Dylan Smith was rotating a tire in his head when the sky split open above the dusty road. He had been on this planet six weeks. He still wore the black polo with the red Fud's Tires logo, the grey cargo pants, the black shoes. He still read pressure the way other men read faces. He had come here wanting one quiet thing: a small crowd of big-bellied women who would burp without thinking and compete to keep him. Back home he had never said that out loud. Here, every woman fit the shape of it, and one had already decided he was hers before the others could try. She landed in front of him with a sound like a dropped anvil. Red skin, white hair, two black horns, a belly that pushed past her spiked armor. A tall bone totem stood behind him at the roadside, stacked vertebrae glowing with warning marks he had not put there. He understood, finally, who had set it. Newcomers had been turning around at that totem for a week. He had been counting who came back. No one did. "You're mine," Voracia said. "Come." She carried him by the wrist into a carriage and then through gates he had only seen from far off, a black stone castle with a statue of a bellied demon crowning the highest tower. Inside, she sat him on a low couch, set a woven basket of bottles at his feet, and looped a braided collar of shimmering fiber around his neck. The fiber pulsed in colors he had no names for. "Anyone who sees this leaves," she said. She tapped her stomach. "Tell me what you think of my belly." Dylan looked at her. Six weeks of holding still cracked open. "I love it," he said. "I love the size of it. I love when a woman eats until she has to burp and then does it without covering her mouth. On my planet that's strange. People would have looked at me like something was wrong with me if they'd known. I never told anyone." His hands were shaking. He pressed them flat on his knees. "I thought I was settling at the tire shop. I was hiding." Voracia watched him finish. She did not smile. She uncorked a bottle from the basket, drank it in one pull, set it down, and let out a burp that rattled the stones in the wall behind him. A small crack ran up from the floor. "Good," she said. "No more hiding. No more competition either. The others will see the collar and go." She sat beside him and put his hand on the top of her stomach. "You will live here. You will tell me again tomorrow." The door behind them closed on its own. The arc he had wanted was over before it began, and a new one had started in its place.

Morning light came through the tall windows of the black stone hall. Dylan still wore the polo and the cargo pants. The collar at his throat pulsed soft blue. Voracia walked him out a side door onto a flat terrace of black stone. A long wooden table stood there, loaded end to end with roasted birds, bread loaves, fruit bowls, and tall pitchers. Beside the table, a clear dome held glowing orbs of gel that drifted in bright liquid. She pointed at the bench. "Sit close," she said. He sat. She lowered herself beside him. Her belly pressed against the table edge and lifted it half an inch. She tore a loaf in half and started eating. Dylan watched her jaw work. She drank from a pitcher without setting it down. When she finished, she set the pitcher back and burped, low and long, and the stone under his boots hummed. She did not cover her mouth. She did not apologize. "Hand," she said. Dylan put his hand on the side of her belly. The skin was warm and tight. He rubbed slow circles the way he had wanted to since he was sixteen. She kept eating. Another burp came up and rolled over his wrist. He smiled before he could stop himself. She caught it. "You like this," she said. It was not a question. "Yes," he said. "I've liked it my whole life." She nodded once and kept chewing. He kept rubbing. His shoulders dropped. The shame he had carried around the tire shop floor for years went quiet. She ate for another hour. He stayed at her side and worked his palm in slow passes across the curve of her stomach, low to high, the way he checked a tire for soft spots. Each burp she gave him landed bigger than the last. By the end she leaned back and let one out that shook the pitchers. "Better," she said. She looked at him for a long moment. "You are not pretending. Good." She reached into a pouch at her hip and pulled out a watch on a black band. The face glowed with faint colored marks around the rim. She fastened it on his wrist herself. "Yours," she said. "You are special. Too special. The others will see it once the collar fades and they will come. Let them look." She tapped the watch, then her own belly. "This belly is the only one your hand touches. My burps are yours alone. No other woman gets either. That is the rule." Dylan looked at the watch, then at her. "Yes," he said. He meant it. She went back to eating. He kept his hand on her. For the first time since he had landed on this planet, he was not hiding and not waiting. He had been claimed, and he had agreed to the terms.

