Ney’tiri approached the Quarian diplomatic envoy ship with caution born of experience. Since the human invasion, her people had commandeered many of the old human shuttles and spacecraft left behind. They had also learned that space was a very busy place—alien transmissions and signatures from all over the galaxy reached Pandora.

	As the moon’s first diplomatic ensign to other species, Ney’tiri knew first contact would be dangerous. But she had confidence: if anything went wrong, Jake Sully would be hot on her heels with a fleet of bomber shuttles. She was entirely certain she was safe.

	She couldn’t help but be nervous, however, as she looked at the Quarian ship. The vessel was massive, elegantly designed, but strangely swollen—huge cargo holds had been tacked onto its hull and large tubes ran over the surface of the ship, conveying who knew what strange substances. Neytiri’s deep-space research indicated the Quarians were a very intelligent people, practical and innovative in their technology. This ship looked more like it was build by a hurried child than a scientific genius.

	Nevertheless, she hailed the ship and docked, smoothing her ceremonial meeting garb as she did so. Translucent, colorful beads covered her torso and barely concealed her rump and loins. It was not a modest outfit, but it certainly commanded the attention of every male—and most female—tribe members she’d met on Pandora.

	Stepping into the airlock, she let her body be bathed in sanitizing gases. She was edgy without the reassuring sensation of Hometree nearby her, but she reasoned she would be back on Pandora soon enough—there was no need to rush. When she entered the halls of the Quarian ship, however, she began to regret coming almost immediately.

	A rank stink pervaded the ship, seeping into every corner and cranny. An almost visible mass of reeking gas choked her and made her eyes water. Stumbling to avoid knocking her nine-foot-tall body against the bulkhead, she gladly took a refreshing glass of wine from a floating, holographic drone which rolled up to her.

	“Greetings,” she said, downing it in one gulp to clear her clogged throat. “I am Ney’tiri, of the—” A sudden belch rose from her blue stomach, rattling her indigo lips. She covered her mouth, blushing purple—this was a terrible way to begin negotiations. The berry-taste of the wine lingered on her tongue, thick and intoxicating. “Of the tribes of Pandora,” she finished, stifling a second burp.

	“Mistress Tali knows who you are,” beeped the drone, its platter revolving to offer her a plate of small brown spheres. “Please, have some chocolate. The Mistress insists.”

	“Well. . . If it’s her custom to feed her guests, I suppose. . .” Ney’tiri had heard legends of chocolate from Jake Sully—the mystical aphrodisiac and sweet treat of Earth. Popping one of the balls into her mouth, her eyes widened as the sensual flavor flooded her tongue. “Eywah! This is miraculous!” She had to have more, even before she was finished eating the first—two, then three, then four chocolate bon-bons went down her throat before she could stop herself. “I’m so sorry about my manners,” she mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate. “I simply love these things—whatever they are!”

	The drone beeped and buzzed, zipping ahead of her with its treats like a Pied Piper luring her into the smelly corridors. “Mistress Tali would love to have a meal with you. Please, this way.”

	Ney’tiri advanced, occasionally plucking more chocolate and goblets of wine from the tray. Distracted as she was by the dizzying Quarian beverage and the decadent Earth chocolates, she barely noticed strange signs of disarray in the halls: discarded clothing, food wrappers, sauce splattering the walls. Finally the drone led her to a large meeting hall.

	The table there was covered in food—not covered, rather, but coated. Every inch was dripping with saucy or sweet dishes, some of them without even plates. Delicious moist delectable’s slathered in sauces or cream sat everywhere. The smell was intoxicating.
Ney’tiri sat down at one of the benches and prodded one of the strange dishes. “This can’t possibly all be for me…”
The drone buzzed around her shoulders, tying a napkin around her neck. “Of course not most of this is for the Mistress.”

	“She must have quite an appetite, this Tali,” Ney’tiri said, smiling a little as she tried to imagine what kind of glutton would even eat a tenth of this. Surely Tali was just putting on a show for her, trying to display her wealth and prosperity, as certain clan leaders did. Still. . .
	“Am I allowed to eat any of this stuff?” She didn’t want to appear rude, or offend the representatives of a new species. Nevertheless, her stomach was growling, and a lifetime of greed trained by food shortage was making her fanged mouth water.

