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Polar Excess

Word Count: 5100

22-01-06

A Patreon Story

Dack Belongs to Victor Waite

Crime truly never rests! Dack's experience is in demand year-round, and the holidays are no exception. Just a week before Christmas, she finds herself breaking into Santa's North Pole shop, hoping to recover a long lost prize for her client. Santa is no slouch however, and not even Dack can escape his knowing gaze for long. Will the vixen find herself on the permanent naughty list, or does he have something else for her in store?

Content Warning: This story is intended for Mature readers and the following tags apply: Patreon, Short Story, Mature, [Dack], Female, Fox, Male, Polar Bear, Ursine, Holiday, Feeding, Weight Gain, Rapid Weight Gain, Wardrobe Malfunction, Fat, Blob, Immobile, Compressor

Frigid winter winds whipped the outside of the vast warehouse, sapping every ounce of heat they could. That icy chill crept through the metal walls with ease, but thankfully copious insulation kept the worst of it at bay. Decorative snowflakes and distinctly Christmas colors disguised the functional material, keeping the workers inside warm without sacrificing the seasonal spirit. Still, Dack wished foot-thick barriers were just a little thicker. Her breath gathered at her nose in fleeting wisps while she breathed in and out, puffs only faintly visible in the low light of the rafters. The arctic fox conceded that it was probably more comfortable closer to the ground, but her height afforded an advantage she wasn't yet ready to give up.

From her shadowy perch, she watched the workings of the warehouse floor. With the big day only a week out, she expected more hustle and bustle from the elves. Most of the workshop natives gathered around heated vents and sipped on warm coffees, shooting the breeze between drinks as if their most important day of the year wasn't just around the corner. The vixen shrugged and turned her gaze elsewhere. Perhaps they finished early, or maybe their union was particularly strong. In either case, that detail wasn't relevant to the vixen. Her faint footsteps sounded along the metal beams as she padded from one side of the broad chamber to the other, searching for a lead.

Considering the nature of Santa's north pole facility, intel on its layout was infrequent and unreliable. Beyond the basic layout, Dack only had a loose idea of what to look out for. Fortunately, most complexes followed similar design philosophies, and as the vixen explored, it became clear that Santa's was no different in that regard. It only took her a few minutes to find what seemed to be a central office. She laid low against the dusty rafters and reduced her profile while a small group of elves roamed by, chattering up a storm and jingling keys on their fingers. It seemed they were done for the day, a fact that eased some of the tension is Dack's chest. Working in solitude was always easier.

The thief waited a modest moment after they passed, and once sure there were no more to follow, she dropped down to the warehouse floor. The wind rushed through the hair on her head and the fluff of her tail on the way down, which culminated in a soft thump. No one heard her descent, and a grin spread across her muzzle as she dashed toward an important-looking doorway. A quick peek through their windows revealed desks and terminals, both of which hooked the vixen's attention. A soft click confirmed the doors were locked in the elves' wake, a problem that would only stop her for a few seconds. Dack flexed a finger and produced a claw, which she slid into the lock with practiced ease.

Imperceptible to the untrained ear, a series of clicks followed the motions of her skillful hand. Each signaled the failure of the device's pins, and six sounded out in total before the door thunked open. Dack pushed through with abundant caution, and once the opening was wide enough, slipped through completely. That door latched shut while she approached the round central desk and its darkened terminals, leaving no trace of her presence. The vixen kept low to the floor and crossed the room with stealth and speed, then situated herself behind the central desk. Looking out from that position, the decor puzzled her. The murals and painting adorning the walls kept with the wintry, seasonal theme, but the information scattered between them confused her.

Basic maps of the grounds and abundant welcome messages found their ways into designs, lending the office the energy of a tourism center. Multiple standees of elves and Santa himself solidified that notion, leading the vixen to believe she was on the right track. Though her target likely wasn't there, information regarding its location was probably present. Her gaze turned toward the ceiling as she checked for cameras, and when she found none directed at her position, she risked turning the desk's terminal on. A few short seconds after finding and pressing the power button, a flood of blue light poured across the vixen. Dack ducked down behind the desk on reflex, then watched it boot safely from the shadows.

