FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Pricilla walked with a hand against the wall down the hallway she mostly filled. Her belly flowed out ahead of her where she walked and her ass jutted out behind. Both shook and wobbled with each step as she walked down the hallway, forcing her knees and legs to support her more than half ton. The clothes she wore flowed and billowed around her, which was good. However, the stoat, having become contemptuous of clothing in general since passing the legendary 1,000 lb mark, could not help but feel that she would have been even less restricted nude, or nearly so, as she often was when she was wearing her bathing suit. Her right paw ran smoothly along the wall, to steady herself as she walked. the carpet kept her soft foot pads from hurting, but the hallway was definitely the longest distance that she moved nowadays. It was honestly a challenge.

Pricilla did not move around enough anymore to actually get tired; the sole exception being perhaps in the pool. But she did cramp easily. It started in the knees. By the time they both came to the end of the hallway, Pricilla was aching in her knees and lower back as well. Dr. Kaczar had told her repeatedly when she complained of pain associated with standing and walking that her body was simply not designed to be carrying around an extra 1,000 lbs everywhere she went and that the only way to make it stop was to lose weight. Pricilla, however found an alternate solution. It was called ibuprofen.

Fortunately, once she reached the couch, she wouldn't need it anymore. There was just that... rather large looking gap between the hallway and the long sofa where she could rest her extremely sizable ass for the next several hours. Pricilla licked her chops.

Beside her, Denise gripped her comanion's hand. All told, Pricilla was only about five inches taller than the motley brown weasel despite their vast difference in size. Her body servant stood to her side some distance away, although she was, in fact, almost touching her flank; being this large was odd in certain ways like that. Pricilla hadn't told anyone yet that she was having increasing difficulty in crossing open spaces unsupported, but Denise was always there with her, and she noticed. She squeezed her paw and asked. "Ready."

Pricilla sniffed and let her hand fall from the wall. It was not like her knees or back were getting any less painful. She lurched forward with her heavy right leg, feeling it rub against the left near the knee over the fabric. A globular ass cheek which sagged over half a foot down the back of her thigh shifted behind her and her paunch stuttered across the front of her thighs. She moved her shoulders as well to help balance herself. A single step was a whole body experience for Pricilla. Already moving and holding onto Denise as hard as she dared, the stoat said. "Yeah, just tell Fredrick that I'm in the mood for eggs... lots of eggs."

Denise stood beside her, leaning away with her - relatively - scant weight to help with Pricilla's balance. She grinned, though showed a few too many teeth. "Heh, Alright Pricilla, I'll tell him."

Only when her bottom was safely deposited on the sofa could Pricilla relax. She spent some amount of time shifting her butt on the couch, sorting out where the skin pinched uncomfortably. Discomfort was not to be tolerated. Pricilla did not plan on moving from this spot from some time; in fact, she'd spent whole days, and some nights, on the couch, more times than she really cared to remember. As Denise left to tell the chef of Pricilla's order, the stoat use the remote that the weasel had handed to her and went straight to the DVR to watch her recorded programs. When the first came on, "Distressed Housewives," she slid the remote through the collar of her shirt and into her cleavage. She'd sooner have hidden it under her right breast as was her habit, but then Denise had talked her into wearing clothes, hadn't she? Pricilla sighed and felt her heart rate slow after the stress of walking the distance here from her bedroom on the other side of the house.

Absently, Pricilla fondled a belly roll at her side through the shirt as she watched the drama take place on screen. It was soft, plump and squeezable and Pricilla just like the feeling of something in her primary hand. Denise returned from the kitchen, not with omelets - which would be a while longer - but with a plate of pastries. "Fredrick baked these this morning." said Denise, taking one of the flaky folded things from the plate and handing the rest to Pricilla.

"What are they?" asked the stoat, but she had already lifted the plate and set it on the broad surface of her left breast. She picked one up with her right paw and sniffed it.

"Apple turnovers." said Denise. She bit into hers. "Fredrick is a pretty good baker."

"He's alright." said Pricilla with about as much praise as she gave anything aloud. Her first bite finished half of the first turnover. Denise was nibbling by comparison. Pricilla tasted the sweet and tart apple filling and closed her eyes, savoring it and feeling the familiar hunger take hold, seeming to flow up from her brain stem. She finished the pastry with her second bite before she was even done chewing the fist. Then she had a second in a meaty paw. When Pricilla spoke a few crumbs flew out of her mouth and down onto the surface of her chest and tummy. "Fredrick has a knack for predicting my tastes before I know them."