Voracia left the castle at dawn to settle a matter in the lower hall. Dylan stayed on the terrace with one hand on a pitcher of cold water. He heard boots on stone behind him and turned too late. A purple arm hooked his waist. A wet cloth came over his mouth. The last thing he saw was a swell of belly pressed against his back and a flash of dark hair. Then the terrace went sideways and the sky went black. He woke on a narrow bed inside a small black cabin with a red door. A window showed pine trunks and nothing else. Sara sat across from him in a purple dress, one hand resting on top of her bloated belly. "I saw you in town," she said. "You looked at my belly before my face. I haven't slept right since." She stood and walked to the bed in a slow, practiced step. She took his wrist and pressed his palm flat against the curve of her stomach. The skin was warm. She drew a breath and let out a burp that rattled the window glass. "I can do this for you," she said. "Anytime. Say the word." Dylan tried to pull his hand back. She held it there. Miles off, Voracia stepped onto the terrace and found the pitcher tipped and Dylan gone. The collar's signal pulsed faint through the stone under her boot. She followed it out past the castle wall and into the trees. A carved boulder stood at a fork in the path, its spiral grooves lit pink and blue, the marks shifting as the trace pulled her left. She did not run. She walked, and the ground shook a little under each step. The red door blew off its hinges. Voracia filled the doorway. Sara still held Dylan's hand on her belly. Voracia's eyes went flat. Dylan got his voice back first. "She grabbed me," he said. "She made me touch her. I'm sorry." The watch on his wrist ticked once, loud. Voracia crossed the room in three steps. She pulled Dylan against her side and lifted both his hands onto her own belly, one high, one low. She kept her eyes on Sara the whole time. She breathed in slow and let out a burp that knocked a cup off the shelf and cracked the floorboard under Sara's heel. "Dylan is mine," she said. "Come near him again. Even think about burping in his direction. I will erase you from existence." Sara's hand slid off her own stomach. She gave one short nod and did not speak. Voracia walked Dylan out through the broken doorway. His hands stayed on her belly the whole way. Behind them, Sara stood in the dim cabin and watched the trees swallow them. The collar at Dylan's throat pulsed steady blue again. He had been taken and brought back, and the rule had grown teeth.

Voracia walked Dylan back through the trees and did not stop until the castle gate shut behind them. She sat him on a low couch in the main hall and put a cup of water in his hand. The collar at his throat pulsed steady blue. She watched him drink. When he set the cup down, she sat beside him and lifted his palm onto her belly. The skin was hot. She let out a small burp, more sound than force, and waited. Dylan rubbed slow circles low on her stomach. He felt the muscle move under his hand. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. "You are quiet," she said. "Tell me what you want. The real thing. Not what you said in town." Dylan kept his hand moving. He thought of the woman in the purple dress, and the rule that had grown teeth, and what he had wanted before any of it started. He told her. He said he wanted more than one. He wanted women who came back for him on their own. He wanted to choose. Voracia did not answer for a long breath. She burped again, louder, and the cup on the table rattled. Then she stood and walked to a side table. She came back with a rolled sheet of parchment and a quill. "I can give you that," she said. "I am the demon of gluttony. I do not share. But I can build a thing that looks like sharing if the floor under it is mine." She unrolled the page on his lap. The top read Contract of One-Year Promise and Exclusive Marriage. She read the rules out loud, one at a time. One year to gather them. No touching her without her asking first. The collar stays on. Any woman who tries to take him gets erased, same as before. At the end of the year, he marries her, and only her, and the others stay as his harem under her roof. "Sign," she said, "or do not. Both are answers." Dylan read it twice. He thought about the watch on his wrist and the rule with teeth and the way she had not lied to him once. He signed. She pressed her thumb to the wax and sealed it. Then she set the page on the table and put both his hands back on her belly. She took him outside before the ink dried. In the field past the gate stood a small house with a painted sign that read Dylan's house. Beside it, on flat ground, a wooden stage rose with a red banner stretched across the top. The banner read Dylan harem auditions. "They will come," Voracia said. "Word travels. I made sure." A green-skinned woman in a red sports bra was already walking up the path, a pizza box balanced on her belly. She belched without breaking stride. "Heard there were auditions," Belinda said. "I brought lunch." Voracia's mouth went flat. The year had started.