Despite the fact the workshop regularly accomplished one of the most difficult tasks in the known world, the equipment that supported that mission was ancient. A digital snowman danced above the slowest loading bar in existence, and each shake of its round body chipped away at Dack's focus. Her tail flicked with irritation while she struggled to remain on task, but she couldn't keep her mind and gaze from wandering for long. At least for Dack's benefit, they didn't wander far. While she distantly wondered if the elf IT squad hated their gear as much as she did, a labeled drawer caught her eye. An aged piece of tape adorned a a forgotten part of the desk, spurring her curiosity. A glance to the far-from-complete loading bar confirmed she had nothing better to do in the moment, and she pulled it open with a squeak.

The vixen didn't know what she expected to find in that dusty lost and found, but it certainly wasn't the time capsule of children's toys she stumbled upon. That hidden stash represented all ages in memory, and a few form before then. Wooden toys from the days of her ancestors laid next to the plastic gadgets of their children, connected by a history that was no doubt interesting and enrapturing. None of that occurred to the vixen, however. Instead, she stared at her own reflection, shown to her by a round, golden belly. Disbelief snagged her breath in her throat, and professionalism demanded she check her notes. The vixen reached into the pocket of her latex body suit, then fetched and unfolded a sketch stowed within.

The only part of her intel that yielded concrete results, she scanned the drawing of her target intently. The bell in question glittered in the low light while she spun it in her fingers, measuring its markings against the pictured designs. A smirk crossed her lips when the first set matched, and it spread into a broad, victorious grin as the others fell in line. The lightly tarnished metal could use a light polish, but other than that, it was a dead ringer for her target. Dack marveled at her luck and stashed the relic away in her bag, then let out a breath of relief. Extraction was all that remained of her mission, and she took a moment to steel her nerves for that act. A small part of her considered waiting for the terminal to start and getting more detailed information, but she decided against it. Lingering would only increase her odds of being found.

The instant that thought crossed her mind, the office lights flickered on. Dack swiftly and silently slipped beneath the desk, then drew on every ounce of her skill to remain perfectly still. The vixen willed her breathing to slow and relaxed the beat of her heart, a difficult task in the face of approaching footsteps. The tile beneath her shook with each ponderous footfall, spurring her to weigh the merits of bolting. With a head start, she could likely outrun the guard, but that was the extent of her backup plan. Regardless, she committed. Dack kicked the chair out and sent it rolling across the ground, a distraction that would hopefully draw the eye of the watch. Before it clattered to a stop, she planted her hands on the desk and vaulted over, only to slam face-first into a wall of warm fluff.

The vixen's reflexes sprang into action, and she delivered a harsh punch to the wall of flab and muscle. Her intent faltered when the recoil of her blow failed to launch her away. Instead, a colossal palm wrapped around her wrist, trapping her arm nearly to the elbow. She dropped limp in the figure's grip, first stunned by his strength, then by his appearance. While the vixen discovered a definitive photo of the legendary figure, the one before her perfectly matched the spirit of Santa himself. A towering, rotund specimen of a polar bear, he dwarfed Dack in every way. If the jiggling belly that widened his waistline left any doubt to his identity, the red jacket and iconic hat eliminated it. His expression lacked the characteristic jolliness of his usual depictions, but given the circumstances, Dack didn't hold it against him.

A long, silent moment hanged in the air between them, until Dack broke the tension with a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I would have dressed a little more appropriately if I knew I'd be meeting a celebrity today."

The titan of a polar bear cracked a smile. "You should know better by now Dack. I'm always watching~"

"You know when I'm asleep?"

"And I know when you're awake," Santa chuckled.

Dack didn't dwell on that for long. "Well, I guess that means you're the real deal."

The polar bear nodded.

"Does that mean you know why I'm here?"

"More or less," Santa admitted. "I know you've made a career with those sticky fingers of yours, and I get the feeling you didn't come all this way to say hello."

Dack began to explain, though her words tapered off as Santa reached for the pouch at her side. He reached in and produced the pilfered bell instantly, then gave her a questioning look.

"I was sent to retrieve that," she admitted. "My client said it holds a great deal of sentimental value, and he regrets losing it."

