FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 04

A soft ding rang through Tach's apartment, signaling the arrival of another payment. The hefty lynx leaned over his own belly and grabbed his phone form the other side of the couch, then lazily swiped a finger across the screen and opened it up. His brow arched with pleasant surprise when he noticed another increase in his fees, though it fell when he considered what to spend it on. His growing figure had taken quite the toll on his home, and he ran through a mental list of everything in need of repair. A sigh crossed the feline's muzzle as he realized virtually every piece of furniture in his home fell into that category. Chairs, metal and plastic and wood alike struggled to support his rolling frame, each marked with the cracks and splinters of his bulk. Only two had collapsed under him, though he knew that number would rise very quickly. Tach reached an idle arm around his belly and let it rest on his plush curve. The cat's bed was in need similar need of attention, sporting a damaged frame and collapsed mattress. On some level he knew nothing would retain its spring long under his mass, though the broken support spans under his box spring did little to help. Still, he seemed to sleep well enough for the moment. Letting the dragoness's nightly food comas take him had proved more effective than any sleep medicine. Tach shuffled his wide hips and drew a groan of protest from his couch as he re-situated himself. Replacing his sofa would likely be the best course of action. The cushions lost their spring long ago, and several posts on the frame were held together by force of habit alone. The colossal cat made up his mind with a nod to himself, then rocked himself forward and back until he grained the momentum to get up.

His couch thanked its gods with a creak and groan as his weight lifted off, and Tach wobbled to rest as he found his balance. The floor itself squeaked in his heavy shadow as it adjusted to his presence, announcing his movement to his downstairs neighbor. His lumbering path wrapped around the living room and brought him behind the his couch's sagging cushions, which presented him with another problem. The space between the wall and his sofa only just admitted his figure, leaving no wiggle room. Tach paused and hefted his belly in his arms, furrowing his brow as he gaged his fullness. His exploring fingers sank with ease into his plush softness, bringing a slight blush to his muzzle and implying he could still navigate the narrow passage. He decided to run the risk of getting stuck instead of sliding his furniture back, then turned and sidestepped toward his room. His flabby rear pressed and spread against the wall, squishing out enough to rival his love handles in width. His tail nestled into the small of his back and brushed his path with every laborious step, adding to the shuffle of his movement. The feline's muffin top rested on the back of the couch and jostled and jiggled with a regular rhythm, offering some relief to its constant weight. His journey was slow and steady, though eventually we reached the alcove of his bedroom door. Slightly wider, it granted just enough room to move freely, though the door itself snatched that luxury away. Tach took in a deep breath and prepared himself, then turned and squished himself through the unyielding frame.

The plush curve of his belly grazed the entryway, which had been rubbed smooth over the previous weeks. His rounded ass pressed against the door and forced it fully open as he passed, granting him a few fractional inches of clearance. His cheeks flushed bright as he realized he needed every bit of it and more, and his lumbering pace faltered at his widest point. A wiggle and a lunge was all it took to dislodge himself, though he knew he wouldn't be able to do that for long. A groan resonated in his chest as he thought through the process of getting a wider doorway installed, idly retrieving his wallet as he figured out how to submit his request. His thoughts derailed when he reached for his pocket, however, finding the space far too tight for the leather fold. Tach groaned to himself and reached one arm across his plush belly, then used both to jam his wallet into his pants with all his stremgth. His thigh fought for all the space it could, but soon enough his softness yielded and admitted the compressed fold. Its profile stood starkly against his plush curve, fitting neatly into a worn and stretched outline. At least the lynx wouldn't have to worry about it bouncing out. With his preparations complete, Tach returned to the trial of his bedroom door. He sucked his belly in and turned to his side, then sidestepped one of his wide hips through with relative ease. His pace again slowed as the doughy peak of his belly approached the frame, only slightly grazing the rubbed-smooth frame as he passed. For a moment, he congratulated himself for so quickly adapting to his figure, but the dragoness spoiled the moment with her characteristic worst-possible timing.