	“Consume as much as you like. There is plenty more where this came from.” Ney’tiri scoffed at this idea. No one, not even a queen of the stars, could possibly have much more food than this to offer—it would be the height of waste to even consider such decadence. No, surely they were putting on a show for her. But while they were, why not indulge?

	Ney’tiri began to eat — slowly, at first, knowing the drone was watching her with its single orange eye. But then she reflected, it was a robot, wasn’t it? It didn’t have manners, and so did she really need to use hers? After she had this epiphany she began to eat faster, sucking down roasted chicken and large vault milkshakes with equal speed. She had never even imagined most of the food on this table; every bite was a new journey into a previously undocumented realm of sensuality. Everybody shot across her tongue like a bolt from the stars, new and alien tastes sinking into her pallet and pulling her deeper into the feast.

	With no supervision, she began to default to her wild ways, putting down in tensile’s and bringing food to her face with only her delicate blue fingers. Soon her hands were coated in sticky syrup, savory barbecue sauce, and chunks of glazed sugar. She sucked down chocolate, gobbled sandwiches, and nearly had a small orgasm when she came to a platter of doughnuts and had her first swallow. “I had never dreamed,” she said, belching, “that food could ever taste this good! It is as if —oh, Ey’wa—as if I have been waiting my whole life to eat these things! They are divine!”

	“Your appreciation has been noted for the record.” The drone beeped and turned toward the far end of the room.” the Mistress is approaching. Please rise.”

	Ney’tiri went to stand, and felt her stomach brush against the table. Astonished, she found that it was practically inflated with food, bulging out at least two feet, like she was heavy with child. And yet, she barely felt satisfied—in fact, all she wanted to do was eat more! She found her natural wariness returning as she wondered what more of this food would do to her. Truly it was delicious—erotically,sinfully, seductively tasty—but if a few minutes of gorging could do this to her, what might a second course do? A third? A fourth?. . .

	These thoughts were put behind her as a deep, wet gurgle sounded inside her striped belly, and to her shock the beads draping her rump were lifted in a massive fart. It smelled of earth and Pandoran vegetation, and she blushed a deep azure, waving a hand around her rear to dispel the stink. Something in the food certainly didn’t agree with her insides. . . and yet, even as she coughed on the smell of her own fumes, she still wanted more. Much more.

	A pair of huge hydraulic doors opened on the far end of the room, and the lady of the hour entered. . . but Ney’tiri didn’t immediately think of her as a lady. Indeed, it was hard to place Tali’s gender, or even bone structure, because the spacefaring diplomat was buried under untold hundreds of pounds of flesh! Even behind the skintight environment suit she wore, Ney’tiri could see the girl’s fat rolls bunching, heaving, jiggling and slapping. Tali was so huge, so catastrophically fat, that the sides of her huge floor-scraping belly actually got stuck on the way in. “Bosh’tet!” the Quarian cursed, struggling to heave her huge bulk into the room. Small rumbles and groans from inside her suit spoke of hidden flatulence as the repulsively huge alien finally heaved herself into the chamber, wheezing and gasping behind her fogged face mask.

	Disgusted, yet amazed, Ney’tiri forgot all about her own digestive issues. The air around Tali was rank, moist, stinking, and it seemed to leak from split seams in her heavily patched suit. As she watched, Tali groaned and a deep wet fart emerged from her, swelling the rump of her suit before hissing out of the breathing valves in her mask. The woman was literally exhaling flatulence!

	“Ney’tiri *urrrrp* vas Pandora, velcome to my ship,” purred an incredibly deep, yet feminine voice from behind the mask. “I admeet I am not very good at formal introductions. . . So feel free to have a leetle more food while I do the same. I am sure ve can talk over full bellies, yes?” Without waiting for an answer, she crashed into a sitting position beside the table, splitting seams betraying fat gray flesh. “Ahhh, dat’s better. Drone! Come feex this suit for me,” she belched, waving an arm so laden down with fat it was more like a melting, leather-clad chicken wing. “So, Ney’tiri vas Pandora,what brings you to my oooogh—“ Another titanic fart ballooned her suit. At this point, Ney’tiri was having trouble figuring out where the Quarian ended and what was just gas filling her suit! “Oooh, dat vas good. What brings you to my table?” she wheezed, pulling a long elastic tube from underneath the table.