Realization flashed across Santa's eyes, and his expression lit up. "Thomas asked you to get this?"

"I think he goes by Tom now, but yes. He didn't give me a last name, though."

The polar bear waved a paw. "No, no, I remember him," Santa smiled. "Great kid, glad he's doing well enough to afford your services."

Dack cracked a hopeful smile. "Does that mean I'm free to go?"

"I'm afraid not," Santa chuckled. "Your intentions are good, but I still can't overlook the whole breaking and entering thing. Usually I let a buddy of mine handle the punishing, but I think she might be a little harsh in this case." The polar bear placed a paw on his chin and hummed in thought. "I think we can work something out between the two of us though."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I'll tell you what, you do me a favor and help me with a problem, and I'll let you keep the bell and throw in a ride home. Then we'll be square."

"That sounds like a pretty good deal for me," Dack mused. "What's the favor?"

"Nothing too difficult~ I just need some help with some milk and cookies. As you can probably imagine, I get a lot of them every year, and it's gotten to be a little much for one polar bear," he laughed. "What makes it a problem is I need to completely clear out last year's stash before I can bring in this years."

Dack blanched.

"Oh don't worry, they're all kept fresh with magic. And there's not too many left now. I just fell a little behind last month."

The vixen spent another moment in thought. "Alright, that sounds like something I can help with."

"Wonderful!" Santa boomed. "Follow me, they're right down here."

The jolly polar bear waited for Dack to circle the desk and merge by his side, then led her deeper into his workshop. A festively-decorated doorway gave way to an extensive hallway, several times wider than the wobbling bear. Its tall arch rose high above the pair, and lights embedded in its apex illuminated the way. Its floor bore the marks of bustling foot traffic, made all the more visible by the lack of workers walking its length. While the wobbling ursine lead the way, Dack's gaze wandered to the endless offshoots at her sides. The entrances to other buildings and spaces bore the same spirited decorations as the entry office, and glimpses beyond showed the endurance of that theme. It became clear that Santa once offered extensive tours.

The vixen began to ask about them, but a new sensation tugged at her perception. A delicious scent tickled her nose, strong enough to break her focus and tease out her appetite. A low, gurgling groan resonated in her middle as her words fell forgotten from her lips, a gastric grumble loud enough to draw the bear's attention. A grin spread across his muzzle at her apparent eagerness, and his belly answered hers with a rumble of its own. Heat kindled in Dack's muzzle as she turned toward the noise, narrowly avoiding pressing her nose into his love handle. While his own scent was pleasant, reminiscent of a bakery, it was distinctly different from the captivating aroma on the air. Before Dack could properly process those enticing aromas, Santa threw open the doors before them and revealed the source of one.

When the thief finally pulled her eyes away from her portly ursine escort, a broad warehouse sprawled forth. Vast tanks of liquid lined the far wall, each labeled with a percent value or flavor. Between them towered pillars of plates and platters, some littered with crumbs, others stacked with cookies. Those towers extended across the space's floor, creating a labyrinth of sweets and treats. The walls of that maze rose highest at the center of the room, then tapered off toward the walls in a natural pyramid. Glowing drawings of snowflakes and candy canes adorned the warehouse's walls where visible, hinting at a magic that permeated the room. Dack's expression went slack, and Santa laughed.

"I know, I know," he laughed. "I shouldn't have let it get this out of control. But sometimes you just let a day or two slip, you know?"

The implication that was a small fraction of the original supply floored the vixen.

"Oh! Don't worry about their age. The magic keeps them fresh," he nodded.

While comforting, that was not Dack's primary concern.

A silent moment hanged in the air until Santa spoke up again.

"They're not going to go away on their own you know," he winked. "If we had self-eating cookies, I wouldn't need the warehouse."

Dack gulped, a gesture that only further teased her appetite. "Just how much do I need to eat?"

"All of it, preferably."

The vixen blinked, though her belly let loose another rumble of anticipation. "If I can't?"

Santa clapped a colossal paw down on her her shoulder and gave her a winning smile. "Believe in yourself Dack. If I didn't think you couldn't do this, I wouldn't have asked."

Whether it was Santa's magic, seasonal spirit, or something in between, Dack's confidence rose. "I'll do my best?"

