Feature Writer: Cheeslord
Feature Title: THE ABBESS 4
Published: 09.08.2025
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: Demonic possession of nuns, human sacrifice, weight gain.
Author’s Notes: The Abbess: (Chapter 4 of 9)
The Abbess 4
That night, Emelda dreamed that she was the Abbey. Her own familiar body retained its overall shape, but was massive, her skin composed of marble and alabaster, sculpted into great arches filled with beautiful stained glass. She reclined on a low throne made from a castle, towering over the landscape of fertile fields and some nearby woods.
Her vast head, crowned with turrets and staircases that were also hair, could see all over the land as she turned serenely. An itch between her thighs drew her gaze downwards, to where a steady procession of pilgrims was entering into her through the golden portal of her open vagina, having travelled up a long stairway ascending to the seat of her throne.
Each one brought a treasure — gold or jewels, fine food or wine, gilded furnishings, rolls of silk and ornate rugs. All were brought inside her to decorate her plush halls. She felt exultation. She was perfect, enormous, all-powerful, worshipped by all, and it was good.
Her gaze turned lazily to regard her massive, magnificent breasts. That was where she noticed something out of place. One of the stained-glass windows that dotted her epic surface bore just a slight crack. That would not do, someone should repair it. Why was it being ignored? She tried to smooth it out with her enormous stone hands, as you might flick a crumb from your skin, but the glass just shattered and fell away.
Some of the surrounding windows were now also looking a little cracked and faded. Some of the paint was peeling on the masonry between, the mortar beginning to crumble. Horrified, she tried to shout out to her worshippers, get them to repair her body, but when she looked down there were no more supplicants climbing the stairs, just a stream of jackals and thieves coming from the withered and blackened woods nearby to plunder her treasures as a cold wind blew through her empty archways.
She tried to close her legs, shut them out of her intimate interior, but her stone body was becoming stiff and unresponsive as plaster crumbled to bare masonry, which in turn eventually fell to the ground from disrepair. Finally all that was left of her glory was a grinning skeleton, a framework of rotting timber amidst a pile of rubble. As her wooden skull, creaking and groaning with age, snapped from her neck and fell, she woke up screaming and sweating in her bed, alone.
DeLor and her entourage must have left at some point in the night, but she barely noticed, so shaken was she by her nightmare. Its meaning was all too plain to her: she would one day die! All that she had striven for, the glory of the Abbey, her supremacy within it — time and the fading of youth would render it into nothing! Without her, surely the Abbey would decline — she was its heart and soul without doubt. This could not be borne.
She arose, shaking and pale, and crossed to a dresser to retrieve a glass of strong mead which she drained, barely noticing. More food, she thought. Although she was eating well and putting on weight, if she ate more her body would grow more — she would be further from decay.
She resolved to do this at once, starting as soon as her lazy cooks were up. She had awoken early, before the dawn. There must be something more she could do. Gluttony was only going to delay the inevitable. She was still only in her twenties, the youngest nun ever to ascend to the position of Abbess, but she was now aware of the deadly ticking of time and mortality with every breath.
A faint breeze crossed the room. The small reading lamp by the books began to glow, seemingly of its own volition. There must have been an ember in it kindled back to life by the breeze, she thought. Nonetheless the effect was to illuminate the collection of forbidden tomes in the pre-dawn gloom. Was it possible? She had heard folk-tales in her youth of the antics of witches, warlocks, sorcerers and the like, but had never really believed them. Nor had these tales been consistent on the extent of their unnatural abilities. Emelda rooted out another bottle of fine wine from her extensive cabinets, along with some confectionery, and donning her dressing gown she sat down to peruse the books once again.
As the nunnery awakened around her and a sister came to take her orders for the day, Emelda commanded a huge breakfast be brought up to her. She continued to read as she ate, refusing any other disturbance apart from sending for a second breakfast when the sister came to take the plates from the first. Her stomach began to feel taught, groaning and grumbling with the load, but she knew she must eat as much as possible. Sister Creed had a good head start on her, and she would not suffer herself to be outlived by a lesser sister, even a Sister Superior.
