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Maple's Story Part 7
🕑 Added 2016-02-10 14:52:23 +0000 UTCPart 7
There was no getting over it anymore, Maple was huge. After the first night she could call herself chubby, after the second she could pretend to be pregnant, now as she tried to squeeze herself through the door of the bathroom she realised that she would have a hard time calling this anything but morbid obesity. The duratex suit was draped over one shoulder, feeling ridiculously small in comparison to the rest of her massive, dripping body. It was already in the process of self cleaning, the smart fibres balling up any sweat, fur, skin cells and other foreign matter into little clumps that fell harmlessly away. Not that this was why she had yet to try and put it back on, Maple knew that she had no hope of donning the garment by herself - getting it over the hill of her stomach alone would be impossible without help, and that meant Syn and the Scutlers, which was for now at least a conversation she didn’t want to have.
So the hulking, panting, sloshing vixen stumbled from the bathroom and down the central hallway of her ship, blushing and trying to ignore the groaning metal under her feet. With her free hand she stroked the side of her bulging, bloated, flabby stomach. There was so much of it to stroke and, though she saw so little of it, the massive water-filled, blubbery beanbag hung down past her knees, forcing her to press against its sloshy mass with every step she took. It was no wonder she was out of breath. The question was, what would she do?
The Kit was designed with different species in mind and with a few minor alterations it would accommodate her new size. If she wanted any real degree of comfort however, she would have to deviate from her course to a station that could do proper outfitting, and that meant longer with the collar on. Something told her that if she had to go too much longer wearing this she eat herself to immobility. The unhappy gurgle of her stomach informed her that she might just end up doing it anyway. She could feel her neck flab rubbing against the stretchy material of the collar. In the few days she’d been wearing it she’d gotten scarily used to the feeling of it. The burning desire to know how long she had left of this torment finally prompted her to break her silence with Syn.
“Syn, how-” BELCH. Maple paused, mid stride, her cheeks colouring with the shame of what she’d just done. Worse was how the belch had risen up from her bubbling, sloshing middle without any warning. She cleared her throat and continued her unsteady gait down the hallway. “How long until we reach the station?”
There were a few seconds of silence, giving Maple the impression that Syn was wondering whether or not it should give the vixen some sort of silent treatment. But that couldn’t happen, right?
“Less than two days, Maple.” Came the reply after a moment, as ever the AI was emotionless in its response.
Maple sighed. Two more days with this collar around her neck. That was assuming it even came off. For all she knew the scientist who trapped her with the infernal thing had no intention of releasing her. She felt her teeth clench just thinking about it, but pushed onwards. Despite her newly aquired layer of blubber, robbing her of her breath and reducing her to an out of shape blob, she was quickly coming up on the door of the kitchens. She could almost taste her breakfast, just waiting for her.
“And how long will our fab cartridges last?” The panting vixen asked, bracing herself against the doorway with one hand to try and take some of the weight off of her aching knees. She could feel her massive body generating more heat than she ever thought possible. Was she so out of shape? Or just ashamed to feel the sweat trickling from her massive gut?
“At your current rate of consumption and growth, five days, Maple.” At least that was some good news. Probably. With a sigh and a grunt of effort, the vixen squeezed herself through the doorway to the kitchen, its lights flickering on as it detected her massive gut being pushed in before the rest of her. After a few moments of struggling to push her bloated love handles through, pointedly ignoring the way she sloshed like a waterballoon as she recovered her breath and her balance, Maple started a slow lumber towards one of two metal chairs that could be repositioned in the unlikely event that she had guests. She had to stand side on to it to be able to grasp it with her pudgy fingers, and even then she could feel the chair rubbing against her gut as she dragged it over to beside the fab unit.
Sitting down wasn’t as hard as she suspected getting up would be, but the ship felt smaller now that there was so much of her. The fab unit beeped with confusion as her gut pressed several of its buttons whilst she maneuvered her ass into position above the chair. Grunting and eager to be off her feet, she allowed gravity to do the rest of the work for her, flomping into the chair and testing its craftsmanship. She could feel her asscheeks oozing over each side of it but didn’t care, just allowing herself to lean back for a moment and catch her breath.
“Alright Syn, it’s time for breakfast.” Maple called out once she’d regained her composure. She looked for a moment at the duratex suit, the pride of her wardrobe, the perfect culmination of utility and fashion and she couldn’t get into it without help. Grunting she let the suit fall to the floor, she’d get Syn to pick it up later.
The fab unit growled as it powered up. “And what would you like, my little waterballoon?”
Maple’s cheeks flushed. Of course Syn had seen that, she was as much a part of Maple as the vixen’s fur, skin or blubber. In the past she might have fumed or reprimanded the AI for making fun of her in such a vulnerable state but a loud gurgle from her stomach demanded more immediate action. “Surprise me.” Maple replied, reaching out to hold as much of her massive gut as she could - it wasn’t much. “Just do it quick, I’m /really/ hungry…” The vixen whined.