Denise frowned at Pricilla's messy manners and fetched a napkin out of a pocket of her blouse; after three years she was prepared for her job. As she dusted some of the crumbs off of Pricilla's nice shirt, she said, "I would agree with you, but I have yet to see Fredrick make anything that you refused to eat!"

There was a subtle prod in Denise's words, but Pricilla let it slide. She accepted jabs from Denise that she would not have taken from anyone else, except her father. Pricila snorted affronted, putting a paw to her meaty chest. "I just happen to think that Fredrick is that good."

Though the weasel's eyes said that she'd like to say more, Denise relented, not wanting to push her luck. "I'll admit, that dog is good at what he does." The weasel took her seat again to Pricilla's left where the couch bent at a 90 degree angle.

Pricilla grinned, showing a single slender canine and turned back to her show. Soon Denise got up again to retrieve the omelets. The stoat's keen nose had her swallowing her saliva before they even arrived. Pricilla put two heaping plates on each breast. Each plate had two omlettes simply stuffed with cheese, ham onions and mushrooms, just the way Pricilla liked. The stoat felt the hunger inside of her like a dam giving way. She might have even used her fingers to eat, except that the omelets were piping hot and also Denise would disapprove.

Pricilla was able to calm her ravenous stuffing of her face after two of the plate filling omlettes were safely tucked away inside of her. Only now that her hunger was sated was Pricilla now free to savor the remaining two omeletes. This philosophy when it came to food was one of the reasons why Pricilla enjoyed large quantities of identical foodstuffs. She pointed her fork at the television when she was halfway done through her third omelette. "These woman are all whores." she commented and managed at least to not fleck food in front of her.

Denise, who had been silent this whole time brightened at the cue that they were now talking; Pricilla was very non-communicative when she was busy horking down food at the beginning of her meals. The weasel tilted her head thoughtfully. "Well, I think that Gaby Solestra is definitely a whore, but Brea is just trying to hold her familiy together."

Pricilla stuck another large chunk of buttery egg and cheese into her mouth and swallowed hugely, though the bulge was not so visible going down for the huge curved wattle she sported. "Are you kidding me? She slept with that glasses guy. What a nerd!"

"It was dark and she thought he was her husband because he was wearing his cologne..." contradicted Denise. Smiling and laughing, the two shared a rather silly conversation that lasted all the way through the collected episodes. In the same time, Pricilla ordered two more omeletes, this time with steak and hashbrowns and salsa (on the side), as well as a new batch of apple turnovers. Denise cleared the plates as soon as they were produced. She wasn't a maid - persay - so she didn't wash them, she just put them in the sink for her. By the time the episodes ran out and the raunchy talking puttered off, it was time for...

Denise had to leave. She was still in medical school, after all and took the job at the Blacklake house largely to pay for her college tuition; and live in California of course. The last thing that Denise did before walking out the door and taking her little Saturn down to the university was grab Pricilla's laptop and tablet as well as her now charged cell phone from her room and bring them out to the living room.

"Thanks." said Pricilla perfunctorily. The cell phone went into her clevage along with the remote for the television. The laptop and tablet went on top of her wide belly.

"Take care, Pricilla." said Denise as she grabbed her purse. She headed towards the door. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to give Lorenzo or me a call."

Pricilla smilled and nodded without turning her head. Due to the thickness of her neck, she couldn't really look over her shoulder anymore. She heaved a sigh when the heavy wooden front door closed with a loud thud. The only noise in the house was the television and Fredrick in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. The hours to come seemed to stretch before the half ton stoat.

Pricilla scratched under her fourth belly roll at her right side...

"Well... better get to it." she muttered to herself and opened her laptop, taking her tablet in her right hand. She moved her left hand on the computer's touch pad with her left and opened her drawing program. Typing was hard without a wireless keyboard because for Pricilla, getting both hands close enough together to type was inherantly uncomfortable. Fortunately, she only needed one hand to work on the tablet and her left could use the mouse on the computer. Her belly was so broad, she could actually move the macbook from the middle to the left side, right under her breast supported by her tight, straining bra and still have it sit flat. As for the tablet, she wedged the bottom portion of it just under the edge of her right breast, she she could work the pen freely with her hand. The end of the electronic pen glowed blue; full power. Pricilla brought up the file.

