{"sf1_id":null,"sf2_id":"n6JRpG7n","title":"Maybe Just One","author":"Varien Quill","words":2784,"posted_at":"2026-01-11T19:32:49.000Z","tags":["binge eating","bumble bee","commission","fat","male","moth","sfw","story","weight gain"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/n6JRpG7n-maybe-just-one","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/n6JRpG7n","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"Commission for ButterMoth, still accepting more of the emergency commissions, every bit helps!  \n  \nA short story about Butter, a quite chubby moth who works in the prosperous bakery, but one night he had a special mission to dispose of all of the unsold pastries. But garbage can is too harsh for such amazing treats, so what's better idea than that?","content":"\"Thank you, ma'am. Have a nice day!\"\n\nHarold, an astonishingly small business owner, turned the 'open' sign to 'closed' as  \nthe last customer shuffled out with a box of assorted donuts. He had a round, fluffy  \nbody covered in golden-brown fur. A stout, furry moth with a plump, round body.  \nButter had been working behind the counter, but now he leaned against it, letting out  \na soft groan. He wiped a stray crumb from the corner of his mouth, leaving behind a  \nfaint flour smudge on the soft fur of his cheek. The smallbumblebee clapped his tiny  \nhands together, \"Great day today, Butter! Your presence really does draw them in.  \nWhich reminds me,\" he gestured to the long countertop and the glass display cases  \nbehind it, \"we've got a lot of the leftovers\".\n\nTrays upon trays of pastries gleamed under the warm bakery lights. Cream puffs with  \npowdered sugar like morning frost, sticky cinnamon rolls spiraled into perfect golden  \nknots, and eclairs lined up in tidy rows, their chocolate toppings gleaming. More,  \nButter could see, in the kitchen. The air in the bakery, always sweet, was practically  \nhumming with sugar and butter.\n\n\"If you wouldn't mind disposing of all these for me, Butter,\" Harold said, already  \ngathering his satchel from under the counter. \"Just take them out back, to the bin. I'd  \ndo it myself, but my wing joint has been acting up all afternoon.\" He stretched a  \nfeathery brown antenna at Butter, as if to prove his point. Butter's gaze was fixed on a  \nparticularly luscious-looking cheesecake, its surface marbled with raspberry swirls.  \n\"No problem, Buzzy,\" he said, his antennae twitching slightly. His round stomach  \npressed snugly against the edge of the counter.\n\n\"Wonderful! You're a lifesaver. See you in the morning!\" The little bee whizzed out  \nthe door, the tiny bell above it jingling merrily before the lock clicked into place. The  \nsilence that followed was sudden and total. Butter was alone. Alone with the bakery.  \nAlone with all the pastries. He waddled toward the backroom for some trash bags.  \nOn his way back, he paused by the display case. A single, lone cream puff sat on a  \npaper doily. Its shell was a perfect sphere of delicate crispness, and through a small  \nslit at the top, he could just glimpse the pristine white cream inside.\n\n\"It's just... one,\" Butter mumbled to himself, his voice a low rumble in his chest. \"One  \nto celebrate another great day...\" Before his rational mind could form another  \nthought, his hands had already reached out. He popped it into his mouth whole. The  \nflavor exploded. Cool, sweet vanilla cream burst from its fragile pastry prison, coating  \nhis tongue. A contented sigh escaped him as he chewed. That was it. The spark. The  \nmoth smacked his lips.\n\nHis eyes scanned the trays again. A full rack of cookies, their chocolate chips still  \nsemi-molten. A mountain of danishes, their centers glistening with fruit filling. A  \nwhole croquembouche, a tower of cream-filled profiteroles glazed in a webbing of  \ncaramel, sat majestically on a separate stand, awaiting its fate in the trash. Butter's  \nantennae gave an almost imperceptible tremble. \"Wasting all this...\" he thought, \"it...  \nIt seems wrong.\" He grabbed the tray of cookies. Then the danishes. Soon, he was  \npulling out chairs and arranging the treats all around the large center table in the  \nmiddle of the room. He wasn't disposing of them. He was saving them. From the bin.  \nFrom the cruel, cold fate of being wasted. He was a hero.