~BBW (Multiple), ~Sex, Stuffing, ~~WG - A British aristocrat and her maid fight off boredom by eating.
[Author’s Note: 1500 words of character development before any eating occurs, 2500 before any fattening. Make yourself a cup of tea. We’ll wait.
FYI, one stone = 14 lbs, 7 ¼ stone ~ 100, 11 ¼ stone ~ 155. Scx]
Chapter 1: Cast of Characters
Lord Arbuthnot Woodbridge wasn’t a duke or a baron, but he was richer than many that were. He had taken the lands around his old country house when the newfangled railway came through, and built upon it long grimy buildings with towering smokestacks and great geared wheels. A railway spur ran on a low bridge across the pond, and trains puffed and clanked in and out at all hours, hauling in ore from Scotland, hauling out finished steel products for engines and mines and ships seen all the way across the British Empire.
He hadn’t married in his two-score years, because as the second son of a fairly minor lord, he didn’t have very much in the way of prospects, and his elder brother was perfectly happy to let him indulge solely in his ambitions reinforcing the family wealth by expanding the factory. Then, completely unexpectedly, the Lord Arthur Woodbridge, his wife, and infant son perished in a tragic sailing accident, leaving the younger Woodbridge suddenly in charge of not only a vast industrial complex, but the entire family fortune as well.
Naturally, this changed his social standing immensely. And his responsibilities to Britain. So he immediately dashed to London to find a young lady to become the new Lady Woodbridge. It didn’t take very long.
Anne, one of many daughters of one of the aforementioned impoverished barons, was a tiny slip of a thing, barely twenty, five foot three and hardly over seven stone. She had large expressive eyes, and a mane of midnight-black hair flowing down her back, undeniably beautiful. She was one of many highborn ladies in dire financial straits in London’s finest society. Being of high birth, very pretty, and poor enough to be desperate, she quickly consented to becoming the Lady Anne Woodbridge.
It wasn’t exactly a marriage made in or for Heaven. Anne had leapt at the chance to get out of the filthy city, and to escape the incessant credit troubles of her dissolute father, while Arbuthnot had merely been trying to fulfill his family duty.
But he courted her like a whirlwind, and within weeks there was a glittering wedding, all their guests looking on with some surprise, although for different reasons. Her father wasn’t so stupid on wine to fail to recognize that one of his daughters had married into heaps of money, although not quite the family he’d hoped for. Her friends were stunned at the speed she accepted, and the Lord’s acquaintances (he had no friends) were shocked that he’d finally shown interest in something other than steel. They agreed, however, that he’d run his courtship like his factory, everything perfectly arranged yet thundering along at a breakneck pace.
So he whisked the slender little woman off to a life in the country. It wasn’t quite the country life she’d expected.
The honeymoon didn’t last very long. There were some ham-handed efforts at physical intimacy, but they weren’t very much fun for either of them. Inexperience and disinterest didn’t help. Lord Arbuthnot wanted to get back to his factory, which he was thoroughly convinced had completely fallen apart without him, while Anne, as innocent as innocent could be, was far too wide-eyed to be of any help at all.
Soon they’d returned, in some sort of triumph, to Magpies, the WoodBridge ancestral family home. It was a huge pile of rambling neo-Victorian stone, with far more bedrooms than anyone could use, sitting rooms everywhere, and practically uninhabited.
The first day was a madhouse of rushing about unpacking and installing the Lady in her apartments at the highest end of the house, where, as the Lord put it, the best views were to be had. His own rooms were low and in the front over the door. She’d hardly had time to think for a second, before the Lord had rushed off to his offices in the factory and left her, in the late afternoon, alone.
The sudden calm was nearly frightening. Anne dropped limply into a couch by a window, then with an effort, got up again, pulled the heavy curtains aside, and gazed out at her "view".
It would have been gorgeous. It should have been gorgeous. There were long groomed lawns and gardens running down to a crystal pond fed and drained by a babbling brook, then lush fields off to a distant copse of tall trees. But the gardens had been trampled by blocky gray buildings with towering smokestacks. The fields were covered in other gray structures. The pond had a low gray bridge over it, over which a black train was puffing, snorting black smoke to merge with the black pall from all the other stacks together. Too distant to hear, but easily seen, wagons churned and struggled, muddying the fields and raising more dust. Lines of gray workers staggered to and fro.
Lady Anne Woodbridge, leaving the curtains wide, slumped back into her chair, and stared blankly at the devastation.
There wasn’t anything else to do.
Slowly the sun set, turning orange as it tried to burn through the smoke. The Lady Anne slumped there, staring out the window.
Dinner was a short, brusque affair, and the Lord, cursing his underlings at the shape they’d left the works in, disappeared over there again, and the Lady slipped off to bed.
That first afternoon had set the theme. There wasn’t anything else to do.
The house had a vast game room, but billiards didn’t interest her, and she had no inclination to learn chess or cards. The Woodbridges had never been big on reading, and the library was meager and neglected.