"I know you will."

With that, Santa turned on his heel and left Dack to her work. She turned for a moment to watch the red-robed ursine waddle off, and in that instant possibilities bloomed. The thought of turning and running crossed her mind. Her brow furrowed when she considered the option, but with it came an unexpected sense of shame. While Dack was far from an ethical paragon or shining member of society, the thought of breaking her word to the embodiment of giving spirit simply didn't sit right. With her moral fiber uncharacteristically stiff, she set her sight on the literal tons of sweets and treats before her. All that was asked was her best, and Dack resolved to give it.

Rather than survey the endless courses of dessert, the vixen causally strode toward the pile and sat down. Dack reached out for the nearest plate, a modest paper disc with a pair of homemade cookies perched atop it. Their warmth seeped into her fingers as she brought them to her muzzle, retaining a freshness only found seconds from the oven. It enhanced the notes of sugar and cinnamon that washed over her tongue when she bit down, creating a chord potent enough to draw out an involuntary moan. Her restraint lasted long enough for her to savor that taste for a few seconds, before hunger bid her swallow and take another bite. The thief gained momentum through that plate, taking larger and larger bites, until only crumbs remained. The plate floated from her paws before she could lick it clean, and she wasted no time fetching another.

Without much thought, Dack reached to her side again and grabbed the first platter she felt. Where the first was a home-baked labor of love, the second plate she pulled was bought from a store and promised quantity over quality. Still the intention was there, and it manifested as a truly alluring dessert. The vixen raised the first of the treats to her muzzle with significantly more speed than the first, and she closed her eyes in bliss to savor its magically-preserved profile. In an act that would make Santa proud, she swiftly filled her muzzle with the rest of her cookies, bulging her greedy cheeks out. She strained to bring her jaw together against the crumbling snacks, and she gulped them down little by little with each swallow. Her modest paunch filled her stealth suit by the time she finished, a detail that went unnoticed as she finished off her second course.

The vixen squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed the last cookie of her platter, then let out a huff. The wish for something to wash her dessert down sparked in the back of her mind, and the warehouse answered. The soft hiss of hose against concrete perked her ears, which spun toward the sound as it grew louder. Dack struggled to her feet to react, though the dull sense of fullness in her belly left her sluggish. The vixen hardly got her feet beneath her before the magical nozzle struck, lunging between her lips with perfected ease. A muffled protest against its chilly metal sounded in her throat, only to be washed away by a tide of milk. Dack's mouth filled before she realized it, spurring her to clear it with a heavy gulp. The ones that followed came more easily, and the vixen slipped into a trance while she drank and drank.

In the back of her mind, Dack realized the consequences of her feasting. The soft, gentle curve of her middle grew less so with every gulp. Rounding out against the material of her top. She stretched that form-fitting fabric tight long before reaching the bottom of the tank, creating a pot-belly that comfortably filled her lap. The vixen distantly realized she needed to stop for a moment, or at the very least slow down, though her hands refused her command. Instead of reaching for the hose and prying the nozzle from her lips, they instead explored the growing dome that defined her curves. Dack wasn't sure if it as the magic of the warehouse or her own perverse pleasure, but for whatever reason, she couldn't bring herself to stop lavishing her gravid swell.

Eventually, she found the only thing that could tempt her palms away from her middle. The flow of milk sputtered to a stop once she drained the smallest of the tanks, and a need for more cookies surged in its place. Driven by a spurred, primal hunger, she lunged into the surrounding desserts and scooped everything in reach to her maw. The vixen dropped her jaw and filled the space above her tongue with treats, stuffing them into her muzzle until they crept over the back of her tongue. Only then did she attempt to chew, and she met stubborn resistance. Sensing her reckless desire, another fresh hose slithered from the far wall of the warehouse and slipped into her grasp. The vixen wedged its head into the corner of her mouth and unleashed its ivory torrent, softening her sweet desserts.