As for what she has learned — she had started with great enthusiasm, keen to cram as much forbidden knowledge as possible into her mind with the same gusto with which she was cramming excess food into her stomach, and at first it went well. She found hints and allusions to sorcerers who had lived to a great age, and heavy suggestions that they might even have remained attractive, with the seeming of youth.
However, the authors of these passages, while enviably steeped in knowledge of dark, perverted magics, had not been of well-ordered minds. Many of the books were sprawling walls of text written by multiple hands, usually without any index or reference. Some sections were in languages that Emelda could not even determine, much less read.
Some referred to other books absent from her collection, or to incantations and ingredients which were not explained in detail. As morning turned to noon she heaved her bulk from the chair, robed, and sought the private dining room of the Sisters Superior, without any certainty regarding the knowledge she had been seeking. A thought occurred to her along the way — her perfect, sinless purity and devotion might mean she would struggle to comprehend such … characterful works, but there were people in the world who might be better suited to the task. She need not struggle alone … not when there was a better way.
At lunch, she gave Sister Creed a good run for her money in terms of consumption, stuffing down a grand meal of steak and vegetables, sponge pudding with cream, wine, and many extra helpings of all. The Abbey’s growing wealth allowed the Sisters Superior to eat well every day. Emelda felt her belly swell further and her body pulse with that mixture of pleasure and pain that is an over-full stomach. Good, she thought to herself. I will not age and shrivel this day, but grow, expand, glut myself on good life. Following this, she shared a part of what she had learned with her sisters. There was some hesitation when she told them what she required.
“A pagan? A witch? A heathen Sorcerer?” mused sister Lyre, “If word of this becomes known, it will be … difficult for our reputation. Nonetheless, I believe I have connections who might be able to help. I shall put out my … feelers, Abbess. Besides, I am sure this can be pitched as good work, we would be ‘saving’ them from their evil ways.”
“Indeed, sister,” replied Emelda, helping herself to a plate of jam scones, “Although the works of the heathens are to be abjured by the common layperson, they contain the potential to be used for a higher good, for the greatness of the Abbey. We alone possess the superior devotion, the strength of will and grand noble purpose to use these secrets, to use the powers of the Enemy against himself. We have the opportunity to build the greatest temple the world has ever known. I need to know that you are with me, my most excellent and high sisters. That you share my vision.”
This produced a chorus of affirmatives from around the table.
“Abbess, you alone have studied the sacred profane texts,” Sister Creed spoke up, munching thoughtfully on a pile of cakes she had secured, “What powers do you think they might be able to convey?”
“My dearest sister, it would be premature to speak of this until I am certain, but,”
Emelda burped loudly as her gluttonous feast fermented a great amount of gas within her.
“Be assured that if my initial readings are correct, judicious use of these magics will give us unlimited potential. Not least in the extension of our span on this earth … my beautiful, beautiful sisters … imagine what we could accomplish given two lifetimes with which to steer the course of the Abbey? Or a dozen? Or a hundred?”
“That sounds … good. To our unlimited potential,” proposed Horslip.
Glasses were hastily charged and swigged in toast. Emelda sensed a hunger in the room now. She had not misjudged — every one of the Sisters Superior were as keen as her to unlock these tantalising secrets. She could count on their full support — and discretion, of course.
There was a soft knock at the door and a junior sister entered.
“Pardon me, Sisters Superior, High Abbess (a new honorific the Abbess had recently bestowed upon herself). There is a party of men at the door. They say they were invited to speak with us. They say they are from the…the Legion of Blood, sisters.”
It was plain from her hesitancy that the name struck some degree of fear into her. Emelda, however, was very pleased by this turn of events. The protection they needed for their beautiful Abbey had finally arrived, and Sister Lyre has already assured her that they could be controlled. Given that tenet, as far as she was concerned the more brutal and bloodthirsty they were the better. Set a mastiff as your guard dog after all, not a poodle.
“Show them in at once, sister. We will meet them here. Send to the kitchen. More food and wine for our guests”– another belch, “And ourselves.”