Belinda walked up the path with the pizza box still balanced on her belly. Voracia stepped past Dylan and pointed at a tall stone pillar near the foot of the stage. Etched symbols spiraled around it from base to top. "Wait there until I call you," Voracia said. Belinda set the box down on the grass and leaned a shoulder against the pillar. A thin metal chain hung low across her hips, jeweled links catching the sun. Dylan noticed it. So did Voracia. Voracia walked to a flat rise behind the stage and snapped her fingers. A throne grew up out of the dirt, crystal arms, glowing fungus at the base. She sat. "Begin," she said. "I watch. He chooses. I keep the floor." Dylan climbed onto the stage. Belinda followed without being called. She held up one finger, pulled a can of soda from somewhere behind her, and drank it in one long pull. Dylan watched her throat work. She lowered the can, set it on her belly like a coaster, and let out a burp that rolled deep and loud across the field. She did not cover her mouth. She did not apologize. Another came right after, shorter, sharper. Dylan felt his face heat. He kept his hands at his sides. Belinda looked at him. Her eyes moved from his face to her own belly and back. "You like that," she said. It was not a question. Dylan said nothing. The chain across her hips shifted as she breathed. She caught him looking at the curve of her stomach and tapped it once with two fingers. "You can touch it. If you want." Dylan looked past her at the throne. Voracia sat with one leg crossed over the other, chin on her fist. She watched him for a long second. Then she gave one slow nod. Dylan stepped forward. He laid his palm flat on Belinda's belly, low, where the skin was warm and tight. She burped again, smaller this time, and he felt it move under his hand. He thought about pressure, the way a tire told you what it needed if you were patient. Belinda's mouth curled. "Good hands," she said. She did not move away. Voracia rose from the throne and crossed to the stage. She did not look angry. She looked like a woman pricing something. "She stays," Voracia said. "First of the year. The contract holds." She turned to Belinda. "You come back tomorrow. You bring your own food. You do not touch his collar." Belinda burped once in answer and picked up her pizza box. Dylan lowered his hand. One was chosen. The stage was still empty behind her, and the path past the pillar was not. More were coming. He could hear them.

The next day Belinda came back up the path before the sun was high. She carried a stacked tray of food balanced on her belly and walked under a tall stone arch that had not been there the night before. Vines wrapped the arch and gave off a soft blue light. Dylan stood near the stage and watched her pass beneath it. Voracia stood beside him with a glass bottle of soda in one hand. "I built the gate," Voracia said. "Anyone who walks under it knows what they are walking into." Belinda set her tray down and looked around the grounds. A small canvas tent stood off to one side, ropes tied tight, flap pulled open. "Mine?" she asked. Voracia nodded once. Belinda walked over, ducked inside, and came back out a second later wearing a gold chain. A polished number one hung from it, resting on the top of her belly. She tapped the pendant with her thumb. "So they see it," she said. Outside the tent, a small wooden post had been driven into the dirt with the same number burned into the wood. Dylan understood. Anyone coming up the path would read it before they reached him. Voracia gestured at a long table that had not been there a moment before. "Sit," she said to Dylan. He sat. Voracia pointed at the bench beside him. "You. With your food. Next to him." Belinda picked up her tray and dropped onto the bench, hip against his. She pulled the lid off and started in on a roasted bird with both hands. Voracia walked around and sat on Dylan's other side. She set the soda bottle down hard enough to rattle the boards. Voracia took Dylan's left hand and pressed it flat against her own belly. She took his right hand and laid it on Belinda's. "Sit back," Voracia said. "Enjoy yourself. This is what the year looks like." Dylan's palms felt the heat through both of them. Belinda kept eating. Voracia tipped the soda bottle up and drank in long pulls, throat working, until half of it was gone. Belinda set down a bone and turned her head toward him. She let out a burp that came up slow and loud and went on longer than he expected. His hand moved with it. She leaned in without wiping her mouth and kissed him on the lips. She tasted like grease and soda. She pulled back, picked up the bone, and kept eating like nothing had happened. Voracia lowered the bottle. She burped too, deeper, shorter, and the hand under hers jumped. She turned his chin with two fingers and kissed him harder than Belinda had. Dylan sat between them with both hands still where they had been placed. He had wanted this for years and never said it out loud once. Now two women were feeding themselves against his palms and the year had a shape he could see. One chosen. A tent with her number on it. Room on the path for more. He kept his hands where they were and did not move them.