\n\nThe initial rush of pastries was a blur of powdered sugar and melted chocolate.  \nButter's world narrowed to the sensory delight of taste and texture. Flaky croissants  \nsurrendered to his eager tongue, their buttery layers melting away. He bit into a fruit  \ntart, the sharp tang of berry cutting through the sweetness of the custard, the  \nshortbread crust crumbling beneath. The croquembouche was a mountain he  \nconquered one profiterole at a time, the brittle caramel shattering with each  \nsatisfying crunch, each bite a symphony of sweet, rich cream and burnt sugar. The  \nbakery was quiet. Only the soft pat of crumbs falling on the checkered floor, the  \nrhythmic chew. For a while, he was in heaven. A round, furred angelic being in a  \nworld made of sugar. Fullness was a distant concept. Then the third tray of brownies  \narrived.\n\nA dull pressure began to build in Butter's stomach. He paused, a half-eaten brownie  \nstill in his paw, resting on the swell of his belly. He took a breath. The air itself seemed  \nsweet, tasting of baked bread and vanilla extract. He surveyed the landscape of  \nwrappers and empty plates that surrounded him. He was an island in a sea of his own  \ngluttony. A groan rumbled in his chest, less one of satisfaction and more of strain.  \n\"Okay,\" he breathed out, the word a puff of air. \"Okay. That's... that's plenty.\" He  \npushed the plate of brownies away. His gaze drifted and settled upon an untouched  \nlemon meringue pie. Its peaks were toasted to a perfect golden brown, a fluffy cloud  \natop a sea of translucent yellow. \"Just... one more slice,\" he rationalized. \"To round  \nthings out. It's citrusy. Cleansing.\" He didn't believe himself for a second, but he cut a  \nwedge that was more a third than a sixth and dove back in.\n\nHis belly was now taut, the fur stretched thin over the great sphere of it. His  \nmovements became slower, more deliberate. Eating was no longer a joyous frenzy; it  \nwas a labor of love. A challenge. Each swallow felt like it required more effort than  \nthe last. He leaned back in the sturdy wooden chair, which creaked alarmingly under  \nhis new distribution of weight. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, patting the tight  \ndome of his stomach. While for an observer it would look full, almost bursting, Butter  \nknew well it could fit more.\n\nA lot more.\n\nWhile he had some trouble with standing up, he tried his best to move one leg and  \nthen the other. While moving slowly, he kept looking back at the kitchen, where a  \nsingle sheet pan sat on the counter. He could see the glisten of icing and the  \nscattering of rainbow sprinkles from across the room. A sheet of \"celebration\"  \ncupcakes, meant for a cancelled order. They had called him in on his day off for them,  \ntoo. Butter waddled across the floor, feeling the cool tiles through the flour dust on  \nhis feet-pads. The journey to the kitchen seemed longer this time.\n\nHe stared at the cupcakes. They were his final obstacles. The last guardians of the  \n'Closed' sign. There must have been two dozen of them, sitting patiently in their neat  \nlittle paper liners. Butter grabbed the entire sheet pan and carried it back to the  \ntable, his arms trembling slightly with the effort. This was it. The final push. He picked  \nup the first one. The icing was thick, a sugary paste that stuck to the roof of his  \nmouth. The cake was dense and moist. The dough itself tasted heavily of almond, a  \nsecret ingredient that made them addictive. And it was indeed an amazing  \nexperience for him. The second cupcake, carrot cake, was different. Tangy cream  \ncheese frosting, dense, spiced cake studded with bits of walnuts and shredded carrot.  \nHe ate it in two bites, the slight spice a welcome change from the pure sugar assault.  \nA crimson velvet cupcake. Its cream cheese frosting was piled high, a stark white  \nagainst the deep red of the cake. When he bit into it, it was like sinking into a cloud.  \nThe red velvet cake was incredibly tender, with just a hint of cocoa, while the frosting  \nwas the perfect balance of tangy and sweet. It disappeared in a single, greedy gulp.  \nNext was a triple chocolate fudge cupcake. This one was serious business. It was dark,  \nrich, and intense. The cake was almost brownie-like in its density, and the ganache  \nfrosting was so thick and glossy it was practically a chocolate pudding, dripping  \nslightly down the sides. With each bite, Butter’s eyes drifted shut, a soft, buzzing hum  \nresonating in his chest. The world beyond these twelve squares of paper simply  \nceased to exist. His stomach was a taut, round drum, stretched to what felt like its  \nabsolute limit, yet the next cupcake called to him with a siren's song of sugar and fat.  \nHis next conquest was a simple vanilla cupcake. But it was anything but simple. The  \ncake was light and airy, but soaked in a subtle vanilla bean syrup that made it  \nexceptionally moist. The buttercream was a pale yellow, fluffy, and shot through with  \ntiny black specks of real vanilla. It tasted like pure, distilled childhood sweetness, the  \nkind of flavor that could make you forget everything else. For a moment, he felt a  \npang of guilt. The sugar high was wearing off, leaving behind a leaden fullness. He felt  \nsick. He was uncomfortably, almost painfully, full. \"This is... the last one,\" he  \nmumbled to himself, even though six more remained. \"I can't... I can't eat another  \nbite.\"\n\nBut then, his eyes fell upon the next one. Key Lime. The pale green frosting beckoned  \nhim. He knew what was inside. A burst of tart citrus, a perfect counterpoint to all the  \nrichness he'd just consumed. Maybe... maybe just one more to balance it out. The  \ntheory was flimsy, a desperate attempt by his addled brain to justify continuing. He  \npicked it up. The frosting was tangy and light, and the cake had pockets of a sweet  \nlime curd filling inside. The zesty flavor cut through the cloying sweetness that had  \ncoated his tongue, offering a small merciful reprieve. He ate it faster than the others,  \nalmost defensively, as if the tartness was a challenge he had to conquer.\n\nThe next one was peanut butter. The chocolate cake was good, but it was a mere  \nvehicle for the towering swirl of peanut butter buttercream that crowned it. It was  \nsalty, nutty, and dense, an entire jar of peanut butter whipped into a frosting. As he  \nate it, Butter's movements grew sluggish. He had to prop his belly up with one arm to  \nkeep it from pressing too heavily on the table. Each swallow was a conscious effort.  \nHis antennae drooped, framing a face smeared with the detritus of a hundred  \ndifferent icings. He looked like a painting of pure indulgence, rendered in frosting and  \nflour.\n\nThe seventh was a maple bacon cupcake. The savory, smoky crunch of the candied  \nbacon on top cut through the sweet maple cream cheese frosting and the dense,  \nspiced cake beneath. He barely tasted it. His jaw ached with chewing. His stomach  \nfelt like a stretched water balloon, filled to the very brim and then some. He felt  \nbloated, hot, and unbelievably stuffed. He thought of home, of his small bed, of how  \nnice it would feel to lie down. He put the final cupcakes aside, a wave of nausea  \nwashing over him. He was done. He'd finally lost the battle to his own insatiable  \nappetite.\n\nBut then he saw them. One with glittery rainbow sprinkles. One with shimmering  \nsilver pearls. One with a mound of coconut flakes, toasted to a perfect golden brown.  \nThey looked untouched. Pristine. Like little works of art, he couldn't bring himself to  \ndiscard. It was... disrespectful. He grabbed the one with the rainbow sprinkles. The  \nrainbow sprinkles had a slight crunch, offering a textural counterpoint to the softness  \nof the buttercream. The glittering silver pearls tasted faintly of honey and crackled  \nbetween his teeth. The toasted coconut cupcake was nutty and sweet, the shreds of  \ncoconut offering a final, pleasant chew. He ate them all.\n\nA final, agonizing groan escaped Butter's lips as he forced down the last swallow of  \nthat last cupcake, a simple butterscotch creation. The entire sheet pan was now a  \nbattlefield of empty paper liners. He couldn't move. He could barely breathe. His  \nstomach was a rock-hard sphere, pressing into the wooden table, threatening to  \nsplinter it. His fur was matted with sugar, chocolate, and who knows what else. He  \nleaned back in the chair, which shrieked in protest. He let his head loll back, antennae  \nbrushing against the wall. Every fiber of his being screamed with fullness. His eyes  \ndrifted shut, a soft, buzzing hum resonating in his chest. The world beyond this single  \nroom simply ceased to exist.