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DINING IN THE LYLAT SYSTEM Episode 3: TURGID ESPIONAGE ACTION (PART 1) Written by: ARTHUR C. SNARK * * * * * "Feeder's log, starweight 232.87. We were on our way to Corneria to get the Great Fox her annual checkup. She's my pride and joy, so I only trust her with one mechanic: Lucy Hare. She's got a doctorate in astrophysics, and she teaches at the University of Corneria. She loves spacecraft, and they love her. I'm grateful to have her as my mechanic." * * * * * Aboard the Great Fox, Krystal sat up in bed, nude. Her stomach had blossomed with pudge. Her round, white-furred paunch covered a few inches of her lap. Her breasts had grown as well, and their fat flowed freely atop her soft belly, unconstrained. Beneath the small, modest rolls on her waist, her hips fanned out, cushioning her. She cradled a bag of chips in her lap. She plucked one out, brought it to her lips, and placed it in her mouth to be crunched between her teeth. A pillow of flesh hung underneath her mandible; it was not yet a double chin, but it contributed to her softening appearance nonetheless. Krystal wore an earpiece. One end had a tiny speaker, which clipped gently onto her ear. From that, a thin strand of black plastic curved around her head down to her mouth. There, the other end held a microphone. "Anyway--I could go on about Aquas all day. What have you been up to?" She stifled a burp. On the other end was Lucy Hare. She was at the University of Corneria's gym, jogging on one of its treadmills. An earpiece with mic clung to her ear as well. As she exercised, the microphone bounced against her chubby cheeks. Her fur was a pale pink, the shade of peonies. Yellow gym shorts clung to her behind; her hips were easily twice as wide as her upper back, and her butt filled out her backside, like two shuddering medicine balls dimpled with cellulite. Lucy's shorts managed to cover the top half of it, but the bottom squeezed out in an upside down muffin effect. Its cheeks bounced up and down alternately with each step. Her thighs were nearly as thick, and due to their meaty diameter, they rubbed against each other without ever parting during each step--there was no room in between them, even at the farthest reach of her stride. Still, she swung her fleshy gams with grace. Her footfalls were steps rather than stomps, even though each one sent a momentary ripple through her entire flabby body as she tapped against the treadmill. Her bushy cotton ball of a tail nestled between her butt's two globes of fat and her ample lovehandles. Lucy responded, "I've been studying long-term travel into deep space." Her words were breathy while her lungs worked to provide oxygen to her blood. "A few professors from the biology department are leading it, but I convinced them to take me on board for my practical knowledge of space travel and theoretical knowledge of astrophysics." "Long term?" Krystal asked between munches. "Like for years?" "Longer than that," Lucy said. Her loose gray top hung halfway down her torso. Her belly lent to her pear shape; its top half was certainly plump and well-fed, but its bottom roll almost spread as wide as her hips while it was tucked into her gym shorts. When her foot touched the treadmill, gravity would squash her bottom stomach roll downward against her thighs; when she bounced into the air, it would fly up to her hip's level. Her breasts were secured in a bra to stabilize them against gravity, but she could feel her sideboobs bouncing out of its hold. They glanced against her wobbling biceps. Her breasts had grown as much sideways as anything, giving her two folds on each side: one between her sideboob and waist, and one between her waist and hips. It was as if her waist was a handle, where you would dig a thumb into the crease below her sideboob and your other four digits into the crease above her waist. And if you shook it--well, it would look like Lucy did right now, jogging on the treadmill. "As the theory goes, if we can sustain a sort of semi-stasis, like a long sleep or hibernation, we can extend an astronaut's lifespan. This would allow us to send someone decades into space and prod deeper into its expanse. I've been contributing to the exercise plan. A long sleep like that requires a resilient and flexible cardiovascular system so that we can reliably slow the heart without risk." She stepped off of the treadmill. Her muzzle was covered in a pale yellow fur. It ran up the middle of her face between her eyes, which were a vivid fuschia, in contrast to her desaturated fur. Her long ears extended from the top of her head and drooped slightly. Between them was a dollop of hair. Normally, it was puffy and gracefully combed. After her workout, it was frizzled. "And for hibernation, you need a large store of nutrients, just to maintain critical bodily functions. The whiz kids researching metabolic biology have concocted a formula that solves this problem by stretching the patient's stomach. It allows you to take in as much food as necessary in anticipation of how long you'll be unconscious. It's really a formula that promotes gastronomic distention for extended digestion, but someone with a sense of humor figured out a better acronym: the formula for Stomach Widening and Expansion for Lengthened Lunches." Krystal's interest was piqued. Not that she didn't always find Lucy's academics fascinating--but this, a stomach-expanding