A Night of Feeding
So I've always wanted to get fat.
Trouble is, it's a little harder than most people think. Sure, you might think "oh, I blow up huge if I don't stick to my diet" but that's just the first fifteen pounds that terrifies you into hitting the gym again--your body knows where your normal point is and won't change too much beyond that without continued effort. And some of you are thinking "no, I really do blow up huge" and okay, maybe you do. But most people don't. I don't. I'm a ferret, for cryin' out loud--there's a reason people look at us and think "tube" before they think "tub".
Anyway. I did my best to put on weight, without any success. I'd go online and try and find guys into feeding, with discouraging results: most want an easy project (not me) or are only into it because they like fat guys, and want someone who's fat to start with (also not me).
The kind of guy I needed--the one who wanted to seriously take a guy from fur and bones to DAAAAMN--well, those guys are few and far between.
And then, somehow, I met him.
At the frickin' supermarket.
I was in the dairy aisle exploring the cheeses, when I heard someone addressing me: "Anything I can help you with?"
Standard question you get from a grocery worker, right? "No, I'm good."
Unlike the standard grocery worker, he didn't immediately buzz off. "It's just that...I've been watching you for a bit, and I've been noticing that whenever you compare labels, you take the one with the highest calorie count."
I froze in place, as this was exactly what I'd been doing--and was why I currently had a pound of whole-milk mozzarella in my paw.
The gentleman speaking to me was certainly not a grocery worker. Brown raccoon, going a little gray, enormous ball belly squeezed into a pinstriped button-down that wouldn't have tucked in if he'd tried.
Looks like senpai just noticed me, I thought.
He came a little closer, and spoke softly in my ear. "You're trying to get bigger, aren't you. You want people to notice you've been putting on some pounds. You want to be a big, fat, powerful ferret. You want to grow so round and fat you have to special-order all your clothes. You want to be too heavy to get out of bed, too big to wipe your own ass, too helpless to do even the slightest bit of exercise to keep that fat from weighing down on your lungs, from clogging your arteries, from choking your heart--"
"Dude," I broke in, completely overwhelmed.
"Too far?" he said, with a chuckle that made his belly shake.
"No...you just nearly made me cream myself and I'm embarrassingly hard now and this is kind of a public place."
"If being fat turns you on like that, you'd better get used to it," he said. "Not like you can shuck off the pounds every time you go out. Call me."
He put a card in my pocket, and left me there in front of the cheeses, trying to minimize my indecent exposure.
There's nothing that makes a guy wary like the idea that something that's gone wrong for so long might suddenly go right. I had tried making the call a couple of times, but couldn't make it through dialing the whole number before the fears of "what if--" took hold and I hung up.
But the next Friday night I was scrolling through profile pics of fat bellies and big guys chugging down bottles of whatever they had handy and realized that I was wishing, desperately, for something that was already being offered to me.
I dialed the number. "Is this, uh, Petar?" I didn't venture to butcher the surname, which was Slavic and seemed short on vowels, and introduced myself instead.
"You're ready to get fat?" he said.
"Nnnf... I am."
"You're jerking off while you're talking to me, aren't you?"
"I am."
"But you're not eating."
"..."
"We'll fix that. From now on, you will not have one without the other. Agreed?"
I took my paw off my dick and put it away. "Yes...sir."
"That doesn't mean stop pawing. It means get food. I'm coming over now. Dietary restrictions?"
I mentioned a couple of allergies, gave him my address, and went to the kitchen so I could edge till he showed up.
Petar had brought pizza.
"Only two?" I said, half jokingly, as I led him back to my bedroom.
"Until you show me you can handle more." He straddled me in bed, thick thighs under my arms and the pizza boxes beside him. "You want me to cram all this in you, don't you?"
I felt the blush at my nose and ears. The big guy's belly was an inch from my muzzle, and my needy cock was out of reach on the other side of him. The prospect of him stuffing me was almost more than I could handle.
The raccoon waited.
"Er...yes, sir?"
"I need to make sure you understand what I've just asked you. You'd be surprised how many do not. They want to be fed, certainly, but they imagine a slow, sensual feeding, one that, after a couple of bites, arouses both of us into passionate sex that burns far more than the few calories they managed to swallow down."
His tail brushed against the stiffness in my sweatpants as he looked down at me, and I could smell the musk of his arousal.
"I would do that for you tonight, of course. I've kept you on edge long enough. But that is not the feeding that tries to get you fat. I am offering you force feeding. Force feeding is forceful. It is messy. It will not be comfortable. You will doubt your ability to handle it. You may get sick all over yourself. You will beg me to stop, and I will not--though I will respect a safeword gesture for emergencies. It may turn you on, but you will not like it. But I will make sure you get fatter. I will meet you every day and pin you down and shove food and drink down your throat till you weigh more than the last time I left you. Then we might have that sex, if you feel up to it. That is what I want to do to you. Now. Tell me with certainty that you really want me to cram all this in you."
Despite the severity of his words I couldn't imagine wanting anything more. "I'm sick of the easy way that doesn't work," I said. "Do it. Fuck me up."
Just as he'd warned, Petar did not go easy on me. From the very first mouthful he was rough, stuffing two slices of pizza in my muzzle and watching me struggle to swallow them down as he held them there by the crust. It felt like it took a few minutes just to work on chewing through the whole thing; it was hard work, and whenever I stopped for rest, the big raccoon took hold of my jaw himself and forced me to chew.
Uncomfortable as it was, my body seemed to be enjoying it--whenever Petar ground his clothed rump against my groin it met my hard bulge. "Never one without the other," he'd said, and true to his word he kept stimulating me with tail and butt as he fed me.
As I finally managed to get the whole of those first slices in my stomach, gasping for relief and trying to clear the grease from my muzzle, Petar was ready. He'd opened up a two-liter and tilted it down for me, splashing my face with fizzy cola before the mouth of the bottle entered mine. I drank for what felt like half a minute before he pulled the bottle away and replaced it with more pizza.
And just as he'd thought, I couldn't get it all down in the end. Worse than I'd thought, I wasn't even able to make it through the whole of one pizza--I was a couple of slices from the end before a sudden nausea hit, and I had to spit out a mouthful before the clammy, insipid texture of half-chewed food got me retching. When Petar tried to plug the soda bottle into my mouth again, I pushed him away.
"I can't--I can't--I wish I could, but mrghmph--"
The bottle was forced into my muzzle. I tried to block the opening with my tongue but my body was still rejecting my last mouthful--I coughed hard, my tongue slipped, and a rush of fluid flooded my maw. More of it spilled down my chin, but I was able to swallow some of it--then more of it--and finally the raccoon was holding the empty bottle above my open maw as the last drops spilled out.
"I'm sorry," I said, as he wiped me down with some towels. "I thought I could--"
"You did fine for a first time," he said. "Keep your expectations realistic. You might get better with practice. If you don't, we'll stick to liquid feeding, which most people can handle better. But one way or another," he said, rubbing my fuzzy belly, "we're going to get you fat, ferret."
[to be continued]