Shortly they were ushered in. Six obvious warriors in leather armour, led by a large man with a bald, shiny head and huge paunch. He was sweating slightly, presumably from the travel. Despite a scar across his face, he looked like a person who spent a lot of time laughing. His companions, grim faced and fierce looking, did not.
“Gentlemen,” Sister Lyre took the lead, “Thankyou for coming out here on such short notice. Please, be seated. We shall have refreshments for you shortly.”
“Our pleasure, little sisters.”
The leader had a loud, deep, booming voice. He immediately took a chair and reversed it, sitting legs astride, his fat leather-clad belly pressing into the chair back and causing it to creak alarmingly. His men took seats flanking him.
“So,” he began, “I hear yer lookin’ for some protection. I can’t say I blame you. The land’s really going to the dogs. Bandits everywhere. T’would be a terrible thing if something were to happen to yer delicate little selves. Me an’ me men would be most happy to help out with yer need. Only thing is … much as it pains me, we can’t afford ter work fer free, even for the noble ladies of the cloth, if yer take me meaning. Sorry, I should have introduced meself before jumpin in with both feet. I’m Magnus, of Tewkesbury. These are some of me men, of the Legion.”
“Welcome, Magnus of Tewkesbury,” responded Emelda, “I am High Abbess Emelda. These are my Sisters Superior, Sisters Creed, Lyre, Horslip and DeLor. You are indeed correct in your assessment that we have elected to seek protection for our sisterhood against the perils and pitfalls of this world, and we have been made aware of your companies … reputation in such matters. We believe that you may be suitable to our purposes, and as for the fee … I believe there are solutions that can be found, are there not, sisters?”
A troupe of junior sisters came in bearing fresh wine, and heaps of refreshments including fruits, pies, cold meats, salad and vegetables. The whole lot was set on the large table between the nuns and the mercenaries, who all tucked in immediately with equal relish.
“As you know,” said Sister Creed, while heaping a platter with chicken breasts, “Our Abbey is duty bound to spend all of our takings on works of charity and altruism, and so we have but a small reserve of coin at any one time.”
Emelda smiled at that, face hidden behind a large pie she had acquired. She knew just how stuffed full their treasure vaults were, but Creed was an excellent businesswoman, dedicated to always grabbing more wealth for the Abbey.
“Nonetheless, we could perhaps provide a small stipend for your services. There are many other benefits for working for the Abbey, however …”
“Indeed,” Sister Lyre’s smooth tongue took over in what was plainly a rehearsed speech, “I flatter myself that we have some small degree of influence amongst the noble houses of the land, and even with the crown itself. A commendation from us for your integrity, reliability and compassion may well cause other prospective hires to look beyond the obviously false rumours about criminal endeavour and brutal slaughter of the defenceless. Furthermore, I hear through my connections that the lord on whose lands you are currently encamped will be ending this arrangement shortly. There are extensive estates owned by the Abbey — an arrangement whereby you decamp your full might to our side might prove mutually beneficial, perhaps?”
“If you were here, protecting our innocence, I promise that my sisters and I would be most welcoming to our brave defenders. Any service that we could perform for you we would give gladly,” added Sister DeLor.
As she licked the jam from a tart, displaying a rather long tongue, her makeup, jewellery, figure and face drew the heads of every man in the room. Perfumed scents seemed to somehow waft across the table as she spoke. Despite their leather armour, with her extensive experience DeLor could easily gauge the level of their arousal, and she was satisfied with it.
“I must insist,” spoke up Sister Horslip, not wanting to be left out, “That while on Abbey grounds your men also be subject to our rules and disciplinary procedures. It is essential that we maintain good order, I am sure you will agree. Perhaps some of your more trustworthy men could provide us with … assistance in the business of enforcement even.”
Magnus digested this for a moment. At first he looked angry, but then his face cracked into a broad grin and he broke out into laughter, a long, loud belly laugh that echoed around the room.
“Gods save us all from the sharp wits of women! Ye’ve set up a trap that I walked right into! For ladies of God you’re far more earthly than I ever expected. Fine! I accept, subject to negotiating a more detailed fee with yer worthy sister there.” He gestured to Creed as she munched on a chicken leg, reclining heavily in her padded chair and cradling her vast stomach with her free hand.