Dylan was still at the table with both hands placed when footsteps came up the path. A dark-haired woman walked under the glowing arch without slowing. She wore a white dress with a thin belt above a heavy belly. Her boots were scuffed. She stopped a few steps from the table and looked at all three of them in turn. Voracia set the soda bottle down. Belinda licked grease off her thumb and watched. "I saw him in town yesterday," the woman said. "I came up to know him. I want in." Her voice was flat and even. She did not look at the stage. She walked straight to Dylan, took his right hand off Belinda's belly, and pressed it to her own. The skin under his palm was warm and tight. "I heard this is what you're looking for," she said. "I'm Bella." She held his hand there and burped. It came up loud and rolled out long, longer than Belinda's had the night before. His palm rose and fell with it. She did not cover her mouth. She did not apologize. When the burp ended, she turned her head toward Voracia and waited. Belinda set down her bone. She looked at Bella's belly, then at Voracia, eyebrows up. Voracia looked back at her. Something passed between the two of them without a word. Belinda gave a small nod. "She can stay," Voracia said. She stood up from the bench. A second canvas tent appeared on the far side of Belinda's, ropes already staked, flap pulled open. A wooden post drove itself into the dirt in front of it with a number burned into the grain. Voracia held out her hand and a gold chain dropped into her palm. A polished number two hung from it. She walked around the table and put it over Bella's head herself. The pendant settled on top of her belly beside Dylan's hand. "Second of the year," Voracia said. "Same terms as hers. Bring your own food. Do not touch the collar." Bella nodded once. She did not let go of his hand. She turned to Belinda and said, "I'm not here to fight you. I'm here to outlast you." Belinda picked up her bone again. "Try," she said, and burped without looking up. Voracia sat back down on Dylan's other side. She took his left hand and pressed it flat against her belly again. His right stayed where Bella had put it. Three women now. Two tents on the grounds. Two numbered posts in the dirt. He felt the count change under his palms and did not pull either hand back. The path behind Bella was still open. Voracia had not closed the gate.

Dylan kept both hands where they were while the sun climbed past the tents. Bella's belly stayed warm under his right palm. Voracia's stayed firm under his left. Belinda set her bone down for the third time and rolled her shoulders. The path past the gate stayed empty. He had two chosen women, one demon, and a thought he had not said out loud yet. He worked it the way he worked a slow leak at the shop. Pressure first. Words after. "I want to hear all three of you," he said. "One after the other. And I want to rub for it." His voice came out steadier than he expected. Belinda's eyebrows went up. Bella did not move her hand off his. Voracia turned her head and looked at him for a long second. "Say it again," Voracia said. "Burp for me," Dylan said. "I'll rub your bellies while you do." Voracia's mouth went flat, then tipped at the corner. She lifted his left hand off her own belly and set it back down lower, where the curve was tightest. "Belinda first," she said. "Then the farm girl. Then me. He earns the last one." She reached under the bench and pulled up a woven basket none of them had seen her bring. Bottles clinked inside it. She set three on the table without looking at the labels and pushed one to each woman. Belinda popped hers and drank half in one pull. She walked around the bench and dropped onto Dylan's lap sideways, belly pushed out toward his hands. He set both palms flat under the curve and pressed up slow. She burped before he finished the first stroke. It rolled out of her open mouth and did not stop. He kept rubbing. She burped again, smaller, then a third time, longer than the first. She did not say anything when she stood up. She picked up her bone and sat back down across the table. Bella took her place without being asked. Her dress was tight over the bottle she had just finished. Dylan worked both hands along the sides of her belly. She burped once, deep, and her shoulders dropped. She burped again into his shoulder. "That's the one," she said, flat, and got up. Voracia did not drink her bottle. She pulled Dylan's hands onto the top of her belly herself and leaned back against the bench. The burp that came out of her was longer than both of theirs put together. He felt it travel under his palms from low to high. He kept rubbing through it. When she was done she did not move his hands. "Good," she said. He counted three women, three burps each, his hands still warm. He had asked out loud and gotten exactly what he asked for. Belinda picked up her bottle again. "My turn comes back around," she said, and cracked the cap.

