July Prompt: Zala's New Figure (Patreon)

Previous story: https://www.patreon.com/posts/october-prompt-91986255

Tags: USBBW, Sexual themes and actions, loooooot of booty.

There might be some retcons throughout this, so the previous story is more for understanding the characters. If there is something contradictory, just assume this current part is what's canon. I gave a lot more thought to what I want the world and characters to be like!

Zala stood at the edge of her apartment’s balcony, looking down on the ruined world below. Stretching high above and below was the great tower of her race: Sarg Mondreth. It had swallowed entire generations of drow to build and entire races of slaves. Blood was as much a part of the mortar as cement was. It stood indomitable against the landscape of gray wastes and withered trees, a vestige of times gone by. Zala sighed, slumping against the stone railing. Fat that was not her own spread along the stone work, dangling down. She had waddled out seconds before, feeling the rhythms of her titanic ass shaking. It was one of the rare moments where she was undressed, wearing only a ratty top and panties. A humid wind from deep below, devoid of life, brushed against her obsidian skin. Even that was enough to make her gigantic ass quake. The bountiful cheeks, thoroughly patched with dimples and cellulite, shook in an endless battle. They warped around each other, stretching as far back as they did to either side. Zala’s moans and curses were lost in the gusting wind, but the sounds of her clapping cheeks could still be heard. Likewise, the sound of someone joining her on the balcony rose above the windy din. 

“Miss Zala, Lady Yasne has sent me.” Zala could tell from the timbre of the voice that the speaker was one of her liege’s orcish puppets. Without turning, Zala could feel the size and strength of the other woman along with the itch of violence. The latter Zala knew well herself, though her body no longer reflected her warrior training. “She would. . .have you make use of me before your meeting today.” The orc woman said, thick lips sliding against her slight tusks. Zala looked over one shoulder, confirming the attractiveness of the gift that had been sent to her. The orcish woman had large breasts and hips but a relatively small waist. She was muscled, but those muscles served to give extra form to her softer parts. These were breasts that would never sag despite time’s best efforts. Zala thrust back her round head and invited the orc forward. 

“I’m to be a mockery in more than one day today, it seems.” The warrior said, jutting her ass out all the same. She put thick arms on the balcony, letting her black skin ooze over the gray stonework. Gargoyles and other carved monstrosities watched as Zala prepared herself. A warrior and knight through and through, she had never been much for any act of affection. Lithe movements in pitched combat had never followed her to the bedroom. Now, her weight well over 600 lbs, she was more awkward that ever. The drow thumped her legs outward, testing knees hidden in lumpy folds. The soft obsidian of her ass swung back and forth, cheeks battling for the position of prominence ever. Her slab of stomach fat dangled freely, existing only to help even her figure out. She was built like a pyramid, widening ever as her monstrous hips jutted out. It was fitting that Lady Yasne had sent an orc, there was little chance of a smaller race being able to sufficiently strong for the task. “Get to you work.” The old warrior before turning back to the empty landscape. The sexually excited cackle of Yasne echoed through Zala’s mind. 

It began by two strong hands hugging as much of Zala’s ass as they could manage. Black fat bubbled up between green limbs. Zala sucked air in as if she was about to be branded. Muscle hidden below the bountiful layers that Yasne had blessed her with tensed in anticipation. Another gust of wind from the fetid swamp below blew, making her white hair flutter like a banner. The wind cut just as the orc woman dropped the heavy load of blubber. Zala straightened, pushing upwards like a breaching whale against the banner as she felt her ass thunder back into place. Ripples and undulations spread outward from her deep dimples, working their way despicably across her other rolls. Zala remembered times when it had been the artful twitches of sinew and not the indolent movements of fat. Her hands changed color with the intensifying of her grip upon the balcony. She was given little time to settle as the orc moved further between her cheeks. 

Tusks, sharp little pinpricks of ivory, poked into Zala’s mountainous cheeks. The orc nuzzled her way in, opening and closing her mouth as she sought buried treasure. Zala’s breath caught in her throat as a tongue licked out to find her thong panties. Both women grunted. The orc, due to her parentage, was never going to be a creature of feminine sighs and moans. Zala, meanwhile, stood in stark opposition to the pleasure seekers of her race. She was a hardened fighter, not one of the courtly seducers so beloved by the drow of Sarg Mondreth. “Uuuggh. . .if you’re. . .going. . . go deeper!” Zala growled, reaching a tubular arm back to smack her ass. The blow landed, but was so cushioned by thick bulk that only jiggles reached the orc. As if in understanding, the greenskin forced her way forward. What might have been kissed peppered the canyon crease of Zala’s rear. Her knees weakened as she was reintroduced to pleasure and sexual gratification. The orc, intentionally or not, struggled to lick her tongue around Zala’s thong. The orc thrust her head in and out of Zala’s rear, trying to find her prize. 

