartem had asked about it in the days leading up to the wedding. “There is no one so large that we wouldn’t have the resources to move them. My father prefers to be out of the public eye. He has… other pursuits.” She hadn’t elaborated further.

Bartem focused on the food. He took a big bite of pork cheek, sighing happily. Even as a relative ascetic (with a big emphasis on “relative”), and after a month for his palate to get used to eating food from a royal kitchen, he was constantly impressed by the flavors and creativity of every dish. He was almost grateful to be wearing next to nothing, knowing it would give his stomach more room to expand and try everything he could.

After demolishing the pork, he turned his eyes to a fried meat dish with a glossy orange sauce. It was spicy and crispy, and he finished half the platter by himself before moving on. Evie passed him another dish: a whole grilled fish sitting on a bed of onions. He cleansed his palate with a full glass of wine after the fish was gone, then tucked in to a platter of wedding buns. There was a mix of both the fruity Burrock buns and the meaty Amalia buns, and he took one in each fist, taking bites out of one and then the other. This was not a night for dainty eating or polite table manners. A dozen buns disappeared into his belly, which had begun to bow out in a strong curve, full and heavy.

Evie watched him eat with rapt attention. She hardly ate anything herself, and tried not to gape as she watched her husband unleash his appetite. She had seen hints of Bartem’s appetite over the past month and expected him to really stuff himself on their wedding night, but all the same, she hadn’t expected this. She reached a hand over and rubbed at his belly. She put a pitcher of ale beside him knowing the alcohol would help him feel less full. He didn’t even bother pouring the ale into his cup, instead picking up the entire pitcher and gulping down every last drop in it. There were a few cheers as people watched him let loose. Evie let out a little gasp, and Bartem turned to smile at her as he set the pitcher down with a hiccup. “Don’t worry, I promise I won’t do this every night. It’s a special occasion.”

She continued funneling dishes his way. Fried chicken, pork ribs, sausages, cream soups—all met their end in Bartem’s expanding gut. More wine, more ale, more buns. And eventually, he started on the desserts. Enormous slices of pie, a quarter of a chocolate cake, vanilla ice cream with candied peaches, and a nigh-uncountable number of pastries found their place in his belly, which hung low and had begun to rest heavily on his spread thighs. By the time he had started to slow down, most people were picking at their food, too full to continue. Evie continued to rub his belly and encourage him to eat more. He looked down at himself. His stomach was packed so tightly and he was so inebriated that he couldn’t fully understand that it was part of him, even as he struggled to breathe and felt his stomach muscles straining to hold everything in. It was perfectly round, and larger than it had ever been. The top of his belly had grown red with the strain.

Still, he ate and drank, no longer in full control. His belly ached and his head swam, but he couldn’t stop. Evie’s gentle fingers grazed along his stomach, offering cool relief. He glutted himself, dishes piling up so quickly the servants couldn’t clear them fast enough.

Then, finally, he stopped. He was stranded. Too bloated to move. If he did, he would surely vomit. Evie looked on with wide eyes, and for the first time that night, Bartem felt his cheeks flush red with shame. She had picked the least piggish of the Burrocks, and yet here he was, having out-eaten even his most gluttonous siblings by a mile. But she was so gentle and so sweet, cooing over him as she asked some particularly muscular servants to help him to his feet.

The wedding party jeered good-naturedly. “Looks like they’ve already got an heir on the way!” a woman called out. Bartem was too full to pay much attention to Evie’s reaction, or the look on her face as he struggled to waddle out of the hall. He could hardly think. Some part of him was pleased he’d put on a good showing. He had more than proved himself during the feast. No one would dare question Evie’s choice now. At least not out loud.

It took an eternity, but eventually they made it to Evie’s suite. Bartem practically collapsed on the bed. The servants exited silently, and Evie moved to remove what little clothing he was still wearing. His belly jutted into the air. Any hint of softness he’d had before the meal was gone, replaced by a rock-solid globe full of digesting food. Now that he was relaxing, he began to feel just what he’d done to himself. He hurt, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

Evie went to the vanity she had in the room and grabbed a pot of skin cream from the drawer, then climbed into bed, still in her feast dress. She straddled Bartem as he whined and wiggled in a vain attempt to escape the consequences of his appetite. She began to rub cream over his swollen stomach and he whimpered at her touch. He felt like one wrong touch would make him pop. But she was diligent and careful, massaging drunken belches out of him as he groaned.

Slowly, the ache began to subside. It didn’t disappear entirely, and he remained certain he would never be able to stand again. Evie’s caresses moved elsewhere. She leaned over his belly and kissed his forehead. “How’d I do?” he asked, slurring a little.

“You did the best,” she assured him. “I had no idea you’d be able to pack that much away.” She grazed her fingernails along the crest of his stomach. He felt his cock hardening.

“Glad I didn’t sully the Amalia name on my first night with it.” She traced the tip of her finger around his belly button and his hips bucked.

She did it again, a little smirk on her lips, and ground her hips against him. “I figured you might want to save the fucking for tomorrow with your gut that full. Was I wrong?”

His stomach rumbled. He could feel it churning, struggling to digest. He was still so full, but… “I’m drunk enough that I’m going to say ‘yes.’ Just be gentle, or everything in here will come right back up.”

“Of course, my prince.” She shifted and used a hand to guide his cock inside her. He moaned loudly. “You’ve never been so vocal before,” she purred before gently rocking her hips.

Everything felt heightened, and he said so. Evie leaned down and kissed his belly, slowly rocking as she did, careful not to upset his stomach. His cock throbbed. He tried to focus, to make it last. It was their wedding night, and he wanted to make sure she enjoyed herself. But he needn’t have worried. Evie’s hands roamed over him, gentle and hungry, drinking him in through her fingertips. The sex was slow and careful, which only heightened the tension. For Bartem, this was nearly unbearable. He preferred being in more control, going at the pace that felt right. At a certain point, he realized Evie was enjoying being a tease. Did she like seeing him squirming and out of control and desperate as she rode him? The thought alone nearly made him come. She sensed it and moved a little faster, her hands resting on either side of his overstuffed paunch. He finally let go, crying out loudly as he came.

When he finished, she moved off his cock and caught her breath. Bartem was still reeling when she straddled his shoulders, hiking her fancy dress up over her hips as she chirped, “My turn.” He reached up and held her thighs to stabilize her.

“Yes, my queen.”