On her laptop appeared a mostly completed image. He was a Wild Painted Dog. Pricilla had his head and shoulders in a classic portrait pose, however the way she'd drawn him, he appeared to be constructed from dozens of different magazine clippings moved close together and overlapping each other to form a single whole picture. She'd spent a lot of time on his eyes, the right was blue in a yellow furred face, the left was brown on black. He had slightly uneven ears, ears from two different dogs. His thin muzzle was contructed of at least five different dogs, or at least that was what the picture seemed to suggest. Surrounding his head were letters from the magazines they'd been ripped from, many "R"'s and "L"'s. Some of the complete words included "Instant Results" and "Guaranteed" and "Weight L-" as well as a McDonald's logo. His expression seemed somber... as though he were trapped.

Pricilla frowned, not happy with the way his face was coming. He was supposed to look smug, confident. That was the point of this project. He was supposed to be the "Perfect Man" and Pricilla's message as the artist was that there was no such thing. No, his face was still not quite right...

Working on that picuture ate a couple hours as Pricilla sat there, her ass slowly sinking into the couch while the television blared daytime television. She plugged the pen back into the side of the tablet. She was sick of working on her drawing; her fans online were going to have to wait for another day to see it. She was also sick of watching the television. Pricilla was desperately bored.

Her gut rumbled deep inside her cavernous abdomen. Pricilla remembered that she got hungry when she was bored. Twisting her head against the thick neck and shoulder fat which seemed intent on cementing her face forward, Pricilla turned to look in the direction of the kitchen. Her heavy neck wattle dragged on the surface of her chest. She didn't hear anything. "Fredrick?!" she called.

Still nothing. Pricilla eased her head forward again and took a heavy breath through her mouth. She rested her right hand on the mound of her breast, feeling through the dress where the top of the reinforced cup was spilling over with fatty mammary with her fingertips. She contemplated the worth of getting up and walking to the kitchen. It'd been a while since she'd last done that... months actually.

She looked again at the distance between there and the couch... it looked _long._For a brief moment, Pricilla was aware that she had labeled the distance between two ajacent rooms "long" and was astonished by it. Then the moment passed and Pricilla remembered that she weighed 1,100 lbs and that her doctor was continueally amazed that she could walk at all. Her stomach growled again and she put a hand on the curve of her tummy swelling below her breasts. She rubbed the taut flat surface absently. She really wanted a snack.

She could have simply called Fredrick, or failing that, Lorenzo. That was the reason why she had her cell phone secured in the depths of her clevage after all; that and in case she had a heart attack or something. But she didn't really want to bother with the hassle of waiting for them to show up, explaining what she wanted and having to talk to them. Pricilla didn't really like talking with anyone, except maybe Denise, but she didn't really count. "I just want a snack..." Pricilla whined to the universe in general. It was unfair. She'd gotten very good at snacking between meals and as a result? She couldn't even fetch her own snacks! That was ridiculous.

But still, all that distance. All that distance and no wall or handrail to lean on; her father forbid there being handrails in the rest of the house. Ocasionally he had company here and he didn't want it to look like an invalid's dwelling. That, in spite of the fact that an invalid lived here 24/7 and could have really used some more simple features planted around the house at large. Pricilla stared at the carpet between her and the kitchen like the Sahara spreading out before her. Her gut growled again...

Against her better judgement, Pricilla decided to go for it. She was not sure what had gotten into her. Three weeks ago, she'd actually skipped lunch in favor of just sitting on the damn couch from 9:00 am to 7:00 pm. Granted, then she'd been finishing her previous project in an enthralling blast of creativity while hopped up on Venti caramel frappuccino which Denise had to keep fetching from Starbucks and she'd made up the lost meal with an extra massive dinner. But still, now she was willing to get up just to raid the cabinets and fridge for whatever crackers and shit she could find; maybe some cheese and deli meat as well. What was up with that?

Pricilla wasn't sure. All she knew was that she wanted something from the kitchen... now. And she didn't want to call Fredrick or Lorenzo either. Even if it meant she was risking a fall.

Getting up was probably the hardest part. If Pricilla had been sitting on a solid surface, she could have just leaned forward and let her belly carry her forward onto her feet. However, after years of abuse, the cushions under the stoat sank and Pricilla was actually leaning backwards not just a little bit. The mostly white ermine rocked herself right and left. However not all of her was cooperating. It was still a little new just how wide she was. It was a fact that Pricilla was actually so wide and blubbery that when she twisted, her outlying regions actually didn't move imediately. As a result, when the stoat turned to the right, she could feel her fatty flank smush and crinkle at her side, away from the movement. At the same time, her left side dragged, a massive dead weight. It tired the out-of-shape stoat out quickly despite the fact she was only 24 years old.