A familiar static buzz on Tach's neck unleashed a pulse of dread and adrenaline, breaking his concentration. His plush middle spilled forward with a surprised gasp and squished deeply around the door frame, conforming to its geometry perfectly and leaving no room to move. A faint slosh echoed down the hallway when the collar kicked on properly and flooded him with fluid, firming his belly with carbonated weight and filling his head with an alcoholic buzz. His head swam with the abrupt influx and stalled his thoughts as yet more booze washed into his middle, rooting him in place until he finally shook the shock off. Tach regained his composure and sucked in his gut as much as possible, though he was powerless to stop the dragoness's keg-stand. He only succeeded in sloshing the amber ocean in his stomach about, unleashing a cloud of carbonation that rushed up his throat and escaped as a shameless belch. His cheeks tinted crimson with the eruption, though his embarrassment dwindled with each successive outburst. Each failed attempt to wiggle or slosh free was punctuated with another bome-rattling burp, until finally, he exhausted himself and gave up. The lynx slumped over his tightening belly and leaned on the far side of the frame for support, allowing his fattened ass to squish around the post behind him. He hardly cared about digging himself deeper into his hole in that moment, but resolved to either widen the doors of his home or move to a new place that already had them. His head floated on a torrent of mixed emotions, though as the beer suffused his figure, they seemed less and less important. His inhibitions weakened, and his suppressed feelings gradually rose to the forefront of his thought.

Tach couldn't hope to wiggle out of his shirt, which was pinned in place by the pressure of his belly, so he did the next best thing. His paws slipped under its hem and glided through his plush pelt, tracing over the constellations of his stretch marks. Each touch sparked him with a mote of pleasure, which compounded and encouraged his indulgent exploration. The sensitive lines formed so frequently he could hardly keep track of which were new and had been there for days, but that didn't stop him from enjoying them. A drunken giggle tumbled from his muzzle as he shifted gears and hefted at his overhanging middle, squeezing and groping at the folds on either side of the doorway. The plush rolls filled his hands and spilled through his fingers, qite the improvement from the modest paunch he sported before his ordeal. Tach wiggled and rolled his hips as much as his constraints allowed as his hands migrated to his love-handles, then down to his hips. A giddy grin spread across his muzzle as he explored his favorite part of his caloric transformation, and he traced over his furniture-destroying curves. The heat in his muzzle intensified as he recalled all the crushed chairs in the last few weeks of his life, both his own and unfortunate public casualties. An incident with a bus stop bench bubbled to the forefront of those, dredging up embarrassed shame and perverse pride. He traced his paws to the peaks of his hips for a rough idea of their width, and the latter emotion overtook the former when he realized his scale. Another rush of beer washed away even those fantasies, bringing him back to the present moment as his middle dug deeper into temporary architectural prison.

The bloated lynx wiggled and shimmied for even an inch of extra space, but found not even that. Tach reached down to his belly and squished it inward in a final attempt to escape, but only earned another belch for his efforts. His deepening buzz dulled the panic he knew should be gripping his thoughts, and by the same token made it increasingly difficult find a solution. Without other options, Tach simply braced himself against the frame and pushed, hoping to either press himself down or bow the wood out. His palms dug into the painted wood as he exerted all the strength he had left, using his size to his advantage. His generous padding distributed the force and prevented it from becoming painful, though that did nothing to boost his strength. He screwed his eyes shut and dug deep for extra energy, and his efforts were rewarded with renewed chorus of creaking. Hairline cracks widened into substantial chasms as he rocked and pushed and shoved, bashing his door into the wall with every repetition. The lynx turned until his hip kept constant pressure on the door, jamming it open and taxing its hinges in exchange for more leverage. When he reached the limits of his ability, the pressure in his middle carried him farther, providing the last little push he needed. The first pop hardly reached his ears, but the ones that followed proved significantly harder to ignore. One side of the frame gave and crunched into the drywall beyond, and the compromised doorway swiftly yielded to Tach's shoving. Hinges burst free from their mounts when he fell free, and twin thumps resonated through the apartment. One marked the lynx's graceless landing, the other announced the door's flat fall.

It took Tach a moment to realize he was free, but once he did, he rolled onto his back and tended to his bruised middle. His entire body jiggled and wobbled as he soothed his aches and pains, which ran up his front in a tangible stripe. Luckily, the alcohol sloshing in his stomach dulled the discomfort, but the relief came at the cost of his balance. It took him several tries to roll onto his front and prop himself up, a task barely possible on the best of his days. The cat's belly spread across the floor even after he climbed to his hands and knees, and its considerable weight tugged him back down at every possible opportunity. Eventually he mustered the coordination to slosh to his feet, and with the help of his couch, Tach maintained his balance long enough to slump over its back. In an increasingly common occurrence, his belly rumbled and growled, deciding his next move for him. He lumbered toward his kitchen with a drunken gait, constantly keeping one paw in contact with a wall. The lynx's bare claws clacked on hard tile as he crossed the threshold to his favorite room in the house, tracing his path to his refrigerator. A rush of cold washed over his plush figure when he reached in and retrieved a jug of water, then leaned to the side of the appliance and fetched a loaf of bread. He carried his snack to his couch and gracelessly plopped down, then drank a deep swig and popped slices of bread into his muzzle. His belly groaned and gurgled in protest of the added fluid, though the beverage and snack quickly took the edge off his buzz. Tach's mind cleared enough to keep an unsteady focus, which he devoted wholly to tracking down the dragoness.