In that moment, Dack discovered the power of milk and cookies together, granting her the power to rival Santa's apparent gluttony. She changed tactics, relaxing her jaw and throat instead of attempting to chew, then allowed the mixture to flow down her gullet. The vixen closed her eyes and concentrated on that technique, timing her swallows to keep up and savoring the swiftly mounting pressure in her middle. It didn't take long for that new-found art to carry her to capacity, and once it did, she found herself struggling to stop. Her suit stretched tighter and tighter as she pressed her limits, building a pressure that spread across her body and knocked at the base of her throat. Dack clenched her fists and sealed her lips around the hose, desperate to continue despite the consequences.

She only regretted that choice when a sharp tear snapped through the warehouse.

Dack froze in its wake, unable to bring herself to move until a second rend sounded out. When no pain followed, she chanced a grope of her overstuffed middle. The sensation of fluff on her fingertips revealed the tear in her suit and brought a wave of relief. The vixen let out a breath she didn't realize she held, then took in another sweet-laden breath. Her stomach rumbled with need, demanding the space freed by her busted suit be filled. Dack found no position to argue against that, and without hesitation resumed her feating. The dark hue of her form-fitting garment gradually gave way to a tide of snowy white as she returned to her desserts, driven and determined to eat and devour as much as she could.

The snaps of pops of lingering threads joined the chorus of her snacking and gulping, brought out by her gradually belly. Each one unveiled more of that tight globe and further tattered that expensive garment. Still, she hardly cared about the rising cost of her tailoring. Between the differing tastes and textures in each cookie combined with the flavors and weights of every milk type, there wasn't room in her head for anything else. Each swallow blended seamlessly into the next, chaining together until she essentially inhaled her food. Too preoccupied to even reach for more, the magic of the warehouse stepped in and obliged. Wisps of light gathered in the air and descended in mass, where they coiled beneath plates and delivered them to Dack.

With that arcane assistance, the vixen plummeted into full, unmitigated gluttony. Where before her feasting was broken up by moments of gathering more, such breaks no longer occurred. Without even a spare second to digest and adjust to the titanic influx of calories, her body and metabolism struggled to keep up. The firm dome of her belly spilled over her thighs and strove for her knees, driven by the constant mix of milk and cookies. The tatters of her suit hung from her hips and clung to her chest, offering little to no concealment. Droplets of milk and crumbs of cookies littered her gloves, though those only lingered until she remembered to lick her fingers. The scraps in her cleavage lasted much longer, hidden from view by the revolving hoses in her muzzle.

The mountain of treats at her side diminished at a glacial pace, though her figure swelled much more swiftly. It wasn't long before she brushed her physical limits, and the growing strain in her hide did nothing to slow her pace. Dack sensed the quick approach of a critical moment, and fortunately, that fork in fates resolved in her favor. Magic poured into faint patterns laid into the floor, charging them with a spell that enhanced Dack's metabolism. A static tingle swept over the vixen's form as the enchantment settled into her form, and once it did, a thunderous rumble from her stomach announced its success. Smaller grumble sand groans echoed out while it squished and churned around her claimed courses, smelting them down into flab that spread across her figure.

In the window of her ruined suit, the taught dome of her middle softened and sagged into her lap. Her thighs swelled out with plush flab in response, further tearing her suits and wildly opening its seams. Several sharp tears snapped through the warehouse when her rear followed suit, which inched across the floor in a lardy avalanche. Her perky breasts relaxed with pounds of flab, straining the top of her garment in an effort to sprawl across its upper roll. Her arms weren't spared either, and growing wings of flab weighed heavily on the surviving areas of her garment. Even her face softened with gained weight, seen in her rounding cheeks and developing double chin. Despite the increase in effort that came with her enhanced size, she continued to eat without heed of consequences.

Time lost definition in the eyes of the vixen while she feasted. In the windowless warehouse, there was no indication of moving moons or rising suns, only the far-off bustle of elves working around the clock. Dack's constant gulps and swallows were the only sounds that sufficiently marked time, and she made no effort to keep up with them. So long as the supply of milk and cookies held firm, the thief found herself more than content to live in the moment. Of course, her figure didn't stop growing simply because she stopped keeping track of herself. Mobility was but a faint concept when she thought to think about it, sacrificed in favor of a frame that dwarfed her previous size. The most she could do was send a ripple through that encumbering flab, a wave that swiftly dissipated among her weight. For better or worse, the vixen didn't notice or care until their mass of her arms made it impossible to feed herself.