formula, had some aspect of levity. It sounded fun. "Have you gotten to test it?" Still catching her breath, Lucy picked up a towel from the treadmill and dabbed her sweaty face, then slung it across her shoulders. She stood up straight, legs next to each other. Her thighs were so stuffed with adipose that they smushed together, creating a mound of fat between her legs that looked, well--suggestive, let's say. Lucy put her right foot forward and bent her right knee as she kept her left leg straight out behind her. The move shifted her rump. Her left thigh scrunched against her left cheek, pushing it upward, and it flattened atop her leg. Meanwhile, her right cheek drooped under her stance, the wide step of her leg giving it room to spread out and hang. After a time, she stretched the other leg. "Well, it's been through some basic clinical trials," Lucy explained. "The worst side effect was bloating and gas. One of the poor patients in the trials ripped her shirt because her midsection grew 30 inches. She had taken more than the prescribed dosage. But, there was no risk to her health; the formula made her perfectly elastic. And now, I'm the one researching its long-term effects." "How does it feel?" Krystal asked. "It's numbing, in a sense. If you eat enough, you stop feeling hungry. But if you continue eating on and on past that point, you never get full. You might feel that you have a lot of food in you. But your stomach is happy to accommodate, and it will stretch as far as you care to keep eating without a complaint." Lucy straightened up, pulling her legs together. Then, she bent her right knee back, patting her butt with her sneaker. Her sneaker was a quarter of the width of one cheek, and her foot pressed into her backside like a face into a pillow. Her calf and thigh squished into each other, pressing their flab wide and flat. She reached one arm behind her and could just barely nab the tip of her foot around her hefty rear. With her other hand, she grabbed a handle on the treadmill to steady herself. Thirty seconds there, then she switched legs. Next, she got down on the floor behind the treadmill and laid face-up. Spread out on the floor, her hips sprawled, her broad thighs flowed into each other, and her calves fanned out. She pulled her right knee upward, fighting against her swollen spare tire. Her leg pushed her belly upward, which poured around the sides of her abundant thigh. She reached her arms down and clasped her hands around her knee, keeping it steady. Meanwhile, her copious biceps hung against her overflowing sideboobs, and her thick forearms leaned against her generous calf. She gave that some time, then did her other leg. "You've devised the workout routine, and you're testing their formula," Krystal said. "Especially with your experience, you would be my top pick for this deep space exploration mission." Lucy rest flat on the mat. Krystal had pinpointed Lucy's desire, but she wanted to stay realistic. Lucy replied, "Well, it's a little early to make conclusions about who would undertake the mission." * * * * * Later that day, the Great Fox docked at a spaceport terminal. Fox had arranged to meet Lucy at her office that night. He and Krystal took the opportunity to visit their favorite gastropub. Afterwards, they made their way to the University of Corneria. It was a weekend, so its green, hilly campus was a ghost town. Occasional lamps lit up its paved walkways. Its studious population was elsewhere, being forcefully removed from bars or vomitting in cabs. Typically, on a Saturday night, Lucy was one of the few souls in the Phoenix Center for the Sciences, along with a skeleton crew of security staff. Just some bored and sleepy guards. That was mostly true tonight. Fox and Krystal walked along a path towards the Phoenix Center. She wore a white blazer to cover her arms and shoulders, and under that was a strapless black top. In the past few weeks, it had gone from comfortable to tight. Its bottom ran just below her belly button, above a puffy muffin top that overflowed her skirt's waistband. She lifted her potbelly stomach up and tucked the shirt into her skirt, but as soon as she let go of her stomach, it plopped back down, tugging the shirt out of its tuck and springing the shirt back up. Fox chuckled to himself, thinking of those cartoon cumberbunds that never stay down. Part of the problem was Krystal's breasts. Though she stayed decent, the top of her shirt bit into her boobs. They fluffed upward and kept her from pulling the shirt down too far. Another part of the problem was the meal she had just enjoyed, where she put back an order of (fancy) mozarella sticks, a space pizza for two, and a slice of tiramisu. When she walked under a lamp, her gut cast a long shadow upon her skirt. At Krystal's back, lovehandles bubbled over the waistband of her long, white skirt. In fact, an exposed slit of pudge ran the full circumference of her midsection. Her wide hips stretched the skirt tight so that it hugged her butt, composed of two heaping cheeks. Her thick hips and bouncy rear worked in concert to sway her skirt back and forth, turning her gait into an elegant tango. Fox simply wore a collared shirt and khakis. They arrived at the Phoenix Center. It was seven stories tall; each floor was circular, and each successive floor was a few feet wider than the floor below it. The odd structure evoked an aspirational idea of science, where