To the tailor's workshop

Wolfgang comes up behind you and wraps his arm around your shoulder "Ah, don't mind him. He's just uptight because he hasn't gotten proper cock in a while, gahah~." He says to you as Aspen leads you through the castle.

The castle is utterly cavernous, made of strong white stone and filled with tapestries of Grasia's grand history and gigantic portraits of all previous kings from King Alric the Avaricious to King Geraint Porter II the Portly, whose portrait hung beside the one of his father, King Oswen Porter I. Each of them appeared fatter than the last though it was hard to tell as the frames could only contain their faces smothered by massive cheeks and endlessly increasing number of chins. King Geraint looked like a near exact copy of his father, sans some battle scars and his great big beard. Nobody really knows what truly happened to King Oswen. They say he choked on a chicken bone during a particularly passionate feast but somehow that didn't feel right, especially when nobody heard word of a funeral. It just seemed that one day, Prince Geraint became king and that was that.

But all of that was mostly before your time.

Right now, you're much more interested in staring at Aspen's expansive rear as he leads you through the halls, talking about all the things as he passes by but you're not really listening. Watching each cheek bounce and wobble beneath his fluffy white tail with every step was far more important. Every person you passed by was just as big, if not bigger than the pair of nobles escorting you. This whole situation feels like something out of the trashy novels you keep hidden in your nightstand. You're so transfixed by Aspen's ass you nearly crash into him when he finally stops.

"Here we are, Bronson's workshop. He'll get you both properly dressed." He said with a leer towards Wolfgang who turned up his nose.

"I'm already properly dressed." He remarked and gave his belly a cheeky jiggle in the deer's direction. Aspen just sighed and shook his head before giving the door a few hearty knocks.

"Sir Bronson, his Majesty's guest is here to be fitted." He called out to whoever was behind the door.

"Oh yes, please bring him in!" A posh voice responded from the other side.

Aspen nodded and opened the door, revealing a large workshop filled with bolts of expensive fabrics, sewing machines, mannequins and cutting patterns. In the middle of it all stood a portly brown bull, the smallest noble you've seen yet but still bigger than you, dressed in a royal blue suit standing at an easel with a drawing pad, working on a new design for an outfit. He turned when he heard the sound of the door open and put his pencil down. "Ah, welcome to the castle!" He said with a big smile and a bow "I am Sir Bronson Siegweisse, royal tailor, at your service."

"Sir Bronson, I know you're busy but unfortunately Sir Reginald has done it again and our honored guest has nothing to wear for his audience with his Majesty." Aspen says as he prods you forward "Thankfully, he managed to keep his pants on this time, so you won't be needing to clean any semen stains out of anything." He continues with another **** glare towards Wolfgang who pouts.

"It's no trouble at all, Sir Aspen, he would've needed some new clothes regardless of the circumstances so I took the liberty of designing a new outfit today." Bronson says as he steps forward to inspect you. "I just need to get his measurements and I'll be able to get him dressed in no time."

"Very well, thank you, and as for the mutt-" Aspen starts

"I can just take my shirt back you undercooked venison roast." Wolfgang growls.

Bronson looks back at you, trying to ignore their little squabble. "If you would just take that cloak off, I'll get you measured." He says with surprising calmness. You nod and pull Wolfgang's massive shirt off you and hand it back to him and Bronson ushers you to the middle of the room. He draws a measuring tape from his pocket, lifts your arms up, and begins to wrap it around various parts of your body and writing the measurements down in a small notebook. You can't help but get a little excited as you feel him touching and grabbing your flab all over.

Soon he's taken all his measurements and he plods over to his work station, pulls out several rolls of fabric and begins to work, tracing, cutting, and stitching together pieces of fabric with shocking speed. Before you know it, he's produced an opulent outfit for you to wear, exactly tailored to your proportions. You look yourself over in the mirror front and back. You look just like a noble yourself, only nowhere near as fat as a real one.

"Do you like it?" Bronson asks as he straightens out your collar and combs your ruffled hair.

"Oh, it's fantastic, thank you so much Sir Bronson. It's a shame I'll only be able to wear this for today."

"Oh, you can keep it for yourself if you like! It's held together with magic thread that's specifically tuned to your measurements, so it will always fit no matter what, but sadly that means it will only fit on you." He explains as he finishes grooming you. You look like a million gilders.

"Thank you so much Sir Bronson, I'll treasure this always."