\n\nBut then, there it was. A final piece de resistance, standing forgotten by the kitchen  \ndoor on a pedestal, draped in a cloth to keep it fresh. Buzzy's masterpiece of the  \nweek, the one he'd been practicing for a competition: a two-layer opera cake, its  \nsurface as dark and glossy as a midnight pond, trimmed with perfect lines of  \nshimmering gold leaf. Butter whimpered. He couldn't. He absolutely, positively  \ncouldn't. He felt like he was about to burst at the seams, a furry, over-ripe fruit ready  \nto pop. Yet… he was supposed to dispose of it. Leaving it felt like a failure. He heaved  \nhimself upright, the chair scraping loudly on the floor. The short journey to the  \npedestal was an agonizing waddle. He looked at the cake. It was beautiful. A tragic  \nwaste to throw it away. With a shaking paw, he peeled back the cloth. The rich aroma  \nof dark chocolate and coffee hit him. \"Just... one bite,\" he whispered, the words  \nscraping his throat. \"To taste it for Buzzy. For quality control.\" He plunged a finger into  \nthe corner, scooping up a perfect cross-section of chocolate ganache, coffee  \nbuttercream, and almond sponge. The flavor was divine—intense, complex,  \nluxurious.\n\nHe continued to chip away at the cake one tiny, agonizing bite at a time. It was a slow,  \npainful process. His jaw ached with the effort of chewing, and with each swallow, he  \nwas certain this would be the one. The one that would send him over the edge. But it  \nnever came. He just kept getting fuller and fuller, until he felt his entire midsection  \nwas a single, solid orb of compressed pastry and sugar. He collapsed back into the  \nchair, gasping for air. The pedestal was now bare, save for a few stray crumbs and a  \nsingle flake of gold leaf. He had done it. He had eaten everything. A wave of dizzying  \nsickness and overwhelming triumph washed over him. He closed his eyes, letting the  \ndarkness take him. He had fallen into a sugar coma, with dreams of rivers of  \nchocolate frosting and mountains of whipped cream. A soft jingle, distant and  \nmetallic, pierced the fog. The lock is turning in the front door. The light, cheerful  \nfootsteps of his employer.\n\n\"Goodness me! Butter!\" Buzzy's high-pitched voice cut through the haze like a knife  \nthrough butter. \"What in the world happened here?\" The little bumblebee buzzed  \naround the room, his eyes wide with what Butter, in his dazed state, mistook for  \nshock. \"And... you're still here?\" He fluttered up to Butter's face, hovering just inches  \nfrom his frosting-smeared muzzle.\n\nButter tried to answer, to explain, but all that came out was a pained moan. His  \nstomach was a taut, protesting drum under the thin layer of his fur. He gestured  \nfeebly at the carnage of wrappers, plates, and crumbs. \"I... I took care of the...  \nleftovers, Buzzy,\" he managed to mumble, each word an effort. \"I don't think... I can...  \neat another bite... Ever.\"\n\nA knowing smile twitched at the corner of Buzzy's mouth before vanishing. \"Oh, my  \ndear boy! That's a terrible pity.\" The bee zipped over to the kitchen door, returning  \nwith a cloth-covered tray. He set it down on the table with a delicate click. \"Because  \nit's our fifth-anniversary special week! I've just finished baking these brand-new  \nTiramisu Swirl Croissants. They need testing immediately for quality control before  \nwe open.\" He whipped the cloth off the tray with a flourish, revealing a dozen flaky  \ncroissants, their spiral layers visible on the outside, generously dusted with cocoa  \npowder and giving off an intoxicating aroma of coffee, mascarpone, and sweet  \nliqueur.\n\nA soft, involuntary hum instantly replaced butter's moans of pain. His antennae,  \nwhich had been drooping pathetically, perked straight up, twitching rapidly. His eyes,  \npreviously glazed over with discomfort, now shone with a renewed, single-minded  \nfocus. The agonizing pressure in his stomach seemed to vanish, replaced by a  \ncavernous emptiness that only a tiramisu-swirl croissant could fill. Another agonizing  \ngroan escaped his lips, but this one was not of pain, but of pure, desperate want. He  \nlooked at Buzzy, then back at the croissants, a single word rumbling from deep within  \nhis chest. \"...Maybe... just one?\""}