anything was possible, yet it remained rational in its consistent proportions. An elephant guard stood outside with floppy ears and stiff tusks. Her bulky, muscle-bound arms were folded, resting under her fatty chest and on her round belly. Her trunk draped against her breasts. She stood on thickened legs with a dense rump, plumpened by muscle under a layer of fat. Her firm posture betrayed her physical confidence. Fox approached the building. The elephant spoke. "Sorry sir, I can't let you in." Fox turned to her. "Oh. How come?" "New policy," the elephant said. Fox wondered. Lucy would have mentioned if they couldn't meet at her office, right? Krystal said, "We're friends of Lucy Hare's. Can you just let her know we're here?" Fox tried to slip past the guard, but she snatched his arm. Her leathery-skinned grip was quick and sure around his forearm. With her other hand, she took out a hand radio. She started, "We have a situation--". The radio clicked on. "Not now, Maisie!" it responded. The voice was uptight and familiar. Fox looked to the elephant and said, "I'm going in whether you want me to or not." Another voice yelled on the radio. "Fox? Did I--", and Maisie the elephant cut her radio. But it was too late--the voice was unmistakably Lucy's. Fox's suspicions were confirmed. This guard didn't work for the university, and something was up. He bared his teeth and pulled his captive arm upward. In surprise, Maisie lost her balance. Krystal swiped her leg under Maisie's, and she fell back, losing her grip on Fox. Together, Krystal and Fox darted for the entrance, then slipped inside. Maisie got up sluggishly and jogged after them. Inside the Phoenix Center, Krystal wanted to reach the sixth floor, where Lucy's office was. In a split second decision, she opted for the staircase instead of waiting for the elevator. She swung open a door near the entrance and rushed inside, and Fox followed. Fueled by determination, panic, and adrenaline, the first two floors of stairs came easy. She ran one hand along the railing, and the other held her skirt up. Fox could see her calves jiggling madly. Each lightning-fast step sent a ripple through her rear, which would reverberate through her bubble butt until her next step. Through the third and fourth floors, Krystal could feel her energy waning, but she forced herself to continue apace. The force of her run wobbled her rounded paunch up and down against her frame. Each momentary wobble would inch the bottom of her top higher, gradually exposing a quarter of her belly; then a third; then half. Running up the fifth floor, an intense burn hit Krystal's legs. She tried to maintain her pace, but simply couldn't. Her legs felt like they were turning into jelly. It was like they were inwardly as soft as they appeared on the outside. Her lungs heaved, gasping desperately for more air. They strained against her pillowy breasts, which were trapped by the neckline of her top. By the time she reached the sixth floor, the bottom of her shirt had run itself up to the bottom of her chest, which eased the pressure on it somewhat. She shoved open the door to the sixth floor. It led to a circular hallway with white tile floors and off-white walls, both gleaming under sterile ceiling lights. Maisie stood waiting just outside an elevator door, wearing an expression of annoyance. Krystal pushed herself on, but Maisie clutched her arm easily. Fox leapt towards Maisie. Effortlessly, Maisie balled her hand into a club-like fist and thumped Fox on the back of the head, knocking him straight out. He slumped to the ground. She spoke in a bored tone. "Let's get you tied up before I take care of your boyfriend." She dragged Krystal--literally kicking and screaming--to an open office. Room 611, Lucy's office. Directly through the doorway, Lucy had a humble plywood desk, and atop it was a monitor, a keyboard, an orderly stack of papers, and a mason jar full of translucent purple fluid. Behind the desk was a bookshelf stuffed with thick books that had intimidating names like "Special Relativity in General Frames". Maisie led Krystal to the desk chair. "Get in it," she said plainly. Krystal looked to her defiantly. So, she reached around Krystal and forced the chair into Krystal's legs. Her knees buckled, and her thick rump plopped into the chair with a bounce. Maisie pulled Krystal's arms around behind her back. She let her hands go and pressed down on Krystal's shoulders with her tusks, pinning her back into the chair with ivory. "My client would be unhappy," Maisie said, "if I got so much as a scratch on someone newsworthy like you. But he would be more unhappy if I let you go. Don't make me choose." Then, Maisie took out a plastic palm-sized container. With a zipping noise, she pulled out a black cord and strung it around the chair and Krystal's middle. At first she went lightly, almost tickling Krystal's belly with the cord. But with each loop around, she pulled tighter and tighter. The cord started to push against her belly, squishing its bulge. Then it dug in, creating a defined equator where her fat would roll over and under the cord. Finally, it bit into Krystal's stomach painfully, forming a crease in the fat and fur of her midsection where the cord could not be seen. Krystal was now firmly in place with her hands trapped behind her back. Maisie snapped the cord and tied it off. "Someone will be back to check on you," Maisie said. "I'll have