	“Well,” said Ney’tiri, trying to compose herself in the sight of this unspeakably obese sovereign, “I, ah, that is, Pandora is looking to. . . Expand its interests.” She watched, hypnotized, as Tali pressed a button on the table and food fell into a pit at the center. A deep grinding noise sounded, and the hose in her fat fist jerked, pulped and liquefied food sluicing its way up the tube. “We are looking to acquire more trade, improve our quality of life. . . See what the galaxy has to offer.” If what it had to offer were more fat horrors like this, she reflected, perhaps she would stay home. Still, there was something oddly alluring about Tali’s bulk. The way she wore it, like a badge of pride, tossing her flesh about with every gesture—it was very queenlike, in a way. And like a queen, she clearly didn’t care about anyone’s opinion of her. Why else would she be such a fat mess? Biting down into a sugary éclair, Neytiri was forced to admit she was a little jealous. To be so fat and lazy, useless as a huntress, yet commanding a whole starship and banquets of sinful delights. . . It was enviable!

	As Ney’tiri watched, Tali crammed the hose into the hole below her mask. Wet, desperate sucking sounds ensued for a while as the hose bulged and food continued to tumble into the grinder at the center of the table. The sound of slick, greedy gulping, muffled from behind Tali’s mask, was topped off with a greasy burp that splattered the inside of her mask with spittle. “Ahhh. Vell, Ney’tiri, I can certainly help you vith that. My drones and I are very interested in. . . expanding the interests of primitive species.” Ney’tiri, wise in the ways of diplomacy, noted her pause—and the way Tali’s head inclined, as if watching her body. . . sizing her up. “I am sure ve can find you a place amongst the other members of our crew here.”

	“Crew? But I haven’t seen anyone since I arrived. . .” Ney’tiri continued to eat, mechanically, imitating her guest. As a diplomat she was expected to keep up with local customs—even if her belly swelled with stretchmarks, as it did now, or when her guts vented noisy bursts of gas, as they did now. Navi were notoriously quick to gain weight: it was crucial on a planet where a few extra pounds could mean surviving a vicious famine. Ney’tiri found it acting to her disadvantage now as her thighs touched together, her breasts bulged under her bead-brassiere, and her ass thickened and spread over the sides of the chair she was sitting on.

	“They are. . . a-round,” said Tali, a little giggle from behind her mask sounding like the guffaw of a very fat man. If it weren’t for the immense beanbag breasts sagging down on either side of her gut, Ney’tiri would not have been able to place Tali’s gender at all.

	“Very well.” It would be rude to pry. Besides, Ney’tiri found her mouth much more interested in things other than talking. Taking a bite of a slab of meat and cheese slung between two seed-coated buns, her loins clenched reflexively—what bizarre, wonderful food the Quarian had! Such erotically thick, greasy, mind-blowing, mouth-watering. . . With a surprised burp, the Na’vi realized she had eaten the entire burger in a few bites and was sucking on her fingers, the tingle of arousal pulsing deep inside her. Embarassed, she tried to eat slower—to no avail.

	The Quarian’s watching eyes took in everything: Ney’tiri’s vaguely worried but increasingly vacant expression, her thickening waistline, the barely suppressed sound of blue catgirl farts turning the two of them into an imbalanced flatulence duet. “I take it you are enjoyink my ship’s provisions,” she said smugly, licking her flabby lips behind her mask as Ney’tiri’s bloated belly flopped toward her knees.

	“Yes,” said the Na’vi, suddenly unable to remember what she had been so worried about a moment before. This “burrito” as the drone had called it when asked, was phenomenal! So much meat and egg crammed into one space. . . She was in heaven. She’d eaten three before she realized she was done with the first, and had a brief moment of panic when she saw her gorged gut jiggling over her kneecaps. In a landmark moment of denial, she simply brushed it off as “rainy season weight,” to be lost while hunting later. Not only would it be rude to deny Tali’s food, but it would also be foolish: it was unlikely she would ever have food this good again.

	Thinking of this, she dug in twice as hard, her swallows growing deeper and greedier and her belches louder and less restrained. Ney’tiri had always longed for the opportunity to eat as much as she could hold: her restraint was born of necessity, not modesty. Her planet had no room for gluttons. But here—here she was free to eat all she could hold, and more.

