FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

​The alarm pierced the air with its heavy metal guitar solo. The riff went on, resigning in a crescendo until abruptly and unsatisfyingly ending. Then the guitar solo restarted from the beginning. Loona lost count of how many times it repeated, but finally, she had the will to get up, even if her will was weak. The red light showed through the cracks of the room’s curtain, but it was barely enough to illuminate it. The shadow of her blubber-coated arm rose like a whale jumping out of the water. It tapered like a tail, the thinnest and most normal part benign her fingers.

​The guitar solo stopped and the room filled with her heavy breathes. She snorted and wheezed as she sat up and reached for the light. -kerlink-. She winced from the sudden illumination, even if it was ‘mood lighting’, and barely showed enough lumens to light the corners of her messy room.

​The grey and white fur hellhound was massive, so much so even the largest demons of gluttony would blush at her sight. Her hips almost stretched the length of her bed while her ass caused the mattress and frame to cave visibly. Her belly looked like it could cover the table of a four-seater booth… and crush it with its weight. All forms of her limbs were chock-full of fat.

Her front-facing silhouette was built like a double-door archway. Despite her completely unrecognizable body, her snout and face were iconic and recognizable, no matter how heavy or covered in food stains.

She shuffled her bulbous legs weekly, using her thick girder-like arms to lift her rolling cliff-side belly up in hopes that would make standing easier. As the top mukbang streamer in hell and the mortal world, her massive gains had unforeseen long-term consequences. Loona was constantly out of breath and even now struggled to get around her space—taking the few steps from her bed to her computer proved to be troublesome. But in the short term, all the wealth and free food she could ever ask for, outweighed the problems that came with carrying all the extra flab.

There was another unforeseen consequence: how hard it would be to keep clean and tidy. She still had old stains from her last stream yesterday and even from a week ago. Her audience wasn’t helping her one bit in that. She felt the pressure deep in her gut shift down and all she could do was wince as she covered her bed in a thick haze of backwind—Frrmmmmppllfhhplt. The bed sighed greatly when she stood. “Soon I’m gonna need a walker,” she thought. Every step her swollen paws struggled to find footing, even in hell gravity was not pleasant to her. The back of her gamer chair (supreme red super-sized edition) creaked when she used it as support. She swiveled it around, the seat was discolored and the leather looked ready to give up. The whole thing looked ready to give up, actually. She grunted as she pushed her weight into it. The widened seat struggled to contain her legs and ass. “Thank god that’s all the walking I ever do—I need Blitzo to help move my bed closer.”

Her chair groaned idly, finally, she was ready to stream. She turned on her computer (which struggled in the ambient heat of her room) before finally turning on the stream. It filled with viewers and donors and worried comments—she was late after all. Finally, she turned on her camera.

-Blip-

Loona looked at the camera nervously, an anxious grin lifted on her thin muzzle. This was the first time she streamed herself. She was used to being in the public eye, but this felt more intimate. Despite this being her first stream she drew in almost a thousand viewers—a record for a newbie—and all she did was make a post stating she’d go live. Her room was clean, red light flooded in, her body was untainted by copious amounts of pudge and she was clothed in her usual get-up.

“Hey guys,” she cringed. “Sorry for keeping all of you waiting—welcome to my first stream! We’re gonna chat, play some games, and of course, eat.” At the words ‘eat’ donations noticeably jumped. She took the time to compose herself and pull forward a cart full of greasy food from McDie, Fartby’s, Hamburger Noble, Anti-Christ-A, and other places. She grabbed herself a fry and murmured at its salty sweetness. She was reluctant to order any fast food, especially in hell, but she’d had to make a few sacrifices for streamer money. “I know this looks like a lot for someone like me—trust me, if I don’t I’ll donate 100 subs to the highest donator.”

1,000 HSD came in: ‘Keep the subs ;) ~Thrall9919.’

She was astonished by the massive tip. That was twice as much as all the food on the cart cost. Were people really that angsty to watch her eat and gain? What limit did they have? More donations flooded in. While they didn’t rival Thrall9919’s donation, in total the other donorations outbidded him by almost five times.

She kept herself reserved at first. She took her time to eat each fry or drumstick. She barely made a noise and she refrained from burping. Also, she had napkins on hand to keep her muzzle cleaner than polished silver… She gained the ‘just chatting’ system of Tweak as a way to draw in more viewership and not violate terms of service—what little there was. After all, she was talking while eating, no harm in that. It also pumped up her donor numbers.