And it was a good thing she was so young. It was probably only because of the advantages of youth that she was able to heave herself out of the blasted sofa before she gave up. She wobbled a bit when she was on her feet at last and gulped air through her mouth. It rasped a little in her throat nonetheless.

The stoat's belly was a curving horizon visible just over the mounds of her breasts and stretched from far right to far left. Her arms hung from her elbows because of the girth of her chest and her waist was even greater around. Despite this, Pricilla slid her right foot over the carpet, her pads not quite leaving the fuzzy surface, and shifted her weight. She took a deep breath and slowly turned, heading towards the portal leading to the kitchen.

It actually wasn't so bad... at first. The distance across the big living room and to the kitchen was not as long as the hallway, after all. Pricilla shuffled slowly, dragging her paws on the carpet and feeling soft round bulges of flesh roll across one another between her knees. They dragged and shook with each step, similar to the way her paunch dragged and wobbled where it rocked over her thighs down to just below her knees. Her love handles flowed as she shifted her weight side to side for each step; she honestly moved more from side to side in her very heavy waddle than she got forward motion. Where her breasts were spilling over the large - though still too small - cups of her tight bra, the skin quivered more than enough to be seen through the dress. Pricilla breathed heavily through her mouth. Each step was a conscious effort and felt like weight training. She went slow and deliberately, arms out to the side for balence. She grimaced slightly. A year ago, she would have hardly given this a second thought...

She didn't lift her paw enough on one step and nearly sumbled as her paw dragged across the fabric of the carpet. She let out a little yelp of fright. Pricilla sometimes had nightmares of falling down weighing as much or more than she actually did. Falling down was like literally being hit with a multi-hundred pound weight. Dr. Kaczar told her she could break an arm or a leg, even her neck." She went stiff and stopped moving. Fortunately she managed to catch herself before her weight tipped too far. She gulped some more air and it rasped a little louder in her throat; she could feel her fast pulse in her neck. Suddenly a snack didn't seem as important.

However, it was already a longer distance back to the couch than the kitchen. Pricilla decided to soldier on.

Gratefully, she reached out a paw and flowed forward to lean on the frame of the open portal which led to the kitchen; her belly touched the wall almost as soon as her hand did. She didn't rest long, though, the more she remained on her feet, the more she'd end up hurting.

The open portal proved to be a bit of a problem. After years of insistance, her father had had the thing widened, but that had been over four years ago and Pricilla had been almost 400 lbs lighter. She found that now her ass was touching the opposite side before she could even slid her belly through as she waddled in sideways; she knew she was already too fat to walk through it straight. The pressure mounted and it got harder to keep forcing her belly through. Her green shirt creased and pulled across its vast surface. There was some small reprieve when the wall behind her pressed in between her titanic cheeks, threatening to give her a monster wedgie. Grunting, Pricilla slid the rest of her big self through. She rested a palm on a clean counter, her thigh and love handle leanging against the cabinet surface below it. She'd made it.

Pricilla found, to her chagrin that it was harder to reach the upper cabinets than she remembered. She strained upward, her upper arm fat pressing into her face. Things at the fore were easy enough to reach, but there was a box of Oreos just behind the dried basil pita bread crackers she'd already extracted. It was not as though she could get a foot stool. The bottom of the cabinet cut into the thick forarm fat as she tried to lever her hand deeper in; she hated how tatilizingly close the box of cookies was!

Letting out a breath, she gave up. Her ankles hurt on her digitigrade feet from stretching up and her knees were bothering her as well for supporting her weight all this time. Letting her arm rest and hang from the elbow, Pricilla looked at the stuff she'd grabbed. A wedge of Colby Jack cheese and half a roll of pepperoni covered with plastic wrap as well as a tub of cream-puffs from the freezer - these would have to thaw before she could eat them - amounted to what she'd taken from the fridge. She'd found a bag of "The Works" Ruffles unopened in the cupboard next to a bag with her pita chips. She'd also selected a plastic jug full of M&M's. She knew that Fredrick liked to use these for baking, but Pricilla decided she'd just save him the effort. All that and a liter of Coke seemed like enough food to keep her occupied for the next several hours... if only she could get those Oreos as well...