	Forgetting about the diplomatic meeting as she sank deeper into the rhythm of eating, she merely exchanged pleasantries with Tali in between bouts of guzzling, gulping, chewing, loud belching and sensual, deep farting. She was descending to her evolutionary roots: a greedy animal, happy to glut and glut as she saw fit until she could literally not move. Finally, as gas groaned in her massively swollen stomach and fat cells crowded into her ass, tits and thighs, Ney’tiri realized the table was empty. She and Tali had literally eaten everything. Only crumbs and smears remained—and to her embarrassment, Ney’tiri had to fight the urge to leap onto the table and slurp those up, too.

	“Ahhh. BREALLLLLPFFT.” Tali’s sigh of relief and her combination belch-fart shook the metal floors. “That vas a nice snack. I hope you saved room for the main course later,” she teased, slapping her own vast flanks with the wet sound of latex hitting meat.

	Ney’tiri hiccupped, her breasts and belly bouncing. “This was a . . . snack?” she burbled around a leftover mouthful of donuts, swallowing heavily. Her Pandoran body had already gained dozens and dozens of pounds—maybe even a hundred—as it hoarded the calories from this vast feast. Was there no end to gluttony on this ship? As her food coma settled in, she had the sense to be deeply ashamed of herself, touching her belly gingerly. It had grown so large and flabby, stretch marks joining her normal stripes and food loading down its gorged interior, that it had actually forced her legs apart—creating a very nice pressure on her loins.

	“Oh, yes. This vas just an appetizer. Of course, if you’d like a little dessert early. . .” She tapped at a keyboard, and a huge platter of blueberry pies rose from inside the table. “I can see zat you are still peckish, no? I recognize a fellow gourmand vhen I see her.” She burped, and saliva streaked the inside of her fogged mask. “How about a leetle of my ‘special’ blueberry pie before vhe go visit the pens. . . er, ze crew quarters?”

	Ney’tiri felt sick at the sight of even more food. . . but her stomach, unconcerned with logic or shame, craved more. More of anything she could get her stained, chocolate-crusted blue fingers on. “I. . . I couldn’t URRRRRPHF presume to, urgh, BLARRP—presume to abuse your hospitality,” she said, using the words Jake Sully had taught her as she tried to fight down the gas inside her. It didn’t work—she farted so hard that for a moment all she could breathe were her own fumes. Gagging, she nevertheless felt the raging desires in her surge ahead. All this decadence. . . It was too much to take, and yet, not enough. She needed more.

	Tali chortled, the laughter shaking her mattress of a stomach. “Oh, please, vas’Pandora. I am heppy to give you as much food as you can handle. More zan zat, in fact. Why, in the rest of the galaxy, I have a bit of a reputation. . . Vhen I see a hungry little alien girl, I cannot help but geev her vhat she vants.” A fart blasted open new holes in her suit, and the drone worked overtime trying to stitch them back up again. “And I can tell you vant more food. Am I wrong, Ney’tiri?”

	“N—URRRRAPPP—No.” Neytir licked her lips, already splattered with every manner of food byproduct imaginable. She was sweating heavily now; this much eating taxed her body to its limits, and yet she couldn’t help herself. Her greed was taking her over, dominating her logic, commanding her to eat, eat, EAT with all her strength. There was one problem—the blueberry pies were just far enough away that she couldn’t reach them. Being so close to more orgasmic face-stuffing, but unable to act, quickly became torture as she struggled to grab the pies, her bloated gut mashing against the table edge and forcing rapid-fire belches and obscene sounds out of her. “Could you URP please BRAPP push the FRRT the pies HICCUP closer? I can’t FRRRT BRRP FRT reach them HORP.” She was drooling, now, saliva pouring over her fangs even though she had eaten enough to kill a hammerhead-rhino by now. “Oh Ey’wa, I just want more! So much more! Please, please, give me them,” she moaned, her tail thrashing as she groped at the pies.

	Tali sighed, and Ney’tiri actually saw her licking the inside of her mask to get at the crumbs splattered inside it. Truly she was a disgusting creature—but right now, Ney’tiri was in no position to judge; she could feel even her tail getting fatter and thicker, ropy and laden with flesh. She was imitating Tali in every way but sheer mass, and she couldn’t help herself. “Oh, so sorry sveetie, but I’m stuffed,” purred the obese queen, waving a flabby hand. “I simply can’t move. Too full.” She belched, gaskets bursting off the sides of her mask and the faceplate cracking a little from the force, but Ney’tiri knew Tali was playing with her.

