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Emilia’s Exile
🕑 Added 2024-05-15 14:27:24 +0000 UTChttps://spartacusda.deviantart.com
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Contains: Breast Expansion as Weight Gain
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Emilia’s Exile
Sister Emilia padded silently down the cold limestone floor of the dimly lit corridor. One of the widest in the Abbey, the hallway led to the Mother Superior’s private chambers. It was an hour since supper and still an hour to go before fourth bell when the sisters would gather for the first vespers of the night. Hardly anyone was summoned to the Mother’s chamber at this hour, and Sister Emilia struggled to keep her trembling under control as she shuffled toward the chamber. Standing before the ancient mahogany door, Sister Emilia attempted to still her nerves. She brushed invisible dust off her robes and tucked an errant strand of blonde hair back under her habit. She’d never gotten used to the way the raiment itched. She knew the robe was not made so by accident—a Sister of the Holy Order of Lady Titania should never be comfortable in her worldly vessel. Yet, as Sister Emilia’s body had grown sinfully plump, she found the skin of her wicked breasts itched more than the rest of her, even when bound in strips of linen as they now were. Fortifying what few scraps of faith she possessed, Sister Emilia raised a balled fist and rapped lightly on the door. Her nerves made the knock more staccato than she’d intended.
“Come.”
Even through the thick door and thicker walls, Sister Emilia could tell Mother Bernadette was none too pleased. The Reverend Mother’s voice was never cheerful or trite, but her sternness was in rare form this evening. Sister Emilia swallowed a dry lump in her throat and pushed open the door.
Mother Superior Catherine Bernadette sat behind a plain desk that could not have been lifted by eight of the strongest sisters in the Abbey. She was flanked by Sisters Catherine Anne and Mary Thomas on her left and Sisters Mary Agnes and Catherine Helena on her right. All five women had been senior sisters while Sister Emilia was still on her mother’s teat, and each set of eyes rested on her with varying looks of disappointment, condescension, accusation, and pity. A single chair sat facing the Mother Superior’s desk, but Sister Emilia remained standing. She could almost hear Mother Bernadette’s words before she opened her dry lips.
“The time has come for you to leave us, child.”
Sister Emilia’s knees buckled, and she very nearly collapsed to the floor. She forced them to stop trembling and straightened her spine. This had the unfortunate effect of making her chest—bound though it was—thrust forward with sinful pride, and when she saw the looks of scowling disapproval from four sets of eyes surrounding the Mother Superior, Sister Emilia wished she’d taken the offered chair.
She had little doubt as to the meaning of Mother Bernadette’s words, but Sister Emilia clung to hope and asked, “Am I to be sent on a Mission, Reverend Mother?”
Mother Bernadette’s eyes flicked to one side for half a heartbeat. It was the closest Sister Emilia had seen to a look of remorse from the elder nun. “No, Emilia. The Sisters and I have spent long nights in prayer, and we believe it is not the Lady’s Will that you stay with us.”
Emilia’s vision blurred as salt water formed in her eyes. “But… but why?”
“Slow… clumsy… distracting to the Novices…” Sister Agnes muttered.
“Gorging at meals like an Epicurean pagan…” Added Sister Thomas.
From the other side, Sister Anne squeaked, “Disgracefully plump, clearly breaking the Vow of Asceticism…”
Glaring at the floor, Sister Helena whispered, “…body grows more sinful by the day…”
“Enough.”
Mother Bernadette didn’t raise her voice, but the command was like a Justiciar’s gavel on its block. Hints of color rose on the craggy cheeks of the senior Sisters, and they stared at the floor, chastised.
“It is not for us to question the Will of our Lady, Emilia. Return to your cell now. You will find your worldly clothes there. Sister Lucia will be waiting to take you to the village before second matins. Perhaps you will find repentance in the wilderness. I pray it will be so.”
Emilia mumbled, “Yes, Reverend Mother. Thank you.” She shuffled out of the chamber and back into the corridor, holding back her tears until she heard the door thud behind her.
***
Despite tossing and turning all night, Emilia woke before dawn. When she came to the Abbey, she was just a girl, orphaned and starving. Life as a nun had been difficult, but the thought of going back out into the world with its manifold cruelties made a tight-knotted fist form in the pit of her stomach. She frowned at her worldly clothes, folded on the small stool in her cell. Why had the Sisters saved them all this time? Perhaps even the poor and needy had no use for her threadbare dress and tunic. Maybe the Sisters had known they might eventually have to exile her and saved her clothes just in case. The thought brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes, but Emilia sniffed them back.