Pricilla frowned. She didn't understand why there was no one here to help her with this. She didn't understand fully why she was here anyway. She had to ram her gut into the cabinet below the counter to even begin to reach the cupboards above. She couldn't bend over very much either and could only reach the top shelf of cabinets she opened with her fingertips. The stoat licked her chops, her knees were telling her to get back to her couch. she let a hand drape down and grab a belly roll on her left side. Her eyes lit up then, and she shifted her weight with a soft grunt, swinging her belly around.

She returned from the closet with a brush and dust pan that had been conveniantly hanging on the door. She discarded the pan and reached up, brush in paw, back to the Oreos. It took som figuring, but Pricilla was able to get the box out with the added length of the brush. She didn't mind if it was dirty, the cookies were sealed in plastic after all. The box dropped into her waiting left hand; which she had to stretch over the girth of her chest as she worked turned to the side with respect to the cabinet. Her belly heaved with a soft ululation of triumph.

Pricilla had to stuff a number of items into her dress or under her tits or the flabby rolls at her sides, but she managed to get away with everything. She shoved her wide load back through the portal and had a much easier time managing to haul her half-ton ass back to the sofa. This, in spite of the fact that both knees were bothering her. Perhaps she was just anticipating the food that much. The couch groaned and Pricilla thought she heard something snap under her when she plopped herself down heavily on it. As she wiggled her butt for a better fit, however, everything seemed fine so she began dislodging food items from where she'd stashed them across her body. The outfit she was wearing lacked pockets, but one conveniant thing about weighing as much as she did were the handy rolls and creases availible for stuffing small objects and snack into. The chips were a little abused - the Ruffles more so than the pita bread - but Pricilla didn't mind crumbs. The mostly-white ermine twisted the top off the cold liter with a hiss and lifted it to her waiting mouth with both hands. The taste was sweet and sharp. She flipped on the television and reached into the jar of M&M's, stuffing a pawful into her waiting snout. With the snacks all around her, even Jerry Springer seemed bearable. She chuckled as she observed a man forced to choose between two identical twins who'd been impersonating each other and both worked at the same strip club....

When Denise finally returned from school, it was to find a severely bloated stoat gorging herself on snacks pilfered from the kitchen. As for Pricilla, she'd felt so good about the success of her initial binge, she'd went back a second time and then a third. Pricilla could hear Fredric complaining to Denise because he couldnt complain to the pilfered directly

Denise threw her book bag carelessly on the other sofa followed shortly by herself. She lounged lithely, twisting her back and putting her feet up. She sighed tiredly and let loose a wide toothy yawn. Pricilla said sarcastically, "Someone looks beat."

"Ugh... These next finals are going to kill me." complained Denise as she threw up her leg on the padded arm of the sofa and stretched out along its length. She stretched languidly in a way that Pricilla's was too bulked up with fat to do anymore. "How was your day?" she asked, not opening her eyes.

Pricilla rotated her right arm, feeling the flesh drag agains the side of her breast. "Oh, same as ever. Same as ever..." she drawled. Inside, she wanted to mention the triumph of fetching snacks for herself, but stopped herself, realizing how silly it would sound. She didn't expect Denise - even though she spent more time around Pricilla than anyone else - to understand what that meant for her.

The conversation trailed off, Denise too tired to carry it and Pricilla not usually much for idle talk in general. Pricilla took up her tablet where she'd set it on her wide love handle to the side. Taking a few more deep breaths, Pricilla took up working on her unfinished portrait. As she worked she sighed from time to time, the picture as stubborn as ever. The ennui began to snake its tendrils back up her thick neck and into her brain. The excitement of fetching her own snacks was to be short lived it seemed. With her body weighing more than half a ton, Pricilla supposed she just had to soldier on past the creeping listlessness. "It's not as if I can go for a walk... or would even want to." thought Pricilla.

She clucked her tongue while looking at the face depicted on the screen of her laptop where it rested by her left hand on the shelf of her gut past her breast. She contemplated starting a new project entirely. To her left, Denise had cracked open a text book and was silently cramming for another test the next day. She was useless as well. Pricilla sighed at the monotony of it all and reclined her head against the many rolls at the back of her neck. She felt them squish under the weight of her cranium, but since attaining her current stature, they provided a better pillow surface than in years past; a small recompense for the inconvenience she suffered daily.

Pricilla wished that something would happen...

As things turned out, later that evening, after a full and hearty dinner, someone came in through the front door that would change Pricilla's life.