	“Please! Oh, spirits, I’m so hungry! I don’t know how, but I am! BRULLP,” Ney’tiri choked on her own belches. “Can’t you send your HICCUP your drone?”

	“He’s a beet busy at the moment.” Tali’s amused tone infuriated Ney’tiri; it was true that the drone was working overtime trying to stuff Tali’s grey flesh back into her suit as it spilled out, but wasn’t Ney’tiri her guest? Did she deserve to be humiliated, starved like this?

	Her animal side surging forward, Neytiri snarled at Tali.”You fat bitch! You can’t just let me HORPH taste all this and then deny me more! I want it—no, URP, I NEED it! Give it to me,” she whined, and finally she surrendered to the inevitable: Ney’tiri dug her sharp fingers into the surface of the table and hauled her growing bulk onto it, literally crawling and dragging her massive belly towards the pies.

	“That’s no vay to speak to your host, primitive,” said Tali, her friendliness melting away as she stood with the assistance of the drone, her waves of flesh jiggling inside her patterned suit. “I may haf to show you how ve do things here. . . Drone, send a command to zhe cell block. Prepare Ney’tiri’s. . . guest qvarters.” Her thick accent was smothered in fat, but Ney’tiri could sense the menace in her voice.

	As soon as she reached the pies, of course, the growing cat woman was all apologies. “Mmf!” Burying her face in one with the greed of a jungle predator suddenly led loose on a world of steaks, she sucked down the hot flaky crust and the strangely tingly filling with a reckless indulgence. “I’m sorry, Mistress Tali, I will be more. . . polite, I promise. MMgggood, so good,” she purred, licking the dish dry and then throwing it away for another. “I admit I have not mmf, gromf, BRALCH, learned many manners on Pandora. I’m sorry, BRALGHRURP.” She wasn’t sorry at all, of course, but it didn’t hurt to butter up your hosts—especially when they gave you food that made your groin all warm and fuzzy. These pies in particular had an extra kick: Ney’tiri found it a little harder to think with every bite, and the zest of the blueberry had something strange in it. Something that buzzed in her throat and belly, gurgled louder and wetter than the rest of the food. . . something that made her skin feel loose, stretchy, almost like the skin of an underripe fruit.

	“Certainly you vill. I believe you. Nevertheless,” said Tali, watching as Ney’tiri gobbled down pies like a starving zoo animal, “I theenk ve should give you a little tour of zhe cargo hold. Just to further. . . familiarize you vith my culture, yes?” The drone, finished stitching Tali’s overburdened suit, flew over to scoop pie directly into Ney’tiri’s face with an omni-tool extension. Glad to be properly serviced, the increasingly fat cat lay back and enjoyed the debauchery, spreading her legs so her newly enormous belly could rub on her fattening mons pubis. The pressure and motion of her jiggling stomach was making it even harder to be worried about how quickly she was growing. . . and the sudden chilly, liquid sensation rushing through her flesh.

	Abruptly the pies were gone—she had eaten every one. “No—I need more!” Licking the plates, she gulped and slurped like a bohemian feline, sucking and nibbling. “More! URPH, please Tali, more!” Her stomach was immense now—almost a bean bag of pale blue striped flesh. Her neural braid had fallen into the remains of a pie and the sensation of her Pandoran organic uplink coated in blue filling was eye-rollingly erotic. “Ohhh Ey’wa, this stuff is divine! I could eat this forever!”

	“Zhat could be arranged.” Tali was putting commands into a keyboard again—this time, the wall drew back and a heavy yellow cargo lift rose, its edges flashing with strobe lights. “Zhe elevator is here, dear. Come along. I haff much to show you.”

	Walking was much more difficult with her new weight: Ney’tiri found it hard to keep her balance with her great, wobbling blue belly out in front: it wagged to and fro, out of her control, and slapped against her thighs, making her belch and stagger. On top of that, something strange was happening to her insides, even stranger than the flesh packing onto her hips, ass and gut. She felt a cool, bubbly sluice of liquid sloshing through her intestines, soaking through her skin, making her feel overfilled and somewhat. . . soggy. It was a strange experience, but she was so dizzy and bloated from overeating that she barely noticed as her sweat began to turn blue, and her farts took on a distinctly citrus scent—the smell of ripe blueberries.