The butler Harrison was no help, an antiquated old man who’d been in the family since, it seemed, the Restoration, whose chief method for trying to amuse her was telling long, dull, and disjointed tales that never quite seemed to have a punchline. The cook, Bertha, his wife, stayed in the kitchen.
Soon Anne retreated to her rooms. There she sat, and stared out the window.
The one bright spot was Judith. After a week or two, they’d hired her to help take care of the Lady. Judith was a chunky young woman with fire-red hair, nearly the same age as Anne, but two inches taller and four stone heavier. Judith had a typical country physique, thick legs, thick waist, large pointed breasts perkily preceding her around. Those breasts, stuffed into a tight maid’s uniform, were the two main reasons the Lord had selected her from the line of applicants.
As a maid, she wasn’t expert. She was careless and lazy, dusting only casually and more inclined to fritter about than tidy up. But as Anne’s companion, she wasn’t the worst possible choice.
Unfortunately, Anne had fallen into a deep depression. She would arise in the morning and let Judith help her get dressed. By the time she was ready for breakfast, her husband would be long gone to the factory. After breakfast, she would retire to her rooms and stare out the window. Lunch she would take by the window, merely nibbling.
She only saw her husband at dinner, where she would be seated waiting for his return from work. He’d show up, inhale his dinner, and retreat to his offices with barely five words spoken. Anne would sit alone in the evenings, a book, unread, held listlessly on her lap until bedtime. The lamps were always still burning in the Lord’s offices by then.
All day she would sit by the window, staring out the trains coming and going. She’d stare at the wagons loading. She stared at the little figures rushing to and fro. But mostly she just watched the smoke rising into the sky. Every day it rose, consistent as the sun, to mix with the pale clouds high in the sky.
Judith fluttered about harmlessly in her rooms, dusting a little, straightening the sheets, trying to chat with her mistress, but it wasn’t working very well. Anne’s background was very highly educated, while Judith couldn’t read or figure. Anne’s tastes were sophisticated, Judith’s coarse. Nonetheless, they did chat some.
Much of what they chatted about was how to get rid of the butler Harrison and his interminable stories. He would appear, and apparently in a misguided effort to cheer up both of them, would launch into some endless epistle regarding some Scotsmen or something. Harrison constantly was losing his place in the story, skipping ahead, repeating himself, confusing the names, and completely losing the point long before either the moral or the punchline – Neither Anne nor Judith could figure any of them out.
[Author’s Note: 1500 words of character development before any eating occurs, 2500 before any fattening. Make yourself a cup of tea. We’ll wait.
FYI, one stone = 14 lbs, 7 ¼ stone ~ 100, 11 ¼ stone ~ 155. Scx]
Lady Anne Woodbridge -Chapters 1-5
by ~Scx
by ~Scx
Chapter 1: Cast of Characters
Lord Arbuthnot Woodbridge wasn’t a duke or a baron, but he was richer than many that were. He had taken the lands around his old country house when the newfangled railway came through, and built upon it long grimy buildings with towering smokestacks and great geared wheels. A railway spur ran on a low bridge across the pond, and trains puffed and clanked in and out at all hours, hauling in ore from Scotland, hauling out finished steel products for engines and mines and ships seen all the way across the British Empire.
He hadn’t married in his two-score years, because as the second son of a fairly minor lord, he didn’t have very much in the way of prospects, and his elder brother was perfectly happy to let him indulge solely in his ambitions reinforcing the family wealth by expanding the factory. Then, completely unexpectedly, the Lord Arthur Woodbridge, his wife, and infant son perished in a tragic sailing accident, leaving the younger Woodbridge suddenly in charge of not only a vast industrial complex, but the entire family fortune as well.
Naturally, this changed his social standing immensely. And his responsibilities to Britain. So he immediately dashed to London to find a young lady to become the new Lady Woodbridge. It didn’t take very long.
Anne, one of many daughters of one of the aforementioned impoverished barons, was a tiny slip of a thing, barely twenty, five foot three and hardly over seven stone. She had large expressive eyes, and a mane of midnight-black hair flowing down her back, undeniably beautiful. She was one of many highborn ladies in dire financial straits in London’s finest society. Being of high birth, very pretty, and poor enough to be desperate, she quickly consented to becoming the Lady Anne Woodbridge.
It wasn’t exactly a marriage made in or for Heaven. Anne had leapt at the chance to get out of the filthy city, and to escape the incessant credit troubles of her dissolute father, while Arbuthnot had merely been trying to fulfill his family duty.
But he courted her like a whirlwind, and within weeks there was a glittering wedding, all their guests looking on with some surprise, although for different reasons. Her father wasn’t so stupid on wine to fail to recognize that one of his daughters had married into heaps of money, although not quite the family he’d hoped for. Her friends were stunned at the speed she accepted, and the Lord’s acquaintances (he had no friends) were shocked that he’d finally shown interest in something other than steel. They agreed, however, that he’d run his courtship like his factory, everything perfectly arranged yet thundering along at a breakneck pace.