Sam was still on the couch when it happened. Denise was still there, but Fredrick had gone home early. Pricilla had developed a hankering for fried chicken and had sent Lorenzo to fetch several family buckets from the local KFC instead of having the chef prepare something. The plump lab who cooked the food around here was miffed naturally, but he had a tendancy to complain in general, either for having to prepare especially large meals or else having his services dismissed early.

A bucket of gnawed bones was all the remained of the latest victim of Pricilla's exceptional appetite. It was 9:00 in the evening and Pricilla sat on the same couch where she'd spent most of the day. She was contemplating returning to bed for another evening when the doorbell rang.

Desise perked her ears up in alarm and lifted her face from her book. "Who's that at this hour?" she asked, wonderingly. As for Pricilla, she hardly cared. Any visitor to this house undoubtedly had something to do with her father's business. However a visitor did seem odd in the light that nobody was currently here, save for her and the staff.

Lorenzo answered the door from the foyer. Pricilla hardly listened, though Denise got up to better eavesdrop from down the hallway. The stoat licked her chops, tasting grease. The only business she could have with any visitor to the manor was staying out of sight. Her mere existence had become one of her father's "dirty little secrets" since she had attained such impressive levels of morbid obesity. Her father certainly never let her forget that fact.

Pricilla was on the verge of asking Denise for a little assistance in getting to her bedroom when the weasel let out a little gasp. The molting ermine turned her head with effort and saw Lorenzo clopping down the hallway. He lead a much shorter man at his side. The human wore an exceedingly plain and shabby grey suit and red tie. Bespeckled, he walked with some trepidation next to the 6'10" anthropomorphic horse. When the newcomer saw Pricilla, his eyes lit in interest at her very full cheeks and broad shoulder, then widened in slow shock as he expanded his view and saw more and more of Pricilla's unconcealable vastness.

The stoat frowned. She was not particularly fond of her father's business compatriots on the odd occasions they had cause to visit this house. She did not address the human and turned her head towards Lorenzo. She shifted her bulk on the couch, swinging a leg up against her low hanging belly and resting her arm on the back of the sofa where her upper arm flab sagged hugely. "Lorenzo, why did you bring this man here?" The servant knew just as well as she that Pricilla, while not exactly classified was supposed to remain under of the radar. The last thing anyone needed was the paparazzi storming the manor and trying to get a picture of her three foot cleavage or knee hanging gut for the cover of the local tabloid.

"Miss Blacklake." said the horse formally. "Mr. Rodriguez, here says that he has important information he has to convey to..." His basso faltered slightly, "Mr. Blacklake's immediate family."

The frown relaxed out of Pricilla's face as she felt her full bloated stomach drop inside her.

"Miss Blacklake." said the human, removing his fedora, "I'm afraid I have some bad news... about your father."

Mr Rodriguez turned out to be one of her father's lawyers. The news he delivered chilled Pricilla even through her many layers of fatty insulation. "Miss Blacklake." said the human, removing his fedora hat, "I'm afraid I have some bad news... about your father."

Pricilla turned her head away back to the front and she put a hand on her chest. It almost felt like she couldn't breathe, like there was a snake constricting itself around her lungs deep inside the girth of her chest. How many times had she seen this exact scene in movies and television crime dramas? Never had she thought it would happen to her.

The human stepped forward around the couch while the servants remained where they stood as if frozen. Pricilla wish incoherently that the man would just leave. As if the news he bore would somehow remain untrue if only it were not spoken aloud and brought into being. But she could not run from this news, she couldn't run at all. Mr. Rodriguez took a half seat on the couch on her left, facing her. Gratefully he waited.

"Wh-what happened to my father?" asked Pricilla with watery blue eyes. She rubbed first one and then the other with a chubby fist. The human lawyer told her.

It turned out that her father had suffered a heart attack in Florida and had died quite rapidly before he could receive urgent medical care. Her mother was in deep throws of grief and was currently spending an involuntary term at a local psychiatric facility after assaulting a paramedic and having to be restrained following her husband's sudden death. Messages were already underway to all of Pricilla's siblings and her aunt and her children. The funeral was to be held in Florida five days from now.

"In Florida?!" Pricilla exclaimed, baring her smallish canines. "How the hell am I supposed to get to Florida?"

The man grimaced. "That is another thing I am supposed to tell you. You see we at your father's firm are aware of your... situation. I'm afraid I have to tell you that it is in everyone's best interests if you don't attend the funeral."