to move your boyfriend to the basement so you two don't try anything." She left, closing the door behind her. * * * * * Some time later... Fox blinked groggily. He tried to raise his hand to his eyes, but it wouldn't budge. He became aware of straps holding his wrists to the arms of a chair. Then, he realized he sat in a chair. His ankles were strapped in, as well. The walls were concrete, and the room was lit by a sole overhead lamp. In front of him was a green figure. At its top was an arrowhead shape with bulging eyeballs and piercing, yellow irises. As Fox fully came to, the image coalesced into Leon Powalski, chameleon and sadist extraordinaire. He stood over a fat pink-furred hare, who was strapped into a chair like Fox. Her fur and eyes reminded Fox of Lucy, but Lucy was slender. The woman here had tremendous hips stuffed into blue jeans, so wide that the fat of her thighs squished through the open space under the arms of her chair. Her butt hung heavy out of the back of the chair, squeezing out through an opening. The top of her crack was visible, and the waistband of her pants pursed together the blubbery cleavage of her glutes. Her wrist straps compressed her forearm pudge, and her calves similarly overflowed her ankle straps. Her lap was almost filled with a flabby belly, and two plump breasts lay across its top. She wore a baggy shirt. Leon leaned over her, balancing his weight by putting his hand on a table next to her. With his other hand, he yanked her top above her chest, exposing her torso. Her pale yellow fur covered a soft gut, spread vast across her lap. Her pudge sloped down her front, topped with two wide breasts, a bowl of upper stomach fat in the middle, and a generous spread of lower belly at the bottom. Leon questioned her. "If I understand you correctly, Miss Lucy Hare, I am to take it that your recent... broadening is entirely coincidental. And that it has no relation to losing your security clearance." "Yes," she said curtly. Fox wondered what he had missed. Leon was asking why Lucy had put on so much weight, and he was insinuating that it had something to do with losing her military security clearance. What was he getting at? "Ha," Leon said with a smirk. "Maybe some nourishment will jog your memory." A large clear canister, full of thick white fluid, sat on the nearby table. Out of its top came a bendable plastic tube which narrowed into a funnel shape at its end. An elastic strap hung from the funnel. He yanked open her mouth, shoved the funnel in, and placed the strap around her head. It squeezed her plump cheeks and the fat at the backside of her head. Leon flipped a switch on the canister, and the white fluid raced out. The fluid gushed into her mouth and down her gullet. Each packed gulp was loud and thumping, shaking her second chin. At first, there was no impact on her stomach. Her upper belly sat lazily in the cradle of her lower belly roll. But as the fluid ran on, her upper belly distended. It rounded out and mushroomed upwards, rising like dough with so much yeast. It became prominent on her form, surging past her breasts and growing up from her lower roll. Her upper belly became a mountain with a picturesque view over the broad valley of her lower belly. The irony struck Lucy as comic. She'd just taken her dose of SWELL formula when she was captured. And now Leon was forcing her to eat the nutrient-rich sludge that would have been her dinner, the subject of tonight's experiment. If she could fake fullness and convince Leon that the torture was working, he might call it a wash and quit. The truth was, since she had taken SWELL just a short while ago, it was impossible to fill her stomach--it would stretch infinitely. As the fluid continued, the proportion of her midsection on her form increased. It inflated forward in her lap, stretching down and overtaking her lower stomach. The bloat made her spare tire look small; in reality, the lower roll was just as big as ever, but it was squashed down against her legs under her upper gut. Her abdomen's round immensity also pushed up, and her breasts no longer rest on top of it. Now, they draped along its side. And finally, the swell of her midsection met her entrapped arms. Just as her legs were stuffed into the chair, her stomach came to feel stuffed in her lap. Not stuffed from within with food, but stuffed from outside, constrained in the limited space offered by her chair. Fox was amazed. How could someone bear so much food? Leon switched the machine off. Lucy gasped and whimpered. "Are you ready to speak?" he asked, pulling the funnel down to her chin. Lucy spoke between gasps. "I don't know what you want. I put on the weight for university research!" She moaned and burped. Leon gripped her lower stomach roll, now a much smaller share of her belly. It was soft and malleable. He shook it a few times and watched the fat ripple across her midsection. Then, he ran his hand up above her belly button. Her middle was immense, a landscape unto itself. Her upper stomach certainly looked taut, bearing the overround curvature of a glutted gut. And she tried to act full. But something was off. Maybe she needed just a bit more to reach her limit. "Consider this more research," Leon said. He placed the funnel back in her mouth and switched the machine on. "And if you truly do not have any knowledge worth sharing, Miss Hare, then I shall at least relish the sight of you tearing asunder."