She picked up the tunic and lifted it over her head. Over a decade in the Abbey hadn’t made her grow any taller, but the Sisters’ mutterings were not baseless, for she’d grown quite a lot in other directions. The tunic bunched at the crest of her bosom, and she worked the rough-spun linen downward bit by bit, taking great care not to rip the much-deteriorated garment. The dress pinched tightly at her waist, but the skirt flowed over her hips and bottom. The dress didn’t reach nearly as low as she remembered, and Emilia wondered if she had grown an inch or so taller after all. The laces across her dress were spread so wide that nearly all of her tunic-clad back was exposed, but she put the straps over her shoulders. Much of her sinful bosom was exposed, but no amount of tugging would make the garment modest.
The canvas shoes laid by her stool were not hers—Emilia had come to the Abbey barefoot—but they fit her well enough, and the small kindness let her forget her anxiety for a few brief moments. Emilia looked over her dark cell one last time. It had been her home for fourteen years, and she’d never see it again. Finding her eyes still dry, Emilia pulled the door closed and made her way outside, where Sister Lucia was waiting with the cart.
***
Sister Lucia remained silent for the entire ride, only offering a brief “Lady bless you, Emilia” when she dropped her off in the village square.
With no plans or prospects, Emilia plodded past the village buildings: the livery stables, the blacksmith, and the general store. She might find work at one of those. Then she saw the tavern. The Sisters had included two silvers with her clothes, enough to buy a few nights’ room and board. Emilia straightened her back and approached the establishment.
The woman behind the counter was fatter than anyone Emilia had seen in her adult life. Which is to say, she was slightly more than plump. Her cotton dress and canvas apron were simple but well-made, and she smiled broadly as Emilia walked through the door.
“Aren’t you a pretty thing? What can I do for ye, sweetness?”
Emilia walked up to the counter and tried to return the woman’s smile. She fished a silver from her pocket and put it on the bar. “I’d like a room, please. And I wondered if… maybe…”
“Don’t be shy, sweetness, Mama Bilson don’t bite. Not much, anyways.”
Emilia cleared her throat and noticed she was slouching again. She stood up straight and almost winced as her clothes tightened over her bosom. It wouldn’t do to tear her tunic; she had nothing else to wear. “I’m looking for work.”
Mrs. Bilson put a wrinkled finger to her lips. “Hmm, one of our girls left a fortnight ago—went and got herself a husband. We’ve been making do with just the three of us, though. What can ye do, sweetness? Oh, and what do they call ye?”
“Emilia, mistress.” She thought about all the service she’d done at the Abbey. “I can clean… and garden… and do the washing.”
“Wait ye right here.”
Mrs. Bilson pushed through a swinging door into the back room. “Mr. Bilson! I’ve a new serving girl out here; what say ye?”
A deep, gravelly voice answered from the back, “We don’t do enough business to afford a girl this late in the season. Tell her to come back ‘round harvest time.”
“Do go on, Mr. Bilson. She be a fine, comely lass; just come and see.”
A man’s head popped out above the swinging door, and Mrs. Bilson stepped back to let her husband see Emilia. “See? A pretty little thing like that’ll bring in enough custom to pay for ‘erself, surely.”
Emilia suppressed a slight shock at Mr. Bilson’s appearance. She’d not seen a man other than the occasional monk or priest since she was twelve, but his voice had made her picture a gigantic, burly man. This one was shorter than his wife, even plumper, and without a strand of hair on his head.
Mr. Bilson grunted. “I reckon you may be right, Wife. You’d best send ‘er to the seamstress, though. None o’ Mary’s livery’ll fit her, I daresay.”
“True enough, Mr. Bilson. Too loose ‘round the middle and too tight in the bust.”
Mrs. Bilson walked to the counter while her husband disappeared back to his work. “That’s good news, eh Emilia? ‘Ave you eaten breakfast yet?”
Emilia’s stomach gurgled, and she prayed the other woman hadn’t heard. “No, mistress.”
Mrs. Bilson disappeared into the back room, returning with a plate of food. “Here you are, sweetness. Eat up, and I’ll be right back.”