There was a little more back and forth about the details, in which Magnus revealed himself to be far more savvy than his rough, jovial demeanour suggested, but the matter was largely settled. The whole company would decamp to the Abbey estates and provide continuous protection for a very reasonable rate, in consideration of the free use of their land, reputational and financial services provided by sisters Lyre and Creed, and certain other benefits for the men that Sister DeLor would arrange.
Some of his trusted lieutenants would work with Sister Horslip to enforce discipline and conduct between the soldiers and the sisters. At the Abbess’s personal request, Magnus and half of his men would stay tonight to begin guarding the Abbey, while the others were dispatched at once to bring orders to the Legion and start making arrangements to move.
After the negotiations, the Abbess recused herself to her chambers, as her belly was feeling exceptionally bloated to the point of being painful, after so many consecutive meals. She did however send for a pair of Sisters Sensuari in order to massage her and aid in digestion, and feed her stomach-settling sweet treats. An additional pair of their special necklaces was also requested, for the Abbess’s private study.
By the evening, she had recovered sufficiently to arrange a private meal in her chambers. A table was laid with the best cutlery, and a sumptuous meal of roast meats was laid on, accompanied by a great selection of vegetables, broth, stew, a huge amount of wine and delicious puddings for desert. Emelda, aided by her assistants, donned a new gown she recently had made for her, in an intricate pattern of black and red velvet that showed off her gorgeous curves most temptingly. She took her place and sent the summons for her intended guest, nibbling daintily on a few starters as she waited.
Magnus arrived promptly upon receiving the message.
“Great high Abbess, you surprise me again!” he greeted her.
He had changed into a simple padded tunic, possibly an underlay for his armour.
“It’s an honour, to be sure, to be invited to your personal table on me first day on the job. And to see you in such fine attire — yes quite the surprise. Not that it doesn’t look mighty good on ye — if I didn’t know ye to be in the holy orders, I might mistake ye for a princess!”
He sat down without further ado and poured himself a large glass of wine, making sure to top up the Abbess’ glass at the same time. Emelda smiled as the unsubtle but sincere compliment.
“There are certain privileges for those who have dedicated so much of their energy to the service of the Abbey, Magnus. Under my rule this establishment has grown greatly in prestige, size and wealth, and I have plans for it to grow much, much more. A small number of minor indulgences are irrelevant next to the glorious things I have achieved.”
Emelda began tucking into the large meal, forking huge slabs of hot meat and vegetables to her plate.
“Yer a rare woman and no mistake, Abbess —“
“Emelda,” she corrected him between munched and slurps.
“Charmed, Emelda. Anyways, ye’ve got a strength about you. An ambition. I’ve heard the Abbey was becoming a big deal already, that’s why I want to be in on it.”
Magnus matched her in the heaping of his plate.
“Yes, my dear Magnus,” Emelda replied between mouthfuls, “I have larger plans ahead which will bring in huge amounts of money and power. All our loyal people will gain rewards for their service in proportion to their value to us, and having big, strong men to protect us is valued most highly.”
Her chubby hand placed itself briefly on Magnus’s and then withdrew, as though bashful following its boldness. Magnus noticed that her fingernails were long and painted, her fingers sporting several expensive rings while her wrist was anointed with a delicate jewelled bracelet. Vain, rich, powerful, confident, pleasantly fat — she was exactly his type. He felt his manhood begin to stir and grow at her touch. If only she were not a nun — but Magnus had plenty of cause to doubt how seriously the vows of this place were taken anyway. Two of his men were on guard duty tonight, and he was pretty sure the third had been led away by the seductive Sister DeLor.
“We also have other ventures that might benefit from the talents … urp … of your company,” Emelda continued.
Her stomach was already rapidly filling up, but obsessed with glutting herself she refused to slow down in her rate of consumption.
“An armoured escort for our precious sisters … mmph … when travelling on business beyond our … ahhh … rrp … grounds would make them much safer in their tasks. Not to mention other activities which Sister Lyre … oh … ohhh! Arrrp! Sister Lyre assures me you have a knack for that would benefit the Abbey. The glorious rise of the … huff … our order justifies the means after all!”