	“Von’t you have a little blueberry wine?” said Tali as they both waddled down a massive corridor splattered with leftovers, wrappers and leavings. “Eet’s a good vintage. . . Eet’s amazing vhat you can do when you inject Eezo into your liquor, you know. And your pies.” Her tone of smug satisfaction was lost on Ney’tiri, who found little to be amused by in the sense of filling up like some kind of balloon. She was growing more and more confused—how had she gotten here? Her mind was filled with images of peaceful blueberry patches, stretching on for miles, filled with fat ripe blueberries. . . fat, jiggling blueberries that moaned with the voices of a dozen species. What was happening to her?

	“I feel. . . Funny,” she confessed, leaning on a cool metal wall as sugary, juicy sweat rolled down her in waves. Her whole body was puffing out, not with fat this time, but with sloshy liquid—the chill heaving of it sent her brain spinning. It felt good—really good, like she was a vessel being filled. “What. . . Did. . . You do to. . . URRRP me?” She struggled to keep her predator’s instincts as her body continued to betray her, her loins growing wet with something blue and hot and sticky.

	Tali waddled ahead of her, barely able to stand herself as her ankle flesh dragged on the floor. “Nothing you deedn’t want, my dear,” she said, wheezing around a throat full of fat as she gripped her own cascading rolls to keep waddling, the slapping sound of sweaty farts rumbing from inside her suit. “Like I said. I know a hungry girl vhen I see one. You are still hungry, yes?” She snapped her pudgy fingers, and twin hoses descended from the ceiling. “My ceiling tanks only haff different flavors of lard, but I assure you, they will fill you up quite nicely! Vhat is it the humans say? Bon appétit?”

	Seeing glistening lard dripping from the house, which ran on a rolling track deeper into the ship, Ney’tiri shuddered with disgust. Surely she wouldn’t debase herself by drinking pure fat? But she was still so ravenous despite how her belly now forced her to do an awkward duck-waddle with its enormous weight—and as her cheeks puffed out like little water balloons and juice sloshed inside her dizzyingly, she would do anything to try and wash the taste of blueberries out of her mouth. “I shouldn’t. . . I really shouldn’t,” she moaned, licking her lips as the lard oozed to the floor. Finally, giving in to her greed, she grabbed the hose and nearly swallowed it, sticking it far down her throat and sucking with all her might.

	By the time they reached Tali’s “passengers,” the Na’vi was having trouble staying vertical: the juice swelling her flesh had turned her midsection into a grotesquely bloated, disproportionate striped sphere and the lard bubbling in her guts was fattening her thighs and upper arms into nearly useless appendages. Her tail no longer flicked and twisted but simply rested on her huge stretchmarked blue ass, its fleshy tube over six inches in diameter. “So BLUERRP full,” Ney’tiri whined, pawing at her belly as she took another pull on the tube. “Can’t HORRRPF go for much longer. . . What’sh that?” she burped, farting as she leaned on her huge stomach for support.

	Behind a series of enormous force fields, seeming walls of blue flesh lay jiggling and heaving like flabby oceans contained in too-small aquariums. Ney’tiri could glimpse tiny hands sunk deep into the berry-shaped prisoners’ flesh; the occasional fat foot stuck out near the bottom, and on the smaller “passengers” she could see cow-eyed faces ringed by huge necklaces of fat. They were so massively fattened as to make their species almost unidentifiable, but through her azure haze of swelling euphoria, Ney’tiri saw girls with long tentacles coming out of the back of their heads—the slave race she’d heard of, Twi’leks—as well as humans whose skin had been tainted a deep purple or indigo and even a few tattooed, plump-lipped specimens from the diplomatic race, the Asari. All of the women—and a few men, she saw—were being fed blue fluids from tubes above them, and juice leaked from all their orifices. They were so horribly overripe that their nipples, mouths, and loins spurted and squirted thick bluish juice like fountains. One girl’s containment enclosure was full of her own juices; she was floating in them, and slurping it down greedily whenever her flabby, jowled face dipped below the juice levels. A couple of the prisoners—for they were prisoners, obvious captives of their own bodies and hunger—were small enough to have company in their cells, and without exception they were fucking the daylights out of their cellmates with any appendage they could still move. The gassy emissions of the captives shook the floor and walls, all of them hopelessly flatulent. Ney’tiri thought if the prisons were opened, the combined sweet-sour stink of overripe and fermented fruit would overwhelm them both.