A mixed blessing, his inebriation proved to be the push he needed to resort to his backup backup plan.

The cat waddled to his computer with snacks in tow, then dropped his weight onto his new chair's crushed cushion. Its padding had lost its spring in a few pitiful days, though Tach's naturally plush flab more than made up for the loss. He wiggled his hips and wedged himself between armrests, much to the chair's dismay, then delved into the realm of social media. Dozens of sent but unopened messages greeted him when he clicked into his conversations, and from there he navigated to the dragoness's page. Something between a smirk and a scowl crossed his muzzle as he scrolled through her posted pictures, a combination of her most frequented restaurants and the results of her "diet". The heat in the lynx's muzzle rekindled as he noted her increasingly scanty clothing, showing off more and more of her developing rolls. A small part of him was happy the reptile was still gaining weight, though the fact his numbers likely outpaced hers did not go unnoticed. He shook that point of perverse pleasure from his mind, then searched for a pattern in her posts. Several quickly emerged, though they were of little use on their own. The fact she frequented buffets was a given, but when cross referenced with their locations, useful information emerged. The dragoness had a taste for the gourmet, and she rarely ate lunch outside of a small section of the city. Tach stifled a belch into his fist and grinned with victory. If he picked one of those restaurants and staked it out every day, it would only be a matter of time before he crossed paths with the corpulent reptile. Tach picked the most appealing one from the list and wrote his plan down before it dispersed in a drunken haze, then retreated to his couch to ride out the rest of the night.

Shortly after he sat down, his foresight paid off. A rumble resonated in his ribs as the dragoness switched from drinking to eating, unleashing a drunken, gluttonous rampage on some poor, unknown restaurant. The cat groaned and rubbed over his filling belly as she tore through serving after serving, packing hundreds and thousands of calories into the sloshing ocean within his stomach. Traces of hot wings and ranch traveled on his breath as his burps became less and less frequent, soaking up some of the booze in his belly at the cost of burning his middle. His eyes watered as spice bubbled up from his core, eventually spurring him to rise from his seat and fetch a gallon of milk. Spurred by blazing discomfort and hindered by his swaying balance, he barely made it to his refrigerator without toppling over. Relief filled his eyes when he grabbed the chilled jug and lifted it to his lips, then swallowed gulp after gulp until the ivory beverage extinguished the fire in his throat. A deep sigh tumbled from his lips and he wiped the milk mustache from his upper lip, then brought the drink back to the overworked couch. It creaked in protest of his return, though its complaints fell on deaf ears. The cat resumed his chugging each time another wave of wings invaded his stomach, cycling between easing the fullness in his belly and quenching the furnace in his gut. His doughy middle spread his thighs and spilled passed his knees before he realized it, and he began to wonder if the collar had finally met its match. An onslaught of onion rings answered his question, stuffing every last bit of free space in his middle. The cat silently prayed for the device's safeguard to kick on, and a static buzz soon answered his pleas.

Tach let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, then reclined as far back his couch allowed.

The wobbling dome of his stomach obscured a portion of his vision, hiding his toes and blocking the TV. His pudgy chest weighed on his lungs and jiggled with every labored breath, as did the rest of his figure. His hips filled every inch of space and more between cushioned armrests, and his doughy love handles spilled over their tops. His middle overfilled his lap, which was already larger than normal thanks to his tree-trunk thighs. Even his calves felt the weight of the dragoness's extended binges, heavy and wobbling with weeks of sustained gluttony. His arms fared little better, slowed by wings of flab that swung with every motion. A pair of extra chins padded his formerly distinct jawline, and his cheeks glowed with pudgy softness. One some level, he marveled and appreciated the speed and degree of his transformation, though the larger part of him was more than ready to end it. He glanced across the room and made sure his research still sat his desk, then steeled his resolve to begin his stake-out the next day. The lynx vowed to return to his selected restaurant every day for as long as it took, and his drunken belly rumbled in agreement. Tach's muzzle heated when he realized he was essentially pledging to take on the dragoness's "diet," though such a risk was worth the reward of reclaiming control of his metabolism. Exhaustion swept over him as his meal settled and sapped his strength, plunging him into a food coma on his over-used couch. His bread fell from his fingertips as dreams seized him, delivering him to a realm not too unlike his own.

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