FSE

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It was a regular disappointment to see, every morning, the scale that only read 700 pounds.

I used to be a lot bigger--filling a bed with over half a ton of immobile ferret flab--till I started dying regularly and the doctor said I needed to ease up on the gaining.

You've seen the video; you've heard the story.

So they integrated me into an older backup, a version of myself less than half the size I'd been at my best--to a weight where I was still mobile.

I didn't want to do it, but there wasn't much else I could do: my feeder had gone.

That was even more of a blow--Petar had been feeding me nonstop for what felt like forever, and missing him had destroyed my appetite; I could barely get through one dozen donuts at breakfast.

My friends told me he wasn't worth it, if he'd just up and leave at the first hint I'd be losing weight. But I knew my husband better than that; he wasn't the type to willingly abandon anyone. And anyway, where would he go?

I started with the police; no luck. I hired a detective, then visited another one when the first turned up nothing. She wouldn't take the case, but pointed me to an option I hadn't considered: seeing a diviner.

"Aren't they, like, expensive?" People who could use magic to find anything were rare and in high demand; they could get away with charging whatever they felt like.

"They are. But this guy...doesn't ask for his pay in money."

"Hmm...was that supposed to be as ominous as it sounded?"

"Depends how much you value what he asks for." She gave me a card.

---

'The Great Reynard', as his signage labelled him, had a thing for theatrics; the room into which I was brought was decked out like a circus fortuneteller's, hung in black and purple around a table bearing a rather large crystal ball on a pedestal.

I took a seat, and I waited.

The Reynard that appeared didn't seem so Great, but when you're five times bigger than an ordinary-sized person, there's not much that impresses you anymore. I mean, it wasn't a bad magician's costume--well, maybe the top hat was unusually tall--but the fox in it was so obviously playacting in a way I was not in the mood for.

I was already starting to get angry at his bright eyes when he rushed in close, looking me over with some surprise.

"Yes, I'm fat," I said. It wasn't the worst reaction I'd had.

He shook his head. "You're Jimmy."

If this was meant to show his skills, I was unimpressed. "Yes... I had an appointment..."

"Petar's Jimmy."

I tried to remember if I'd given my raccoon's name, then realized it didn't matter. "Look, fox, I'm really not here for cheap tricks. I just--"

"Huh? No, no," he said, sitting down and moving close. "Don't misunderstand me. I mean to say--well, I'm a huge fan."

I wasn't sure how to handle my surprise. I mean, on one level, I knew I had an audience--subscribers to my progress and feedings made my gaining self-sufficient ever since I passed four hundred pounds. Yet I'd only had a few months of mobility after that, so I hadn't had much opportunity to encounter fans in the wild, so to speak.

Still, knowing he liked me did nothing to lessen my irritation. He was being trivial and I wanted my husband and I was starting to get hungry. "Come on, fox... If you didn't even know it was me coming, how are you going to help me find Petar?"

Reynard took off his top hat and set it on the crystal ball. "Don't let the trappings fool you, big guy. You didn't come here because I can tell the future or because I can tell what's in people's minds or because I can find out how to do things. You want me because I can tell where things are. And I know exactly where he is."

"Tell me."

I'm sure he didn't mean his expression to be a smirk, but it was. "I hope it's obvious to you that we need to talk about payment first."

"I'll give anything I have."

"Don't make me hold you to that," he said. "You don't even know what you have. I could take your capacity for love. I could take all memory of Petar from your mind. I could take that enormous beautiful body of yours in servitude. The things you value more than anything, the things that bring you here seeking him at all."

I fought back a bit of nausea. "That--that's sick, fox. What good would any of that do to you, how would ruining me like that satisfy you? Shouldn't you ask for something you'd value?"

This smirk was intentional. "I do value the things you value. Everything you have. Like I told you--I'm a huge fan."

My fur was standing on end now as I realized just how more dangerous this could be than I had expected.

"If you really like me that much...please just tell me where he is," I said.

"Oh, all right." The fox consulted the air in front of him briefly. "He's still in the basement where I left him."

I tried to get up, to get away, but scaly hands grabbed my shoulders from behind and pushed me back down, the brawny gator they belonged to easily overwhelming my feeble body enough to tie me to the chair.