	“This. . . is. . . HURRRRGGRRP awful,” Ney’tiri whispered, but her heart wasn’t really in it. She was so aroused and confused that she wanted to join every orgy she saw, ready to claw at the artificial force field and grind her tits on the energy wall until they let her in. Her own nipples had begun to seep with blueberry juice, trickling it onto the floor and making her footing slippery. “How can you pfrrrrrUPPT do this to HIC! These girls? URP!”

	“Please, honey, I don’t deescriminate. Plenty of boys in here too, you know,” Tali said, massaging one of her huge flapjack breasts as she panted, taking in her slutty army. “And I can do eet for profit, obviously. These beeg, fat juice cows will fetch a preety price on ze galactic black market. . . Won’t you, Liara?” She patted one of the cell walls. Behind it, a heavily freckled Asari heaved and wheezed, filling the space of her own enclosure with fat. She was so far along in her blueberrification Ney’tiri could actually see the juice sloshing behind the thin, papery fat of her skin.

	“T-Tali. . .” The girl’s voice was strained, choked by juice. “Please HURP let me out. . .I’m so lonely. I’ll do anything you want! I jusht HORK want one more BLARP fuck before I. . . Before I. . .” Her face screwed up in concentration as juice poured from the corners of her mouth. Every one of the chubby tentacles on her head stood out, puffed up with fluid, and she cried tears of blueberry extract as her bulk swelled another few inches.

	“Before you pop?” Tali said gleefully, her suit ripping as she mashed herself up against the enclosure and humped the wall. “Don’t worry, sveet cheeks, I won’t let that happen. . . Yet.” She left Liara to her moaning, squealing sexual starvation and beckoned Ney’tiri further into the slave holds.

	“You can’t. . . do this to. . . me. . .” Neytiri was having trouble speaking, gas and juice clogging her voice and making it sound deeper, erratic, slurred. “Jake will BLORP come and find me . . . I don’t want to be your HURPFFRRRRRT berry toy! Hic!” She was terrified by how much of a lie that was.

	“Sorry, Ney’tiri, but I already captoored your boy friend. He’s in the next wing over. . . He likes the girls there,” Tali said, winking through the grease of her mask. “And now for ze pride of my collection. . . His name is Dash. I bought him off some Skrulls, he’s been such a good leetle boy. . . And he’s about to be your best friend.” She tapped a control bank on the wall, her ham-wing arm jiggling with the effort, and a trap door opened under Ney’tiri, ready to drop her into a captivity shaft.

	Unfortunately, Ney’tiri had been far too greedy, and now she couldn’t even be captured without further humiliation. Wedged into the trap door like Winnie the Pooh, the once proud Na’vi warrior sniveled and cried as she farted and sweated buckets of slick watery juice. Tali clucked at her as Ney’tiri whimpered. “Uh oh. You are really a leetle fetty, aren’t you? Just a bloated little bosh’tet slut, can’t even fit down a hole, your URP ass eez so fat!” She laboriously turned around, waddling backwards towards Ney’tiri’s face. “Vell, there eez only one theeng to do. . . I haff to get you down there somehow!”

	Her huge jiggling cellulite-riddled ass, latex stretched and ripped under the weight of the immense gray buttocks within, made Ney’tiri fart with fear and disgust. “No, no GLURP don’t BLORP—” But it was too late. Tali’s huge ass came down on the cat girl’s face, farts and flesh enveloping her in a stinky embrace. Ney’tiri did not know how long she suffered under there, inhaling fumes and having her chubby cheeks slapped and suffocated by slimy fat and strips of overloaded latex, but when she regained consciousness she had slipped down the shaft and was inside an enormous containment chamber.

	Tali finally stopped the recording when Neytiri was too fat to have a visible face anymore. Content, she rolled off her Asari custom-made “Big Girl” vibrator and sighed with a happy fart. Playing the video of Ney’tiri’s humiliation on loop, she smiled viciously under her mask. “Dat’s going to fetch a pretty price. Drone, fetch me the black market communicator. . . and two tons of lard. Mama Tali is still hungry. . .”