Now the stoat felt anger stewing the slow juices of her system. "What are you talking about? Are you telling me that I can't go to my own father's funeral?"

Mr. Rodriguez crossed his legs. "I am telling you that it would be in everyone's interests, including yours if you stayed. We're already arranging for live televised service to be broadcast here."

The ermine frowned and crossed her own arms, fat flooding under her chin. "That's not good enough."

Taking a deep breath, the human stood. "I'm afraid this is how things are going to happen, Miss Blacklake."

Pricilla bared her teeth, enjoying the mild shock in the human's eyes. She waved a fat paw, "Well, I think I can make my own arrangements." Flying might have been out of the question, but with five days, she could take the overland route; provided she could find a vehicle to accommodate her special requirements. Fortunately copious quantities of cash opened most barriers.

Mr. Rodriguez crossed his arms and looked across at the half-ton stoat. He gave her a critical look. "And would those arrangements involve a flatbed truck?"

Denise unfroze as Pricilla sat there, too shocked and offended to say anything. The weasel took the man's arm. "I think it's time for you to go, Mr. Rodgriguez."

As the human was escorted out of the living room, he said. "Just be aware, Miss. Blacklake, that we at the company are willing to take certain measures if you choose to ignore our and your father's decision."

Pricilla growled. "Fine! I'll be a good girl." she turned and put a flabby arm over the back of the couch again. "And don't let the door hit your ass on the way out! Mr. Rodriguez!" As soon as the door closed behind the lawyer, Pricilla let out a soft cry.

Denise brought her a cloth handkerchief and Pricilla gratefully blew her nose. She stared numbly out the glass door to the darkened backyard beyond. "My father's dead, Denise."

The weasel placed a hand on her soft, round shoulder. "I know..." she said simply.

Pricilla honestly didn't know how to feel. She'd never thought it possible that the man who'd been such a large presence in her life since she was born could suddenly be gone. She wasn't surprised that her mother had gotten institutionalized. Richard Blacklake was a powerful strong-willed man. Those closest to him grew to depend on him... and that's how he liked it. But now he was gone...

"What's going to happen now?" asked the white furred ermine.

Denise just smiled and gave the fattened stoat a hug around her neck, leaning over her breast to get close enough. "I'm sure everything is going to be fine."

Pricilla wasn't so sure.

They brought in a small satellite dish. They set it up outside by the pool chairs. Pricilla watched from the living room sofa. Nobody asked her any questions. When they were done, a different human stepped in and handed the huge stoat a slip of paper. "They're gonna broadcast tomorrow at... noon, pacific-standard time. Turn the television to channel five. We'll be back to collect the dish on Monday." That all the man said before turning and going. Pricilla noticed that he was more at ease walking out than in. She sniffed and looked down at the paper he'd handed her.

It was folded and Pricilla was mildly surprised to see raised embroidery around the edges and feel the thickness of the high-quality paper. Her eyes naturally skirted around the edges of the massive picture of her father which dominated the center of the card. "Richard Laimon Blacklake" her mouth moved as she read the words, "Born: April 8, 1963. Passed: - " Pricilla set the card aside and raised a hand to rub at her eyes.

Denise looked up from her book. She gave the fattened ermine a sympathetic look. "It's alright, Pricilla."

The stoat rested her hand on her breast and said, "I still can't believe that he's dead."

Denise close the book and walked fluidly over, sitting down beside Pricilla; though she still seemed to be at a distance, given the other female's tremendous girth. The weasel reached over and grabbed Pricilla's free hand. Squeezing it, she said, "It's alright to feel bad. He was your father..."

"That's not it." said Pricilla in a surprisingly dry tone. She took a few moments and a couple heavy breaths before adding. "I don't feel sad that he died, Denise. I just can't believe it... A man like my father doesn't just... go." Pricilla's voice was heavy with hesitation and confusion, but eerily devoid of emotion.

Denise loosened her hand from the white ermine's. "Mr. Blacklake was a great man..."

"Ph-shaw." huffed Pricilla. "He was a pig and you know it, Denise. He basically sold my sister to a business partner in Europe, you know. And he would have done the same to me, if I wasn't..." Now Pricilla's voice got a little choked up. The stoat had to pause and swallow. She rubbed her eyes again and took a few more heavy breaths. Denise said nothing, but Pricilla appreciated the feel of her slight weight against her love handle where it spilled over her thigh to the side of her. Pricilla spoke again. "I feel... nothing when I try to imagine him dead. But I feel bad that I don't feel anything..."

