shortish daisy fat/slob

Despite the common public perception that royalty universally accompanies ostentation and extravagance, it was no exaggeration to say that the conditions within which those blessed to stand atop the monarchical pyramid languished in were as diverse as those royals themselves. Perhaps many would choose to live amongst constant reminders of their affluence, but for some, functionality and comfort often outweighed aesthetics, more literally for particular individuals than others. It was for such reasons that the esteemed ruling Princess of the eternally-warm and often treacherously blazing Sarasaland Kingdom chose to forgo the somewhat unnecessary layers of meticulously color-coded decorative furnishings often found in the chambers of royalty, and on most days, woke up alone in a medium-sized, dark room devoid of heat-allowing windows, a fact that had some lesser ramifications for a woman such as her.

Day after day, without fail, the end of the rather excessively-proportioned princess' hours-long session of vigorous snoring and occasional, bed-creaking sleep-motion took place in a rather personally-acclimated room, regardless of what steps had been taken by her servants beforehand. The thin sheets were even in probability to remain wrapped tightly around their bulky owner or to be kicked off by one meaty leg in her lethargic sleep, and whenever the cosmic forces of chance chose the former, they would invariably outline the rather immense curves, bulges and canyons created by their inhabitants' figure, often to the point of dampness around the more airless valleys of womanly mass. No matter where they lay at the beginning of the morning, they would invariably be cast aside as the royalty beneath stirred and shifted, waking up to greet another day with her typical abundant demeanour.

Long ago, the plush princess had given up formal nightgowns, their clingy, stretchy properties simply ill-suited to handle her progressively swelling bod, until the most they could accomplish as a garment was acting as an ineffectively transparent bra covering. Instead, she chose to abandon most clothes altogether while in bed, allowing her deep, tan figure to stick to the bedsheets and plaster against the sheets. The sole exception was what by most standards was a long-since outgrown top, worn only to keep the sizeable portion of her immense body weight that had gone to her now-blubbery breasts from jostling and wobbling in her sleep. Sitting up alone was enough to reveal just how far it inevitably slid whilst she slumbered, and although her meaty back left an expanse of warm dampness on the mattress behind her, the snug, discoloured dark-orange makeshift bra was typically her first priority upon waking, thick fingers tugging and pulling it off of the huge, hammy torso it had been squeezed around. Without fail, a long night of containing the thickest, warmest breasts in the kingdom left the stretched and irreparably stained fabric with another layer of sweat, the positively piggish woman's underbust and underarms accumulating enough heat and dampness to highlight where the bra had been stuffed beneath her flabby contours, and her squashed-together bust necessitating her airing out her deep cleavage once it was free to rest atop the remainder of her bulk.

Perhaps the most obvious facet of her physique, the utterly gravid blob of brown, bulging belly that rested atop her thunderous thighs whenever she sat up was the ideal counterpart to her hand-overflowingly heavy breasts, her typical morning routine of spreading and lifting that compressed bust invariably resulting in a few slow, kneading scratches of lethargic wakefulness. Rarely did a day go by without that already enormous hallmark of gluttony being pushed to the point of straining ache from how greedily its' owner imbibed, and rarely did a morning go by without at least a few minutes of the mountainous princess merely sitting in bed, allowing her fully exposed and overfed body to feel the stagnant air of her closed-off room.

To anybody else who hadn't remained in the sealed chamber overnight, it would have been an experience in olfactory offence, the warm and humid air infused with the odor of sweat, heat, and the individualized yet distinctly womanly smell of the sleeping girl herself, magnified by the lack of fresh air to mask her personal scent. Such a cocktail of pungent aroma was never helped by the utter regularity at which such a seemingly demure sovereign allowed her enormously overfed body's natural processes to occur; whenever she felt the dying breath of her previous night's meals deep within her overtaxed digestive tract, there was hardly a second thought going through her head before she leaned forward and pushed out what was more often than not a heavy, rippling wave of flatulence, the only obstruction between her frequent unforewarned farts and the air around her the rumpled, partially caved-in mattress and her own chair-bendingly wide and dimpled ass. Despite the crude, vulgar deepness and volume of her gas, it was an infrequent sight to see the not-so-prim princess not push it out with a clench in her face, nor did she often excuse anything or anyone for the hot, putrid odor that followed and stacked onto her already perpetual air of humid sloppiness.

When the bloated royal eventually did climb from her bed, there was never fanfare to the motion, fat feet spread on the ground from the width and mass of her thighs as her nude form stood exposed. Either hand typically found its way to her hip to idly scratch at the brown blubber, the wide, moulded form of her immense handles and rear long since becoming an insurmountable obstacle to common clothes. Instead, as she stepped over the elephantine panties worn for the previous few days, no thought was given into merely plucking the rumpled, marginally less overused dress from where she had tossed it the previous night on her drawer. It, too, bore the hallmark stains of her figure; sides still slightly moist from her hammy arms, reddish smears of food streaked unevenly down the chest and what would become a taut, globular tent of fabric once stretched over her middle, and a very definite tear in the rear that had gone uncommented on by her various palace helpers and servants. Even with that, no concerns graced the weighty woman's mind as she pulled it on, forgetting about her already sweaty body in her habitual beeline for breakfast.

Speaking of breakfast, there was no doubt that for all the gorging and binging such a spoiled princess did, she awoke hungry for more unless her previous night's feast was both late and truly belt-busting, even by her own standards. An airy rumble of hunger typically signalled for her to get a move on, and without paying mind to her shoes or socks, the door to the royal sleeping chambers often opened to reveal a barefoot, barely-dressed woman ready for another day of sweltering sun and rich meals. Already, foodless burps of hunger oft escaped her lips, grossly wet and sputtering from the lack of substance in her gut, but such displays were as concerning to her as her less appealingly aromatic releases. It was only a matter of time before she would have much more reason to be belching like a frat boy, and on most days, that time could be measured in heavy, waddling footsteps to the kitchens.