“Your desire is my command.” The fabricator’s growling reached a crescendo before its hatch flew up and the kitchen was draped in silence. Maple squirmed a moment, trying to lean forward, grunting as her gut impeded the motion so thoroughly she wasn’t even able to see what was inside. She could smell it. Fabricated chocolate never smelled so good. The tray within the fab unit slowly slid forward until the most decadent chocolate cake Maple had ever seen pressed against her gurgling, hungry stomach. A fountain of chocolate spewed thick, creamy fudge from the middle of the cake, which looked as though it were bulging with an even thicker cream. The whole thing was as wide as a dinner plate and tall enough to be at least three layers high, sitting on a platter that barely managed to stop the overflow of heavy cream from spilling.
“This… this isn’t breakfast, this is diabetes.” Maple commented, but she knew she couldn’t wait for something else to be fab’d, and once constructed the food couldn’t be recycled, so really it would be a terrible waste if she didn’t eat the cake, wouldn’t it? Her sausage fingers clasped the tray and, with a grunt of effort, she pulled it up onto her gut, licking her lips. There was no fork or spoon, but Maple wasn’t going to waste time retrieving one. She scooped a huge chunk of cake up with a chubby paw and smooshed it into her mouth, groaning for the taste of it.
“I take it you approve.” Syn replied, the fab unit’s tray sliding back in, hatch closing as it began preparation for another meal. Maple didn’t reply. She’d eaten fab food whilst in space for years, but nothing had ever tasted as good as what had been served up to her the past couple of days. Even if the collar was turning her into a furred blimp, what it did to the food she ate - how it made everything taste so much better, it was almost worth keeping for that alone. Every second she spent with her mouth empty, whether she was swallowing or just catching her breath, felt like a second she’d wasted. She pulled the cake against her, funneling the heavy, chocolatey goodness between her breasts and into her mouth, gulping rhythmically, belching where she had a moment to rid her burbling stomach of some of the insane quantities of air she was swallowing.
The cake had barely settled in her stomach before the next one slid from the fabricator unit, even bigger than the first and decorated with sticks of fudge and blocks of icing that smelled as though they were 3 parts butter to 1 part icing. She didn’t care. The first platter fell to the floor as she heaved the second one up to take its place, grunting and snorting like a pig. Each pawful of cake she pulled towards her mouth felt heavier in her stomach than it did in her hand, she could feel the first cake weighing her gut down, so solid, so thick. Perhaps if her tastebuds weren’t exploding with the sheer flavour of the moment, she’d have taken a moment to survey the damage that it was causing to her figure, to see realise that she’d never ingested so many calories at once and with the collar working overdrive to help digestion she’d no doubt process it unnaturally quickly into yet more blubber.
But Maple didn’t think that far ahead. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day. It would be horrible to waste food. Syn wouldn’t ever do anything to harm her. The excuses were there to draw from, seeing to it that in any halfway lucid moment she could explain away the fact that she was eating more than anyone rightly should, pulling the third, thicker, heavier, disgustingly sugary cake up onto her expanding stomach and pushing her muzzle into it like a pig at a trough. She barely noticed as first her stomach touched the ground, then with a thud it started to spread out, consuming the space between her and the fabrication unit. It was only when, belching and dropping the third platter, she realised that she was barely able to see the fourth cake past her burgeoning, expanding stomach. Thanks to the high calorie cakes, this was the first time she could literally see and feel herself growing fatter.
Another belch rattled up through her chest and out her throat as Maple sat there, listening to the gurgling of her stomach, the groaning of her chair and watching herself swell like rising dough. Although a sort of horror welled up within her, she felt a groan dribble out of her mouth. As with when she had been filling herself with water, something about all of this was somehow errotic. It overpowered rational thought. The tightness of her skin, the creaking of her expanding flesh, the feeling of it as her cake-stained fingers sunk into her ballooning stomach, it screamed in her mind that she should have more. Eat, eat and never stop. She reached out and grabbed the small section of her gut she could reach, squeezing it and drawing forth from her another moan, before the cow of a vixen squashed her gut down to the ground and leaned past it to pull up the next tray of cake.
Maple paid attention now to the effects the cake had on her, to the way that every bite and every gulp seemed to add to her mass. But she wasn’t satisfied with bites, swallowing the delicious, huge morsel slowly. She wanted everything. A thick haze of hunger and lust blanketed her mind as with a grunt of effort she hauled the tray up and leaned it directly into her mouth, which was open and waiting as the cake slid in. The moments she spent chewing, funneling the cake through her throat and into her ever expanding stomach were fleeting, allowing Maple to sit back after a moment and enjoy what came next: The growth. Expanding, bloating, ballooning with blubber, she cooed to herself, rubbing her stomach, hefting her tits - the biggest they’d ever been and growing into her paws. A trickle of drool ran down her lips as her mouth hung open, basking in the tightness, the fullness, the -
The chair snapped under her suddenly, even the metal structure of it finally refusing to seat her any longer. As the massively overweight vixen came to her senses and the world stopped spinning dizzily around her, she came to the very quick conclusion: Something had to change.