Magnus could see the light of passion in her eyes as she said this. He had seen that light before, in the eyes of commanders who would order cities razed and the populations put to the sword for the glory of one faction or another. He had been that commander, sometimes, although personally he cared only for coin and the pleasures that could be obtained through it, or through the use of force and violence.
“Well, I will be at yer service for any ‘special favours’ ye might ask of me,” he said with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, “Ye might want to slow down a bit there,” he added, as she crammed another huge slice of meat into her mouth with evident difficulty. “Your eyes are larger than yer belly — you look fit to burst!”
Indeed, Emelda’s stomach was once again stuffed and swollen, filling out her dress almost to the point of tearing, pushing down on her thighs in a manner that she found most pleasing whenever she shifted her weight around, pushing up her breasts to the point where they pulsed with every breath, dangerously close to breaking free of their confinement.
With difficulty, Emelda chewed and swallowed her mouthful of meat. Magnus fancied that he could see the bulge of masticated flesh sliding down, even through the fatness of her neck.
“Uhnnn…” a deep rumble from her swollen insides seemed to shake the room. “I will have you know sir that I can … ah … ah … oh! I can eat far more than anyone else in this Abbey!”
“Oh yes?” Magnus responded, patting his huge paunch, itself noticeably expanded over the course of the heavy meal, “I think ye’ll have a cause to regret that boast, O High Abbess Emelda,” he laughed. “I accept yer challenge – prepare te be eaten under the table.”
This made Emelda giggle girlishly, although Magnus could not see why.
With that he set about the remaining food with renewed relish. Emelda did likewise, abandoning herself to pure gluttony. Wine flowed. Mains and deserts were crammed down throats with a growing frenzy. Their eyes were frequently locked together, each challenging the other with their excessive overeating. Twice the Abbess summoned junior sisters to raid the kitchens for more food to continue the battle. They became drunker and drunker, their already fat bellies swelling fuller and fuller, bodies beginning to sweat and tremble under the pressure of their over-engorgedness, until eventually, her mouth stuffed full of cake, Emelda could endure no more.
“Enmmmmph! Enufffff!” she squeaked through a mouth full of spongecake and jam.
The cake began to edge out of her mouth under the immense pressure of her gullet, but she put both hands to her lips and forced it in again, working it down her throat in a series of gulps and swallows.
“Nuh … nuh… eeerrrp! Not fair! I had shwo breakfashts and shwo dinnersh! You … huff … huff … had a walk!”
Magnus laughed a long booming laugh, steadying his great swollen belly with both hands — nonetheless his large man-boobs jiggled with mirth beneath his vest.
“Actually Emelda, I rode here! But ye put up a good fight — it’s been many a long day since I’ve had quite so much in me girth – uuurp!”
He drained another bottle of wine without even bothering to pour it into a glass. He then slowly stood up, and with quite a wobble he came round the table to kneel before her, clumsily pulling her chair around.
“An it’s a fine sight ta see yer so full. I like a woman with some meat to her bones.”
He leaned drunkenly forwards, bald, sweating head inches from her quivering, straining breasts.
“Sho, theese indulgences from being the high priest — er nun. How … flexible are they?”
Emelda felt her whole body swollen up with excess, gluttonous overeating and a strong, hot lust. In some corner of her mind she knew that this was a sin, but her head was full of veils, delicious excuses and layers of shadow and deception that promised to let her get away with anything she desired. She gleefully coated herself with luxurious lies, not questioning the provenance of such gifts. Nobody would know. It didn’t count. She could always repent later. She deserved this. Her good was the good of the Abbey — as the Abbey benefitted from the protection of the mercenaries, she would benefit from his huge, throbbing …
“I like your head,” she giggled drunkenly, eyes staring in different directions, an insane grin on her face.
Fat hands cradled the mercenary commander’s bald dome, drawing it up over the mountains of her breasts. It came willingly, hovering inches from her face.
“Magnus, oh …oooh! Oh, my pretty Magnus, I am the High Abbess. My word ish law here,” she whispered to him. “I deshide what is shinful. Kissh my breasts.”