“Aaah!” Zala shouted in surprise, anger, and horny revelation. As the orc moved clumsily between her asscheeks, Zala was pushed and pulled from the balcony ledge. Her gut flopped over the stone ledge and then was dragged slowly back. With her only eye trained on the landscape, Zala fought on whether to focus on the swamp or the fury between her ass. Heated mud bubbled far below, moving in slow but unstoppable movements as the swamp seethed. Her ass was little different. Zala and the panorama she witnessed were shadows of their former selves. As the orc pushed in again, Zala’s fat shifted upwards. New rolls formed as the fat bunched up. Zala put her forehead down, hiding her face between hammy biceps and under a thicket of white hair. In the darkness, Zala chose to focus on her ass moving. She knew it was what Yasne wanted. If nothing else, Zala could be obedient. The orc renewed her struggle, demonically thick and long tongue working to reach the trapped thong. 

Zala sunk low, legs losing strength. Supporting her mass for extended periods of time was nearly impossible, doubly so when that strength was sapped by carnal weakness. Zala felt her nipples going hard, embarrassingly excited by what was taking place. The orc’s clumsy, fumbling attempts were matched only by Zala’s own fumbling attempts to enjoy what was being given to her. “Oooooh. . .fuuuuuuck. . .uuuugggh!” Zala bellowed like some ancient saurian. She wished that had been part of the blessing (curse) of fat that Yasne had bequeathed her with, but it was not. There were livestock which handled a fucking with more dignity than the swordswoman. However, it was at least mercifully short. Zala was not Yasne, her mistress was so indolent and sexually spoiled that her lovemaking sessions could last for hours. Zala had been privy to scenes of elven women crawling over her mistress’ tonnage, doing everything they could to bring the blobby drow to climax. Yasne would just giggle and tell them to try harder. Thankfully, for once, Zala’s low tolerance was a blessing.

“HAAAAAAAAH!” She screamed just as the orc wrapped her tongue around Zala’s panties. With a swift and strong stroke of her neck, the orc snapped the thong backwards and off of Zala. The drow moaned before falling backwards. The stone balcony, built to withstand sieges from the gods themselves, shuddered as the black blubber made contact. Zala’s hands thrust between her legs, as if to hide any evidence that she had been pleasured. She was dismayed to remember that she could hardly reach between her thighs and was far from her intended mark. She rocked upon her massive behind, letting the lingering lightning bolts of pleasure flee from her ass into her thighs and stomach. Her butt rolled backward, squashing out like dough. It would be sucked back up as she rolled forward once more. The immense drow cradled her stomach flab, it being the only softly comforting thing to her. “You. . .you may go. . .” She tried to sound strong as she addressed her lover, but her voice faltered. Muscular calves came into sight. 

“Thank you for accepting Lady Yasne’s gift.” The orc woman spoke as she knelt down. Zala’s well worn thong was still in her mouth, wrapped about her tusks. She was prettier than Zala had first anticipated. Arrestingly so. Blue eyes shimmered like galaxies whilst her green skin evoked long forgotten grassy meadows. Her hair was done up in an intricate knot, with black hair streaming down in ordered lines. Though the orc had little idea of how to handle her own beauty, still bearing the brutish impulses and mannerisms of her kind. Yasne had dolled this one up, applying every bit of magical and feminine knowledge she had. Yasne could create or destroy. Zala was as much proof of the latter as the orc was of the former. “She gives you another.” The hauntingly beautiful orc grunted, her voice playfully light. Zala could only imagine how such a feminine voice would sound recounting the hours of slaughter and pillaging so common to warbands. Zala imagined a maid singing softly about being lost in berserker fury, sweetly filling a smoky hall with tales of entire villages burnt and ravaged. The drow was embarrassed to feel the tickle of excitement in her breast. 

“What does she give me?” Zala brought herself back with talk of the gift. 