"And they say fat guys are supposed to be harder to kidnap."

The fox stayed behind as the gator rolled my chair down to the elevator.

I tried to protest, to talk him out of it. "Come on. There's got to be something I can do to let me go. There's no such thing as a perfectly loyal henchman."

"No sir," he said. "We're just hard to find. But Mister Reynard, he's good at finding stuff, see?"

I realized the list of things that Mister Reynard might've been good at finding was probably longer than I thought, and if he had any brains at all one of them had been 'an inescapable stronghold'. Or 'a bulletproof plan to capture a fat ferret'.

I gave up.

---

The basement level was dim, loaded with storage crates, and dotted with mannequins. The gator rolled my chair into an open space and left me there.

I saw a movement, and then a sturdy brown mouse came out of the shadows. He was one of those mice--you know the type, acting all ultra-macho with the leather and the piercings and really, really wishing they were rats. He was probably a little shorter than me, but given that I was tied to a chair, he still managed to look down on me.

"What's going to happen to me?" I asked.

He gave me a look that made clear he was another Perfectly Loyal Henchman and leaned into my ear. The warmth of his breath made me shiver as he sang out a low note that left my mind so comfortably blank, all my worries faded.

That note was followed by another, and another, developing into something very like a lullaby. The song enveloped my whole body, flooding me with its calming influence and erasing the aches in my feet and legs, the empty hunger in my stomach, and the constant warmth of the fat that surrounded my buried cock...

I felt the discordant sensation of my body falling into drowsy sleep while my mind, empty as it was, kept its alertness. I couldn't move my limbs; I gazed ahead into the space in front of me as I felt my body somehow both swell out and become lighter and lighter as the mouse's song went on.

He put a paw on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze with a rustly squishing sound.

My shoulder collapsed easily in his grip, showing me that I was little more than a big soft toy now. The stuffing gave way to the pressure and I felt the intense sensation of the back of my hide rubbing against itself from the inside.

The mouse untied me from the chair and hefted me over his shoulder, his song diminishing to a low hum as he carried me further into the basement.

---

The oracle's apartment was filled with big stuffed toys of the sort I had been changed into. I was brought into a large room where the toys were in various states of repair, and dropped by the sewing machine where The Great Reynard was sitting and working.

"Welcome to my collection," he said. "I'd show you around, but, well, you aren't in a hurry."

I hardly heard him; my attention was focussed on the sight in front of me.

A familiar raccoon face, in plush and stitching. The face I'd missed for months was recognizable even after the transformation: Petar was here.

And trapped in plush myself, mere feet away, I couldn't go to him.

Was there any expression in his eyes to show he saw me?

His body was rounder than the Petar I knew--a cut straight down the middle had opened up his belly, showing the over-stuffing inside; seams to either side connecting panels of slightly different colors suggested he'd gone through multiple expansions already.

I realized a similar fate was in store for me.

Reynard lifted me up on his table and laid me out, ready to operate.

The seam-ripper slid down my torso painlessly, exposing the soft white cotton fluff that now filled me. The cool of the open air on my innards was strangely refreshing as he opened me up from collar to groin.

"I missed your bigger size," he said, pulling out handfuls of stuffing. "So I found a way I could keep stuffing you indefinitely. I don't know if you'll like being a toy, but that's not important. I'll like having you."

He went across the room and brought what was left of Petar to the table, laying him in the cavity he'd opened in my body. "See, I did find a way to bring you two together." He started cramming the stuffing he'd pulled out of my guts into the open belly of the raccoon toy inside me. "Though I'd be a bit jealous if I saw him around a lot." He picked up a piece of faux fur whose color matched mine and started stitching it onto my overstuffed belly, sealing my raccoon inside.

The oracle gave a little smirk as he secured the last of the stitches and started grinding his hips against my cushion gut. Even though the new patch had just been sewn on, I clearly felt the outline of his arousal pushing into me.

"I'll give you a few more modifications as we go," he said. "But for now, just having you here is excitement enough." He lugged me off to his bedroom, ready to play with his new toy.

But my attention was elsewhere. My mind turned inward, feeling my inner stuffing, feeling what was once my husband. Did I feel his mind, as well?

I think I hear his thoughts in my head, sometimes. But I have no way to be sure.