So he whisked the slender little woman off to a life in the country. It wasn’t quite the country life she’d expected.
The honeymoon didn’t last very long. There were some ham-handed efforts at physical intimacy, but they weren’t very much fun for either of them. Inexperience and disinterest didn’t help. Lord Arbuthnot wanted to get back to his factory, which he was thoroughly convinced had completely fallen apart without him, while Anne, as innocent as innocent could be, was far too wide-eyed to be of any help at all.
Soon they’d returned, in some sort of triumph, to Magpies, the WoodBridge ancestral family home. It was a huge pile of rambling neo-Victorian stone, with far more bedrooms than anyone could use, sitting rooms everywhere, and practically uninhabited.
The first day was a madhouse of rushing about unpacking and installing the Lady in her apartments at the highest end of the house, where, as the Lord put it, the best views were to be had. His own rooms were low and in the front over the door. She’d hardly had time to think for a second, before the Lord had rushed off to his offices in the factory and left her, in the late afternoon, alone.
The sudden calm was nearly frightening. Anne dropped limply into a couch by a window, then with an effort, got up again, pulled the heavy curtains aside, and gazed out at her "view".
It would have been gorgeous. It should have been gorgeous. There were long groomed lawns and gardens running down to a crystal pond fed and drained by a babbling brook, then lush fields off to a distant copse of tall trees. But the gardens had been trampled by blocky gray buildings with towering smokestacks. The fields were covered in other gray structures. The pond had a low gray bridge over it, over which a black train was puffing, snorting black smoke to merge with the black pall from all the other stacks together. Too distant to hear, but easily seen, wagons churned and struggled, muddying the fields and raising more dust. Lines of gray workers staggered to and fro.
Lady Anne Woodbridge, leaving the curtains wide, slumped back into her chair, and stared blankly at the devastation.
There wasn’t anything else to do.
Slowly the sun set, turning orange as it tried to burn through the smoke. The Lady Anne slumped there, staring out the window.
Dinner was a short, brusque affair, and the Lord, cursing his underlings at the shape they’d left the works in, disappeared over there again, and the Lady slipped off to bed.
That first afternoon had set the theme. There wasn’t anything else to do.
The house had a vast game room, but billiards didn’t interest her, and she had no inclination to learn chess or cards. The Woodbridges had never been big on reading, and the library was meager and neglected.
The butler Harrison was no help, an antiquated old man who’d been in the family since, it seemed, the Restoration, whose chief method for trying to amuse her was telling long, dull, and disjointed tales that never quite seemed to have a punchline. The cook, Bertha, his wife, stayed in the kitchen.
Soon Anne retreated to her rooms. There she sat, and stared out the window.
The one bright spot was Judith. After a week or two, they’d hired her to help take care of the Lady. Judith was a chunky young woman with fire-red hair, nearly the same age as Anne, but two inches taller and four stone heavier. Judith had a typical country physique, thick legs, thick waist, large pointed breasts perkily preceding her around. Those breasts, stuffed into a tight maid’s uniform, were the two main reasons the Lord had selected her from the line of applicants.
As a maid, she wasn’t expert. She was careless and lazy, dusting only casually and more inclined to fritter about than tidy up. But as Anne’s companion, she wasn’t the worst possible choice.
Unfortunately, Anne had fallen into a deep depression. She would arise in the morning and let Judith help her get dressed. By the time she was ready for breakfast, her husband would be long gone to the factory. After breakfast, she would retire to her rooms and stare out the window. Lunch she would take by the window, merely nibbling.
She only saw her husband at dinner, where she would be seated waiting for his return from work. He’d show up, inhale his dinner, and retreat to his offices with barely five words spoken. Anne would sit alone in the evenings, a book, unread, held listlessly on her lap until bedtime. The lamps were always still burning in the Lord’s offices by then.
All day she would sit by the window, staring out the trains coming and going. She’d stare at the wagons loading. She stared at the little figures rushing to and fro. But mostly she just watched the smoke rising into the sky. Every day it rose, consistent as the sun, to mix with the pale clouds high in the sky.
Judith fluttered about harmlessly in her rooms, dusting a little, straightening the sheets, trying to chat with her mistress, but it wasn’t working very well. Anne’s background was very highly educated, while Judith couldn’t read or figure. Anne’s tastes were sophisticated, Judith’s coarse. Nonetheless, they did chat some.
Much of what they chatted about was how to get rid of the butler Harrison and his interminable stories. He would appear, and apparently in a misguided effort to cheer up both of them, would launch into some endless epistle regarding some Scotsmen or something. Harrison constantly was losing his place in the story, skipping ahead, repeating himself, confusing the names, and completely losing the point long before either the moral or the punchline – Neither Anne nor Judith could figure any of them out.