Her hands guided his head over the firm hemispherical bulges of her cleavage as he kissed and licked enthusiastically.
“Mmmmm … yes, yes … gently … I want — oh! I want you to protect me Magnus. Protect my body. Protect my sweet bosom. Protect my virginity Magnus. Seal me up tight with your huge cock sho that no goodnesh can get inside me. I need to be shafe …”
“Yer majeshty,” Magnus drawled, “Yer sho drunk right now. If I were a good man I’d put yer ta bed an depart…whish makes me ever so glad to be a bad’un!”
He got his thick arms underneath hers and lifted, grunting with her weight as eventually her bulk popped out of the chair to the sound of tearing fabric.
“My dress! My … ooohh oohh! My belly! Gently! Shupport me!”
They staggered together across the floor to the Abbess’ bed, her right breast spilling out through damaged undergarments and a torn seam. Magnus did endeavour to support her gravid paunch from below, but drunk as they both were, their movements were extremely erratic.
Eventually he managed to get her across to a sitting position on the side of the bed, and unsteadily removed what remained of her luxurious dress, leaving her clad in jewellery and undergarments which were already partially burst and excessively strained from her vast increase in girth over the evening. As Magnus leaned in to kiss her red lips, hands groping and fondling her huge breasts, her fat fingers reached for his crotch, feeling the rod of his manhood hard beneath his breeches, stroking the swollen globes of his testicles.
She squealed with pleasure and anticipation. He grunted with the sensation. Her hands moved to his belt buckle, pulling on it and causing it to come away with a distinct thwack as the pressure of his own swollen gut’s sudden release flung it across the room. He reached back and helped her pull down the breeches, shrugging off his shirt with a drunken wiggle. Naked at last, he pressed in again, their bulky bodies intermingling as their bellies made contact. She seized his penis in her hand even as the pressure of fat flesh pushed her onto her back. Its hardness and size impressed and delighted her. Forbidden fruit, now at her command.
“Yes! Do it to me, Magnus, I need you. I need you inshide me!”
Hot moisture seeped from within her as the intense pleasure between her legs grew. Her tight, lacy red thong became slick with it. She pulled on his member and he moved in closer, kneeling on the bed now, fat thighs entwined with hers in a mass of hot flesh. He shoved up against her, eliciting a tender moan as their bloated stomachs pushed deeper together, sending waves of pressure through their bodies. She guided him in towards her centre, trembling in anticipation.
There was a momentary tightening around her hips as his engorged penis snared in her thong, but with a grunt and a flick of his hand, Magnus tore away the flimsy material, eliciting a sudden yelp from Emelda. Then, finally, he pressed hard inside her. The sensations were completely different from those of DeLor’s Sensuari. That had been slow, gentle, controlled. This was feral, brutal, frenzied. His fat greasy width pushed deep and hard into her, the pressure from their swollen bellies verging on pain, but adding to the sensation.
The explosion of pleasure inside her was stronger than any she had felt before as he seemed to swell further within her, grunting and shoving deeper and deeper with every thrust. Their fat bodies swelled and throbbed, flowing into each other, waves of pressure oscillating back and forth, triggering gurgles and grumbles as their excessively full stomachs were jostled about within their deep layers of protective blubber, causing their breasts to bulge and heave.
As her orgasm grew, so did a delicious sense of wickedness, a dark joyous love of sinful behaviour. A feeling almost as if her body was being caressed by unholy hands as well as her lover. Their passion grew to a crescendo as they finally came together, pulses and pulses and pulses of hot fluid filling her entirely, making them both cry out like animals.
Septuthiroth lay coiled about the couple invisibly, in the form of a great serpent, feeling pleased with himself. Now that the nuns had a private army at their disposal, he felt confident that any physical threat from the witchfinders could be fended off.
Meanwhile, there was but one more piece to assemble into his intricate tapestry, and his servants were already obligingly beginning to seek that piece out. Best not to leave such events to chance however. Silently, he slipped out of this world and down into the abyss. Time to call in a few favours from demons of his acquaintance, and perhaps promise some himself if necessary. Time to mobilise the various powers of hell, that this work should grow below as above …
THE END OF CHAPTER FOUR