Fortunately, the magic of Santa's workshop adjusted with ease. Instead of presenting Dack with plates and platters to pick over, those floating wisps simply delivered cookies to her muzzle instead. They flooded her mouth far faster than she could on her own, overwhelming her ability to chew and swallow. The vixen sputtered for a moment before her gluttony drove her to adapt, spurring her to swallow the mix of treats and milk whole. Her stomach rumbled at the increased influx of calories, equally determined to keep up and swell the vixen with calories. That dedicated engine of greed succeeded without effort after adapting, burying the vixen in hills and valleys of flab.

Disconnected from the passage of time, Dack had no idea how long it took her defining features to sink into flab, though it didn't feel very long. In that span, her only quality that persisted without change was the color of her fur, fluffy and snowy as the moment she walked in. Her luxurious tail had long since vanished between the colossal mounds of her cheeks, and her vulpine ears and muzzle couldn't hope to be seen over her rolls. Someone could easily mistake her for a polar bear or some other white-furred creature, an observation Santa made as he stepped into the warehouse. He arrived just in time to watch the last of the cookies and milk drain into Dack's insatiable belly, completing her descent into unhinged gluttony.

The rolls around her head and face wobbled while she tried to look over herself, and Santa dismissed her effort with an unseen wave of his paw.

"No need to get up on my account," he laughed. "I have to admit I'm impressed. Not only did you eat everything, but you're ahead of schedule!"

Dack's mind still lingered in a haze of stuffing and feasting, but she managed a confused groan.

"You had a week, and it's only been five days," the polar bear explained.

That fact surprised her more than her completion of his challenge.

"I knew you could do it," Santa grinned. "I've read your naughty/nice reports, and this seems to be something that happens to you a lot," he added.

Though the polar bear couldn't see her roll her eyes, Dack made sure he felt it.

"No need to be so sour," he teased. "A deal's a deal, and I'll drop you off where ever you'd like when I make my rounds."

By then, Dack was able to muster up a single, questioning word. "How?"

"There'll be an open spot on my sled. You're welcome to ride along until we get to where you'd like to be."

The vixen folded her ears back in annoyance. "I mean, how are you gonna move me anywhere!?"

"Oh I have my ways~"

Santa snapped his fingers and conjured a mote of magic, which he swiftly sculpted into a small ring. He spent a few short seconds adding the final details, then once it was ready, floated it to Dack's muzzle. A jolt rippled through her figure when the enchanted jewelry clamped down on her lip, where it sent a surge of energy through her frame. Like a faint electric shock, it tingled on her nerves for a long while before fading into the background sensations of her body. After that initial jolt it periodically pulsed on her lip, reminding her of its presence while it slowly carried out its work. What that work actually was remained unclear to the vixen, however.

Sensing her question, Santa spoke up. "It's a compressor! It'll hide all those extra pounds so well it's like they were never there."

At first Dack doubted that, but she couldn't deny the subtle sensation of the ring doing something to her.

The polar bear followed his explanation by lifting his hat and revealing a similar ring on his ear. "I had the elves over in R&D develop it a few hundred years ago, after ya'll learned how to make some really good cookies," Santa laughed. "It'll take a few hours for it to process and hide everything, but it'll work like a charm afterward."

The vixen offered a somewhat muffled "Thanks"

"Just don't go pushing it too hard. If you overload it, it'll reset and everything will come rushing back."

Santa let the piece of advice sink in, then patted Dack's fattened flank.

"Come see me in my office once you can get up and move around again. We'll figure out where you wanna go and I'll plan my route."

With that, Santa turned and left Dack in privacy. With nothing better to do, she tested the truth of the polar bear's claim and attempted to lift her arm. The weight of its roll kept it firmly pinned to her rolls, though the vixen was able to lift it slightly higher. There was no telling how long it would take to restore her mobility, but Dack found it to be patient when it would eventually come. While she dwelt on that thought, a demanding rumble thundered from her middle.

Dack made a note to ask if the compressor would do anything for her appetite.

If you've read this far, thank you <3

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https://victorthemaker.sofurry.com/

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