Belinda's bottle hissed open and she drank half before the cap hit the table. Dylan kept his hands where they were. Bella's belly stayed under his right palm. Voracia's stayed under his left. The gate arch beyond the tents framed the empty path. Two pendants hung at the table. One post still stood unmarked beside the third tent Voracia had not raised yet. He had two chosen. The contract said he could gather more. He wanted one more before the sun dropped. A woman walked through the arch without slowing. She was tall, red-skinned, with long black hair and a belly that pushed her tank top up over the band of her shorts. She stopped at the foot of the stage and patted the curve once. "Heard there were auditions," she said. "I'm Scarlett." Voracia turned her head. Belinda set her bottle down. Bella's hand tightened on Dylan's. "Show me what you brought," Voracia said. Scarlett climbed onto the stage. She pulled a wrapped sandwich from her back pocket, ate it in four bites, and stood there while her belly worked. She did not cover her mouth. The burp came out long and even and ended on its own. She patted the curve again and looked straight at Dylan. "That's one," she said. "I've got more if you stay." Dylan stood up. Bella let his hand go. Belinda did not say anything. He walked to the edge of the stage and put his palm flat under Scarlett's belly. He pressed up slow, the way he had with the others. She burped again before he finished the stroke, shorter this time, and did not look away from his face. "Stay," he said. "That's what I'm doing." Her mouth tipped at the corner. She did not add to it. Voracia stood. She lifted a hand and a third tent rose behind the unmarked post. A chain dropped from her palm into Scarlett's. The pendant on it was a clean number three. "Third of the year," Voracia said. "Bring your own food. Do not touch his collar." Scarlett fastened the chain at her neck without looking at it. She stepped down off the stage and walked to the post and set her hand on it. The wood took her mark the same way it had taken Belinda's and Bella's. Dylan went back to the bench. Belinda picked her bone up again. Bella moved her chair half an inch toward his. Scarlett sat at the open end of the table and pulled a second sandwich from her other pocket. Three pendants at the table now. Three posts marked. The arch behind them stayed open, but Voracia closed the basket at her feet and set her boot on top of it. "That's the slot," she said. "The rest watch from outside." Dylan counted three and kept his hands ready.

Three days after Scarlett took the third post, Dylan stood at the edge of the harem grounds before the others woke. The three tents were quiet. The arch still stood open. He held a small box in his hand. He had asked Voracia the night before to conjure him a plain ring, and she had done it without asking why. The diamond caught the early light. He closed the lid and walked toward the black stone castle. He found Voracia on the terrace with her boot on the basket again. She was eating cold meat off a plate balanced on her belly. She did not look up when he sat across from her. He set the box on the table between them and slid it her way. "I want out of the deal," he said. "Not the marriage. The harem part." Voracia put the plate down. She looked at the box, then at his collar, then at his face. "You signed for a year," she said. "You have three women in tents waiting for you." Dylan kept his hands flat on the table. "I know. I watched them last night and I didn't feel right. Belinda eats and waits. Bella moves her chair toward me an inch at a time. Scarlett keeps looking at the gate like someone's coming for her. I'm making them line up for something I already picked." He pushed the box closer. "I picked you in the cabin. I just didn't say it like this." Voracia opened the box. The ring sat clean against the cloth. She did not touch it yet. "You want to send them home," she said. "Yes," Dylan said. "With the pendants. With whatever they came with. I'll tell them myself." She closed the box slowly. Her face did not move. "You would throw away the year. The auditions. The thing you asked me for." "I would," he said. "For this." He tapped the box once. She was quiet for a long moment. Then she took the ring out and held it between her thumb and finger. "Then I agree to your terms," she said. "The contract ends today. You marry me. No tents. No posts." She slid the ring onto her own finger and looked at it once. "You tell them before the sun is up. I will not do it for you." Dylan nodded. He stood up. His hands were steady the way they were when he checked pressure on a tire. He walked back through the forest to the harem grounds. Belinda was already out by her post with a bottle. Bella stood at her tent flap. Scarlett sat on the stage steps eating bread. Dylan stopped at the foot of the stage and waited until all three were looking at him. "The deal's over," he said. "You can keep the pendants. I'm marrying her." None of them spoke. The arch behind him stayed open, but he did not look back at it.