“The blade of a hero, enchanted with the secrets beyond that of a mortal reckoning.” The girlish voice continued to grunt sluggishly, her tongue unfamiliar to the secret language of drow. Yasne had done much work upon this woman. “One fit for devouring any life presented.” The orc spoke, obviously recounting the words that Yasne had magically drilled into her mind. A sword wrapped in expensive cloth was tossed unceremoniously across the polished floor. Zala threw herself to grab it before it skittered off the tower. The movement was painfully clumsy, an embarrassing display of obesity. However, she managed to save the sword. Zala unwrapped it, showing it to be a beautifully wrought rapier. It was done in the old fashion of the drow, deadly but without ornamentation. Zala looked down, realizing that she could never draw it from under her bulky belly. She blushed, again confronted with the limitations of her size. 

“Tell Lady Yasne that I. . .” The whalish drow fumbled around, looking for the orc. She was gone, summoned back to the immobile liege. Zala sighed. She had counted on the orc to lift her up.  

---

Zala waddled down the corridors of the great tower trying to keep her face stony and unresponsive. Weakness of any kind within the walls of the skyward obelisk was an invitation to be stalked by death. Sin of any kind was permitted by the drow, but it was a double edged sword. Indulge too much and you were likely to become someone else’s plaything or target. Zala had already been marked by her physical appearance. The eyes watching from hidden alcoves or darkened doorways knew her talents lay in physicality. Now so fat that a simple walk down several landings was tiring, those malevolent eyes were waiting for the merest hint of a chance. The bulbous drow only had her gifted sword as defense, though it would make a poor showing. Hidden under the sloping, sloppy fold of her gut, the rapier would not even be drawn quickly. It thrust up into her folds like an erect member, rubbing excitedly on the uniform which constrained Zala’s ever jiggling fat. The new sensation was almost enough to drive out Zala’s constant focus on the movements of her butt. Almost. 

The titanic moons moved with renewed glee after her trist with the orc. Beneath the dark fabric of her pants, Zala’s butt warped and sloshed. One asscheek tried to over take the other, curving its dimpled mass over the other. There was a current of movement in her butt that was wholly separate from the rest of Zala. It grew so ferocious and strong that she would have to stop from time to time. She would rest with a thick arm on a wall, letting her butt stop its contrary undulations. She would pant, letting her stomach recede and flow over the hilt of her new sword. The buttons of her shirt were taxed almost as much as her pants. Zala wore her traditional uniform, now sized appropriately for her bulk. Dark indigo pants stretched across even darker skin. Their artfully pressed crease had been erased, all free space stolen by Zala’s calves and thighs. The pants were sculpted to the curves of Zala’s ass, making them even more noticeable. There was no fold or roll that was left hidden. Likewise, her shirt had been tailored to show the drooping of her stomach slab. The small cape over one shoulder only highlighted Zala’s immensity. When she began to move again, the fluttering of the cape was lost in the obscene jiggling throughout the rest of her body. 

Zala walked through seemingly dark and abandoned corridors and rooms. Seemingly because the occupants were only hidden. Hidden away either to indulge in secretive vice or to plot, the other drow were not forthcoming to meet their kinswoman. Zala was almost an offense to these plotters and secretive breed, someone that had cast aside drow heritage to flaunt her size. The soft moans of sex stopped as the duelist plodded by, the shadowed partakers getting as much satisfaction out of snickering at the graceless woman. At one point, Zala even thought she felt a hand whisk across her butt, but that could have been paranoia and a well timed gust. She was glad when she finally arrived at her destination. 

Two great doors rose above her, carved with images of drow fighters. The long lineage of combat of her race was detailed here, honorable and dishonorable alike. She stood, her gigantic butt flaring out behind her as she looked at the lithe figures of those who came before. Dancers with flowing blades, large brutes with swords bigger than their bodies, and those who used only their fists. It was a record of every mad scheme the drow had used to crush their foes. Zala’s doughy shoulders slumped as she considered her own place in the world. The only thing she was fit to crush anymore was furniture and platters of food. The wide doors were a grim reminder that only things oversized were fit for her. The room that waited beyond was only going to be further proof of her unfitness. It was the Hall of Swords, the place where her own security force met. They would try to kill her there. Likely, Zala thought as she squeezed a buttcheek wider than three drow, they would succeed