Over the course of four hours—the total time of the stream—she gained enough donations to buy a house (on the lower end), and live lavishly like royalty for a month; she could also fill her room with carts of food. She also finished everything, albeit barely. She was suffering from all the food she put away. The pangs, the bloating, her stomach was filled and turgid like a piñata… but the money she made! She went over her analytics, the number of donations never dropped but staggered in certain spots. They seemed to spike when she let out a belch—as much as she wanted to keep them quiet it was impossible—and that one time when sauce fell down her cleavage.

She was embarrassed by those moments, but the numbers don’t lie. Numbers never lie. What limit did they have? She couldn’t lie, it felt good to let all that gas out… and if it paid. She sent out a post: “OKAY you freaks. I guess I’ll belch more often on stream if that’s what you all fucking what.” Likes and reposts and comments beyond what she could comprehend. What had she gotten herself into?

The stream turned back on, “Sorry for the break guys. Had to get more food for my greedy ass tum. You guys are ruining my body.” It’s been almost two weeks since she broke Tweaker and she had already perfected her streamer ‘personae’. She let herself go, both in weight and cleanliness. Her chair groaned as she slammed her ass down onto it. She’d gone from thin to fat—hips widen, chubbier face, thighs fattened, belly bigger, boobs greedier. She adopted a new outfit: rimmed glasses, a velvet tanktop with a boob window and a matching booty skirt. She had to adjust her camera to fit more of her body in frame—she also needed to show off her growing belly and deepened navel.

“-BHUUURRRRRRRRP!!- Fuck, sat down too quickly,” Loona panted. She grunted a winced right at the camera. Her chair audibly rumbled with a wet toot. “Glad you guys can’t smell that.”

She grabbed another burger tha size of her face and took a meaty crunch. “Sho… whatsh wersh we shtawking about ageinsh?” She chewed with her mouth open, burger in one hand while she scrolled through chat with another. Her heart fluttered with all the comments and donations.

“I have grease on my muzzle?... I don’t see the issue, are you trying to say I need to clean myself up?” She did a small close-up of the camera and grinned. The whites of her muzzles were stained yellow and red in sauce and oil. She couldn’t lie, she felt gross… very gross. She couldn’t stop presenting herself this way, the money was just too much to say no to, and the dopamine was incredible.

The feeling of the extra weight on her chest, torso, and limbs felt esoteric to her. Even the padding on her face and neck—which made it difficult to fully open her maw—felt oddly satisfying. There was a new thing that drove her wild too, she wasn’t sure when but breathing was sometimes a struggle. And her parasocial audience ate it up.

“-FFFrrMMMMPPPT!-” She blushed, that one surprised her. Loona’s poor chair. She ended the stream an hour or so later, she just finished her two carts and needed to lie down. It was blazing hot in hell and she couldn’t wait to take off her get-up. It was soaked in sweat and grease and even caused her to wince. It felt good to be naked, letting her cliffside ass and sloping belly and her perky but heavy chest breathe. Maybe the next stream will be a no-clothes stream. Maybe her defunct, stained, gross get-up would sell for a lot. She kept her glasses, which dealt with her eye strain.

She made more than her last stream. In each stream, the donation goals were beaten no matter how much she raised it. All the messy eating, farting, and belching were paying off… along with her new attitude. She was going to shower, but she was too tired… not to mention the walk was far. Down the hall? That’s far too much. She wheezed as she sat on the bed, gravity unsuspectedly and meanly pressed down on her. She looked at herself nervously. She stood up just fine, now knowing that gravity was going to force her back down.

Just how far was she going to go? She thought about that as she lay in her creaky bed.

Just breathing was enough to cause the frame to groan. She was a bit fatter, more bulbous than she was five days ago. All the burgers, fries, pizzas, and spicy wings were going to her belly, boobs, and hips. She hadn’t left her room in a week and she didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon.

She had a scare yesterday—she couldn’t get up. No matter how hard she tried to lift herself she couldn’t. Thankfully, her bedside table was sturdy enough to take most of the weight. She needed to invest in some mobility aid if she wanted to get up and sit down without a fuss. But why think about getting aids when she should instead stop?

Her tummy grumbled. She would usually save her food for her stream, after all, eating was practically printing money for her. However, she just couldn’t help herself. She ordered… a lot… and ate in bed until she felt ready to explode. She ate five whole carts, and that’s when finally it snapped. -CRrreaaaKKaaaSh!-.

​She shrugged and rubbed her belly. She desperately tried to fight off a food coma, but she couldn’t fight it. She snored loudly and her body digested all that greasy food. She blasted the sheets with her gas; it was already soaked, what more could it do? It can probably sell well like her previous get-up, which did perform well.

​She dreamed of food, getting bigger, getting more money. It was a vicious cycle that snowballed. She could go for a snow cone now that she thought of it. She knew what she was going to order when she eventually woke up—there was no stopping her now.