Dylan stood at the foot of the stage with the three pendants still on their necks. None of them moved. The arch behind him stayed open. Belinda set her bottle down on the post. Bella stepped out from her tent flap. Scarlett brushed crumbs off her lap and stood. They walked toward him at the same time, and he understood they were not leaving yet. They closed in around him in a loose ring. Belinda rubbed a slow circle on her green belly and let out a low burp without breaking eye contact. Bella pressed both hands under her belly and gave him a shorter one, quick and clean. Scarlett patted her own belly twice and burped last, deeper than either. Belinda spoke first. "You picked me for a year. Don't take it back." Bella said, "I came here for you. I'm staying." Scarlett held up the gold trophy she had carried from her tent, the loud-burp award with its cartoon face. "I brought this for you. Keep me instead." Dylan looked at the trophy, then at the three bellies, then at the three faces. He felt the pull he had carried since Earth, sharper now because it was offered three ways at once. He took a slow breath the way he did before checking pressure on a tire. He did not reach for any of them. "Put your hands down," he said. "I'm not changing my mind." Belinda's mouth tightened. Scarlett lowered the trophy an inch. Bella did not move. He kept his voice flat. "I love her. I picked her in the cabin before any of you came. I should have said it then instead of running auditions. That was on me." He looked at each of them in turn. "You don't deserve a man who lines you up at posts. You deserve one who shows up the first day and says your name like he means it. That's not me for you. I'm sorry I let it go this far." Scarlett set the trophy down on the bottom step of the stage. She did not push it toward him. "Then I keep this," she said. "Fine," Belinda said. She picked up her bottle. Bella nodded once and turned back toward her tent to gather her things. They left through the arch one at a time, pendants still on, before the sun cleared the trees. Dylan stayed by the stage until the last tent flap stopped moving in the wind. Then he walked back through the forest to the black stone castle. Voracia was on the terrace with her boot on the basket. She looked at his empty hands and his collar, and she did not ask. He sat across from her and put both hands on the table. "It's done," he said. She slid a plate toward him.

Dylan ate what Voracia put in front of him on the terrace and did not speak until the plate was clean. She watched him chew. When he set the fork down, she stood and lifted a woven basket from beside her chair. She tipped her head toward the side stair. He followed her off the terrace and through a short path of black stone that opened into a small clearing he had not seen before. A gazebo stood at the center, its twisted pillars catching the low light. A green sofa with a carved frame sat under the roof, out of place and waiting. Voracia set the basket on the stone bench and lowered herself onto the sofa. Her belly settled heavy in her lap. She patted the cushion beside her once. Dylan sat. For a moment neither of them moved. He could hear the basket bottles clink as the breeze pushed the handle. "Lie back," she said. She shifted so her shoulders met the carved arm and her belly rose between them. Dylan turned on the cushion and put both hands flat on her. He started low and worked up in slow circles, the way he had wanted to since the terrace weeks ago without anyone else watching. She uncorked a bottle from the basket and drank half of it in one pull. He kept rubbing. A minute later she burped, long and unhurried, and let her head rest back against the carved wood. "I'm sorry," Dylan said. He kept his hands moving. "For the contract. For the stage. For making you sit there a year while I lined women up at posts." Voracia did not answer right away. She drank again and burped shorter this time, then looked down at him. "You said it. Done." He shook his head. "I want to say the rest. I thought I needed three. I didn't. I needed one. You're the only one I need." He sat up enough to reach into his pocket. He pulled out a small gold locket and opened the hinge. Inside was a picture of a girl, maybe five, with brown hair cut straight across her forehead. "My daughter," he said. "Back on Earth. I haven't shown anyone this since I got here." He closed it and set it in Voracia's palm. "I'm giving it to you. So you know I'm not holding anything back anymore." Voracia looked at the locket. She closed her fingers around it. "I'll keep it," she said. "Lie back down." He did. She drank again. He rubbed until she burped a third time, slower, and her free hand came to rest on top of his. The basket sat half full. The clearing stayed quiet. Whatever came next for the throne she had lost, for the thing that had taken it, would come tomorrow. Tonight the apology was accepted and the locket was hers.