Denise looked up at Pricilla and caught her eye. She let out a depressed sigh. "It's hard to feel for someone you hardly know, isn't it?"

Pricilla grimaced, showing her small sharp teeth. "I thought I knew him... But if he ended up letting a heart attack kill him... Well, maybe I didn't."

They let the matter rest at that. As the television flickered in front of the two girls - one of which had stuck her nose back into her textbook - Pricilla took up her tablet again. However it was not to finish her stubborn painting. She shelved it in a folder and used a quick keyboard command on her laptop to start a new project. The stoat, who was far too fat to use real paint and an easel properly, began to draw something new.

***

By it was time for the broadcast to begin, Pricilla had already eaten a dozen eggs worth of ham, bacon and cheddar omelette; a loaf of bread smothered slice by slice with butter and raspberry jam; a pound of hash browns; four cream-filled crepes and a short stack of maple pancakes with the syrup baked in (the idea came from the McGriddles they serve at McDonald's). She belched contently as she polished off the last of it and cleaned her face with a moist towel Denise handed to her. It was just another typical day in the life of Pricilla Blacklake; well... she might have splurged a bit with the crepes.

Her stomach comfortably-uncomfortably overstuffed with food, Pricilla reclined her massive bulk into the sofa where she spent most of her time. One arm dangled from the elbow, the other rested on her right breast. She picked her teeth with a manicured claw and Denise flipped the television to the correct channel.

The din of static irked Pricilla and she turned her head against her thick neck to glare at the weasel who, with a sheepish grin, dialed down the volume as fast as it would go. Pricilla sat there on the couch, her paunch resting heavily between her widespread legs so low that she could feel the front of the couch against the underside of it. Perhaps it was the breakfast distending her stomach inside of her, but as Pricilla sat and watched the static on the television, waiting, she felt heavy; heavier than usual. When she drew her next breath, she felt it rasp in the back of her throat, and she hated the sound and the feel of it.

The television screen came to life at 12:15 pm. Long shadows spread across the green field of headstones displayed on the monitor. The one with the deep rectangular hole dug in front of it was the largest of all. Richard Blacklake was fond of the ostentatious in life and so, it would appear, he was in death. Pricilla was actually prepared for the possibility that her father had constructed a mausoleum in his honor, so the two angels arching their wings and reaching to the heavens actually seemed almost quaint. They held decanters in their right hands and poured frozen stone stream to wash down onto a bas relief of her father's strong, stout face and shoulders. Huge gold leafed letters proclaimed his name and dates as well as the words: "Reach for the stars. Taste them, grasp them and then join them, forever."

Pricilla reclined heavily into the sofa, her love handles oozing over the sides of her wide, thick thighs which touched under her apron despite the width her legs were spread. She scratched herself under her second belly roll and grabbed it a little to let the skin out. The stoat was wearing nothing but her extremely large, thong-like underwear which went between the folds of her flesh, a too-tight bra and a shapeless black muumuu. She watched a humanoid round eared rodent begin a sermon. "Heavenly Father, hallowed be thy name..."

Pricilla saw her mother sobbing and making a spectacle of herself on television. Bernard had his strong arms around her while the great gathering around her did their best to ignore the outbursts. Pricilla wondered if there was an ambulance waiting just behind the camera waiting to take her back to the asylum. Warren was there as well. The crowd around him almost swallowed the smaller quiet stoat and the young man looked at the coffin at the head of the crowd with a sort of dazed look. It seemed like a fiasco even from here, but Pricilla still envied her siblings deeply not so much for being there in person, but for not having been expressly forbidden from attending.

Denise sat nearby. She'd even put away her book out of respect. A simple black dress fell casually about her moderately fleshed figure. She turned to look at Pricilla, crossing her legs as she did so. "Are you doing alright?" she asked quietly.

The image from the large television reflected in the stoat's eyes. They were lowering down the coffin now, her brothers and mother waited to throw dirt down after it. Her sister was probably too busy with her wifely duties to have been able to attend from Europe. "I'm fine." said the ermine, stressing the words more than a little. She let out a sigh as her father's friends and associates, none of whom she knew very well - though she did recognize several faces - all moved in a line, throwing dirt onto the coffin of Richard Blacklake. Clouds swirled in the distance of a bright, blue tropical sky. "I'm just wondering what happens next."