The food was simple but more delicious than anything she’d eaten at the Abbey. By the time Mrs. Bilson returned carrying two dresses on hangers, Emilia was picking the last few crumbs from her plate. As she sighed contentedly, one of the laces in her dress popped its eyelet from the fabric with a soft pop. Emilia gasped, and her face reddened. She twisted in her stool to try and see the tear in her dress, the motion making two more eyelets pop free as her tunic ripped under her arm. “Oh, no…”
Mrs. Bilson chuckled. “Don’t worry about those rags, sweetness. ‘Ere,” she held out the hangers, “Take these across the way to Mrs. Pruit and tell her they want adjusting for your figure. You can wear one of mine until she’s done. It’ll be too big, but we can’t ‘ave you busting out of that wee old thing. It ain’t that kind of tavern.”
Emilia took the hangers and bobbed a curtsey, creating a few fresh tears. She dashed out of the tavern in a race against her collapsing dress.
***
After the seamstress adjusted the serving girl’s livery for her body, Emilia settled into her new life. The dress had a snug, corset-like bodice with full skirts. The tunic barely rose higher than the bodice, leaving the top halves of her breasts scandalously exposed. The Bilsons had correctly predicted that Emilia’s presence drew larger crowds to the common room. She had little experience waiting tables, but carrying mugs of ale and plates of food was simple work, and if she had to suffer the lecherous gazes of the male patrons, at least she had a soft bed and three full meals.
The shame of being exiled from the Abbey never left her, however, and Emilia prayed nightly to Lady Titania.
“Please don’t forsake me, Lady. I know it’s wrong to overindulge, but Mr. Bilson’s cooking is so good, I can’t help myself. Give me strength to turn down second helpings. And forgive me for displaying my body so sinfully. I know my body is a temple for your presence, but my bosom won’t stop growing. Give me courage to remain pure in this world of temptation. Your humble servant, Emilia.”
That night, Emilia was troubled by strange dreams. She dreamed she lay in a massive feather bed, surrounded by handsome men and beautiful women. They touched and caressed her, worshipping her body and making her sleeping body squirm with sinful pleasure. She dreamed she sat at a royal banquet feast, being waited on by an army of servants. She gorged herself on delicacies as her breasts plumped larger with every bite, spilling out of her silk gown until they rested on the banqueting table. Just as she was about to jolt awake in a shame-filled panic, Emilia found herself in a field of wildflowers. She wore a flowing summer dress, the sun kissing her face and cleavage with its warm glow.
A tall woman stood before her in a loose white gown with beautiful golden tresses hanging to her waist. Even before she spoke, Emilia somehow knew.
“L… Lady?”
“Yes, my child,” Titania said.
Titania was even more sinfully voluptuous than Emilia herself. Hints of plush thighs escaped the slit sides of her dress, and her breasts billowed like a pair of sails in full wind. She smiled beatifically down at Emilia, and the former nun felt her world upending. If this was the body of her Goddess, how could it be sinful? Titania showed more beautiful golden skin than Emilia ever had. Without thinking, she blurted the first words that came to her.
“They’re wrong. The Sisters have it all wrong!”
Titania put a hand on Emilia’s arm. “They serve me in their way, child. Yes, they’ve lost most of my Word in their pride, but they are not wicked.” Her eyes met Emilia’s—bright blue pools like the cleanest pond in the spring sun. Emilia felt the Goddess’ warmth suffuse her body, filling her with peace and joy. “And neither are you.”
Emilia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Titania wrapped her in an embrace, mashing their breasts together and making her feel safe and whole.
Titania whispered into her ear, “You are my avatar, Emilia. An example to my people. You will show them the wonder and glory of feminine beauty.”
The Goddess started to draw back, placing her hands on Emilia’s waist. “Be not ashamed of your body. It is a reflection of my own. And don’t be afraid to ask for second helpings.”
Titania squeezed Emilia’s breasts with both hands, the flesh overflowing her divine fingers. “Or even thirds…”
Tears rolled down Emilia’s cheeks, and for once, they were tears of joy. “I will, Lady, thank you, bless you!”
The Goddess wiped away Emilia’s tears with a knuckle. “You must wake soon, my chosen. Go forth with joy, for I am with you.”
Emilia woke with damp eyes and a smile on her face. She ran her hands down her voluptuous body, for the first time appreciating just how lovely her overlarge breasts were. She hugged herself and wriggled with delight. Then she caught a whiff of eggs and bacon from downstairs. She now had a purpose and a calling, and she hopped out of bed to get dressed. Her livery was painfully snug about her bosom; she’d have to pay a visit to Mrs. Pruit to have the bodice let out… again. After breakfast, of course.
